The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  Saphira – had been completed while he was unconscious. His face was now as smooth and angled as an elf's, with ears tapered like theirs and eyes slanted like theirs, and his skin

  was pale as alabaster and seemed to emit a faint glow, as if with the sheen of magic. I look like a princeling. Eragon had never before applied the term to a man, least of all

  himself, but the only word that described him now was beautiful. Yet he was not entirely an elf. His jaw was stronger, his brow thicker, his face broader. He was fairer than any

  human and more rugged than any elf.

  With trembling fingers, Eragon reached around the nape of his neck in search of his scar.

  He felt nothing.

  Eragon tore off his tunic and twisted in front of the mirror to examine his back. It was as smooth as it had been before the battle of Farthen Dûr. Tears sprang to Eragon's eyes as

  he slid his hand over the place where Durza had maimed him. He knew that his back would never trouble him again.

  Not only was the savage blight he had elected to keep gone, but every other scar and blemish had vanished from his body, leaving him as unmarked as a newborn babe. Eragon

  traced the line upon his wrist where he had cut himself while sharpening Garrow's scythe. No evidence of the wound remained. The blotchy scars on the insides of his thighs,

  remnants from his first flight with Saphira, had also disappeared. For a moment, he missed them as a record of his life, but his regret was shortlived as he realized the damage

  from every injury he had ever suffered, no matter how small, had been repaired.

  I have become what I was meant to be, he thought, and took a deep breath of the intoxicating air.

  He dropped the mirror on the bed and garbed himself in his finest clothes: a crimson tunic stitched with gold thread; a belt studded with white jade; warm, felted leggings; a pair of

  the cloth boots favored by the elves; and upon his forearms, leather vambraces the dwarves had given him.

  Descending from the tree, Eragon wandered the shadows of Ellesméra and observed the elves carousing in the fever of the night. None of them recognized him, though they greeted

  him as one of their own and invited him to share in their saturnalias.

  Eragon floated in a state of heightened awareness, his senses thrumming with the multitude of new sights, sounds, smells, and feelings the assailed him. He could see in darkness

  that would have blinded him before. He could touch a leaf and, by touch alone, count the individual hairs that grew upon it. He could identify the odors wafting about him as well as

  a wolf or a dragon. And he could hear the patter of mice in the underbrush and the noise a flake of bark makes as it falls to earth; the beating of his heart was as a drum to him.

  His aimless path led him past the Menoa tree, where he paused to watch Saphira among the festivities, though he did not reveal himself to those in the glade.

  Where go you, little one? She asked.

  He saw Arya rise from her mother's side, make her way through the gathered elves, and then, like a forest sprite, glide underneath the trees beyond. I walk between the candle

  and the dark, he replied, and followed Arya.

  Eragon… Saphira warned him gently before pulling away from his consciousness again. If he hadn't learned his heart's lesson by now, maybe with the changes he had incurred this

  time he would.

  Eragon tracked Arya by her delicate scent of crushed pine needles, by the feathery touch of her foot upon the ground, and by the disturbance of her wake in the air. He found her

  standing alone on the edge of a clearing, poised like a wild creature as she watched the constellations turn in the sky above.

  As Eragon emerged in the open, Arya looked at him, and he felt as if she saw him for the first time. Her eyes widened, and she whispered, "Is that you, Eragon?"

  "Aye."

  "What have they done to you?"

  "I know not."

  He went to her, and together they wandered the dense woods, which echoed with fragments of music and voices from the festivities. Changed as he was, Eragon was acutely

  conscious of Arya's presence, of the whisper of her clothes over her skin, of the soft, pale exposure of her neck, and of her eyelashes, which were coated with a layer of oil that made them glisten and curl like black petals wet with rain.

  They stopped on the bank of a narrow stream so clear it was invisible in the faint light. The only thing that betrayed its presence was the throaty gurgle of water pouring over

  rocks. Around them, the thick pines formed a cave with their branches, hiding Eragon and Arya from the world and muffling the cool, still air. The hollow seemed ageless, as if it

  were removed from the world and protected by some magic against the withering breath of time.

  In that secret place, Eragon felt suddenly close to Arya, and all his passion for her sprang to the fore of his mind. He was so intoxicated with the strength and vitality coursing

  through his veins – as well as the untamed magic that filled the forest – he ignored caution and said, "How tall the trees how bright the stars… and how beautiful you are, O Arya

  Svitkona." Under normal circumstances, he would have considered his deed the height of folly, but in that fey, madcap night, it seemed perfectly sane.

  She stiffened. "Eragon…"

  He ignored her warning. "Arya, I'll do anything to win your hand. I would follow you to the ends of the earth. I would build a palace for you with nothing but my bare hands. I would

  "

  "Will you stop pursuing me? Can you promise me that?" When he hesitated, she stepped closer and said, low and gentle, "Eragon, this cannot be. You are young and I am old, and

  that shall never change."

  "Do you feel nothing for me?"

  "My feelings for you," she said, "are those of a friend and nothing more. I am grateful to you for rescuing me from Gil'ead, and I find your company pleasant. That is all…"

  In desperation, he suggested, "You could give me your memories and then I would have the same amount of experience and knowledge as you."

  "It would be an abomination," she assured him. "Relinquish this quest of yours – it will only bring you heartache – and find someone your own age to spend the long years with."

  His eyes brimmed with tears, taken aback that she would even say such a thing. "How can you be so cruel?"

  She winced, sorrow pulsing through her. "I am sorry… I did not mean... Eragon. You and I are not meant for each other." Arya lifted her chin, her face grave and solemn and

  brushed with silver from the glimmering stars. A hint of steel entered her voice: "Hear me well, Eragon. This cannot, nor ever shall be. And until you master yourself, our friendship must cease to exist, for your emotions do nothing but distract us from our duty." She bowed to him. "Goodbye, Eragon Shadeslayer." Then she strode past and vanished into Du Weldenvarden.

  Now the tears spilled down Eragon's cheeks and dropped to the moss below, where they lay unabsorbed, like pearls strewn across a blanket of emerald velvet. Numb, Eragon sat

  upon a rotting log and buried his face in his hands, weeping that his affections were doomed to remain unrequired, and weeping that he had driven her further away. Now he had no

  one.

  Within moments, Saphira joined him. Oh, little one. She nuzzled him. Why did you have to inflict this upon yourself? You knew what would happen if you tried to woo Arya again.

  I couldn't stop myself. He wrapped his arms around his belly and rocked back and forth on the log, reduced to hiccupping sobs by the strength of his misery. Putting one warm wing

  over him, Saphira drew him close to her side, like a mother falcon with her offspring. He curled up against her and remained huddled there as night passed into day and the Agaetí

  Blödhren came to an end.

  A smile graced his mouth gently as he watched the morning dawn upon her skin. She wrinkled her nose sli
ghtly as the light woke her. Murtagh shifted pulling her in closer and

  allowing her to tuck herself against his chest, blocking the sunlight.

  Humming quietly, she smiled, kissing his shoulder. "Morning…" she whispered, listening to the chatter outside. Her troops were already awake and moving. "I need to get up and

  check with the commander. I'll be back in a minute." Murtagh growled a little, tipping her face up and kissing her gently. Her lips parted slightly as she kissed him back, pulling

  away after a minute, smirking. "I'll be back in a minute," she repeated.

  He watched as she got up, got out of the warm bed and stretched. Nyx rose to meet Kendra and trotted after her into the morning light. Sighing, Murtagh twisted and turned back

  into the pillow, laying on his stomach, fading back into sleep, his arm hanging limp over the side of the bed, ignoring Thorn's intrusion on his sleepy mind.

  Kendra pushed the tent flap open, staring openly at the chaos in front of her. She strode to Aaron quickly. "What's happening?"

  "One of our scouts thinks he saw a dragon."

  Her heart skipped a beat. Kieran. "What color was it?"

  "Red."

  She let out a sigh. "If it is one of Galbatorix's Riders then we need to be very careful. Hopefully we're not enough of a target, if they don't know I'm here…"

  "You said the Riders are both women, correct?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I will send scouts out looking for a woman traveling alone. It would probably be best for you to stay here until they return."

  Kendra shook her head. "No, I'm going to look as well. If they do happen across her, I'm the best chance we have. Let me get my sword."

  She turned and rushed back to the commander's tent, pushing open the flap and looking at Murtagh, her face softening. The scar across his back was visible as the blanket had

  shifted off his shoulders. Walking to the bed, she leaned over him and flinched. Her heart caught in her throat, staring at his palm and then back at his face. Kendra turned,

  grabbing his shirt and flung it at him, growling, her breathing heavy.

  Waking with a start, he sat up quickly, pushing the fabric away as he blinked. "What… Kendra?"

  "You should have left your gloves on, Rider."

  Murtagh paused, looking up at her venomous voice. Panic rushed through his veins and he rolled to the floor as a dagger impaled the feathery pillow. He braced his hands against

  the ground, turning his gaze up to her, "Kendra, please… just"

  She walked around the table, keeping space between them. Nyx growled low and prowled beside her. "Get out."

  He stood and inched towards the chair, collecting his belongings and watching her get her blade. Once it was in her hand, she unsheathed it and guided the point towards him. He

  swallowed with the tip of her sword at the apple of his throat. She directed him out of the tent, forcing him to stumble backwards, as his foot slipped. Juggling his sword and bow as

  he tried to pull his tunic back on, he couldn't seem to find words. Hitting the ground, he pulled on one of his boots as she stepped out into the sunlight.

  "I can't believe you," she hissed, the anguish clear in her voice.

  He stepped into his other boot and backed away from her, belting his sword to his waist, watching her face. "You knew what was going to happen if I got caught by him. I couldn't

  tell you… I didn't… I didn't want you to get hurt."

  "And here we are." She shook with her blade still up at his throat level. "You lied to me. You were spying for him. You knew I was here! I should run you through right now, traitor."

  A roar erupted from behind him as Thorn barreled into the campsite, thrashing his tail and growling at her. Nyx lowered his head and barred his fangs at the dragon, snarling. Murtagh, climb on now. You have what you need. Thorn bellowed at the wolf, watching as his resolve stayed, his snarl only rippling louder.

  No, I don't.

  Kendra watched him as he remained rooted to the spot. She blinked and lowered her sword. "Go…" He winced at her words and took a step towards her, eliciting growling from both

  Thorn and Nyx once again. "What I wouldn't give to destroy one of Galbatorix's Riders…" Kendra paused, watching his face. "If I see you again I will tear your heart out… Now get

  on your dragon and leave, Rider."

  Thorn pulled his Rider against his side with his tail, forcing him away from her. Murtagh turned and climbed into the saddle, watching Kendra as Thorn beat his wings and pulled

  away from her.

  You should not have lied to her youngling.

  I tried to tell her the truth, but I didn't want to hurt her.

  You only managed to hurt her more by your deception.

  She lifted her arm to shield her eyes from the dust, staring after them until they faded into the distance. Kendra turned her face down as tears flooded down her cheeks. Bending

  down, she picked up a ruby scale between her fingers and held it in her palm, wiping away her tears with her other hand.

  "Kendra?" She turned her face up to Aaron. "Are you hurt?"

  "No." Her voice was calm through her lie. "I have to leave however, it's imperative that I return to Aberon as soon as possible."

  "I'll saddle your horse." He insisted, trotting over to where some of the others were calming down their steeds.

  Nyx sat down beside her, panting and leaning against her leg. She ran her fingers through his fur and sighed. "We should have killed him last night before we saw his face."

  His room was without windows, perfectly fine, as there were numerous candles and magical lights flickering around the room. He looked over a passage in the book before him,

  then back at the diagram he was drawing. There was a knock at the door, forcing him to pause.

  "Innes."

  He paused, turning towards the door, walking over and opening it, blinking at Odette, dark circles under her eyes. "What?"

  "I need you to do something for me…"

  His face twisted into a sneer, but faltered when tears started pooling in her eyes. "What…?" Innes asked, defeated.

  "I can't… my head keeps spinning. It's like I don't know which way is up. I need to talk to him… there must be something you can do."

  The blonde paused, "Cordis?"

  She nodded.

  "I don't know… I've never tried anything before…"

  "Please, I'll do anything for you. I'll give you anything that you want." Odette begged, clasping her hands in front of her.

  Contemplating her offer for a moment he decided it wouldn't be bad to have her owe him something. In fact, that would probably be extremely useful. Looking her up and down

  twice, Innes scrutinized her before he stepped aside and let her into his room.

  Odette curled up in a chair, her red hair cascading to her knees, looking around his room. This was the only one she'd never actually been in. Innes was extremely secretive, but

  now she realized he might just be disorganized. There were stacks of books everywhere, candle wax on the tops of tables. She honestly didn't know where he slept because there

  were two dozen books spread across the bed, scrolls and ink spills on the blankets.

  "Okay…" he said finally, picking up a thin book, fingers leafing through the pages. "This should do it…"

  Innes cleared some space on the floor and took out a knife, carving symbols into the floor just inside a circle. It was barely three feet across and he blinked at Odette, motioning for

  her to sit inside it. She did so carefully, her hair pooling around her feet. He sat down across from her, too close. Innes glanced down at the book in his hands, able to feel her

  breath a few inches away.

  Looking over the book, he started speaking quietly, feeling a pull in his stomach. After a few minutes of quiet speaking, the candles in the room flickered and failed, leaving only

  the magical lights. He blinked and almost
faltered, glancing up at Odette, her hair whipping slightly as she watched him intently.

  Another few lines and she stiffened in front of him, tears dripping down her face.

  "Cordis…?"

  There was a bright bluegreen light forming in between them, which then twisted and whirled around her head. She sobbed and reached for the streak of light, which responded by

  curling around her fingers. It flickered after a few moments before brushing against her face and driving itself into her chest. She started, eyes widening. After a moment, she

  convulsed and hit the floor, thrashing.

  Innes jumped and backed away from her, the book forgotten. He watched as she lay on the floor, her eyes rolling up into her head. "Odette!?" He touched her arm and winced as

  she stilled and her eyes fell closed.

  He had no idea how long he sat there staring at her, kneeling by her side. She felt cold to the touch and he didn't know what to do. If he'd killed her it had been an accident, but she

  still had a heartbeat, for now. Innes bit his lip and looked around his room, standing to try and find another book that might help him.

  When he stood to move, she grasped his ankle tightly and hissed. "What did you do to us?"

  He looked down at her eyes the deep color of red wine. She was crying. "Odette…?"

  The grip she had on his ankle was fierce, stronger than he ever remembered her having. "What did you do to us?" She repeated, her voice coming out with an echo.

  "…Cordis?" He stopped, staring down at her. Red eyes. "What…" He looked at her red hair and pale skin, realizing with a start at what he'd done.

  "Next time you send me off to the middle of nowhere… warn me that they might decide to attack me first." He threw the scroll on Rowan's table, walking off to fetch his lord

  clothes.

  "Nice disguise…" Mark paused, looking at him over his shoulder. Rowan's face was deceptively calm and he blinked once. "…don't suppose you can make yourself look like anyone…

  can you?"

  He smirked and flicked his hair out of his eyes, blinking once as his irises turned green. "Depends."

  "Then I may have more for you to do and much less far away." Rowan smirked back at him. "Where were you two years ago? You'd be sitting on this throne instead of me."