River of Tears
My name is Selena, and this is how I will recount my story:
I was young, twenty years old, when I first met him. His name was Morzan, and he was tall, dark and handsome. Morzan helped me carry a barrel of water for my animals, and I gave him a room at my home. I quickly grew attached to him, and soon fell in love. We got married immediately. I was foolish enough to think that he loved me back, but as soon as we were married, I found that he served the evil king, Galbatorix. I did not want to serve Galbatorix, but I loved Morzan and could not leave him. Morzan used me as his messenger, his sidekick of sorts. Many times, tears fell fast. As time progressed, I found myself falling deeper and deeper into a dark, long hole of despair.
Morzan taught me how to remain undiscovered and to extract information from people. Somehow, no one ever found me out.
But, as it was inevitable, I became with child and had to stop doing Morzan's missions for a time. Morzan took me away to his castle and prevented anyone from entering it except for a few loyal servants.
When I had the baby, I named him Murtagh, which means "into darkness." He was a quiet baby, and very handsome. Wisps of dark fuzz covered the top of his head, and dark eyes watched me constantly. I wanted to spend all of my time with little Murtagh, but he was given over to a wet nurse, and I saw precious little of him.
For about three years this continued, and throughout these three years, Morzan grew to enjoy getting drunk, and often came back to the castle in a stupor. Tears fell even more. One day, I went to see young Murtagh. He was taller than I had last seen him, and very smart. He could already read and write. But then his father came, drunk as usual, and started rambling about how we didn't need our son. Murtagh tried to hide behind my skirts, and I tried to talk him out of disposing of Murtagh. But Morzan could not be persuaded.
Instead, he ripped me away from my little son, and when Murtagh tried to run, he threw his sword, Zar'roc, at him. The blade struck Murtagh, and he fell, bleeding through his tiny shirt that a servant had made for him. I screamed and ran toward my son. Morzan merely laughed, a maniacal cackle that sent shivers throughout my entire body.
I picked up Murtagh and ran as fast as I could to the healer's home nearby. By the time I reached it, blood drenched my clothes and my little son's eyes were closed. After kicking the door until the healer answered, I laid him on the healer's table and silently thought, I knew this was going to happen. Why didn't I try to stop it! Why?!
For two full days he was unconscious. What I mostly did was stroke his soft hair, now cut about his shoulders, and sing to him through the tears. Whenever I'd be able to see him when he was younger, I'd sing him to sleep. Finally, I saw his eyes flicker open. I called for the healer, and the old woman came in and checked underneath Murtagh's bandage. "He'll have a large scar, Selena," she told me. "It'll heal well enough, but he'll always have that scar."
Tears snuck out of the corners of my eyes, and I held him close to my chest. "Thank you," I whispered to the healer. She nodded and moved out of the room, leaving me with Murtagh.
"Mother?" he asked softly.
"Yes, honey?" I asked. "What is it?"
"I'm thirsty." His dark eyes were filled with pain. I reached for a glass of water close at hand and poured a bit down his throat. "Thank you, Mother."
"You're welcome, Murtagh."
After I brought him back to the castle, I found Morzan gone. The servants said he was on another mission for Galbatorix. I found this the perfect chance. Finally I could get away. I wanted so badly to take Murtagh with me, but he was in no condition to travel. Besides, Morzan had apparently warned the guards that I might try to spirit Murtagh away, so they guarded him carefully.
That night, I left. I sneaked out of the castle, took a horse from the stables, and rode as fast as I could away from there. Many months later, after wandering in the lands, I came to a small village and decided to stay there awhile. It was there that I heard the news. Morzan had been killed by Brom, who I had thought was our gardener, but was actually a Dragon Rider. Relief washed over me until I thought about what might happen to Murtagh. I wanted to go back, but I knew I couldn't; not yet.
After a bit, I met Brom again, and we fell in love. We soon got married and I became pregnant again. The baby came a bit early, but without complications. Randall and I named him "Eragon." That name meant, "light of youth." He was going to be blond, like me, with blue eyes, like Brom's father.
Eragon grew to be a sturdy young boy, but in my heart I missed Murtagh. I thought about him every day. As I grew older, I decided I needed to go soon, to find my eldest son. But I couldn't leave Brom and Eragon. A few years passed, and I had decided that it was time to leave. Brom had disappeared; to where, I didn't know. I handed Eragon over to his aunt and uncle, kissed him good-bye, and left.
It took many years for me to get to my eldest son. I had to dodge the king's men, and every once in a while dodge the Ra'zac. By the time I had gotten to Galbatorix's castle, I was sick and near-death. The guards permitted me in when I told them who I was the mother of, and one of them ran into the castle to summon my son. I was sat down in a chair in the main hall, and soon I heard heavy footfalls in the passageways. I looked up, my eyelids heavy, and managed to see a tall, broad-shouldered figure run into the hall. "Mother?" a masculine voice asked hesitantly, and I blinked, seeing my son more clearly.
He was so handsome. His dark hair was cut around his ears now; his head held proudly. Murtagh's once-dark eyes had lightened to a stormy gray, but they were more troubled now. His chiseled face was confused. "Murtagh," I sighed, and reached out a trembling hand to him. He took it; his hand was rough and calloused from wielding a sword and bow and riding.
Both our eyes filled with salty tears simultaneously. It was so good to see him after all these years. "Murtagh," I whispered so the guards at the door wouldn't hear me, "you must come with me. I need you to come…" I coughed and choked. I was soaked to the bone and sick. I needed a healer. My son's eyes grew wide. His voice faded, but I was sure he yelled, "Guards! Bring a healer! Quickly!"
The only things I remembered after that was numbness and the sight of Murtagh hovering over me at all times. I wanted to comfort him, to tell him that things were going to be all right, but I couldn't speak. After a day or so, I grew better and could sit up. Murtagh had gone back to weapons training, and I heard the clashing of swords in the courtyard. Wanting to watch my son train, I scooted myself off of the bed and managed to slowly sit in a chair near the window.
He was sparring with a tall man in brown leather. I had been watching them for just a few minutes when I saw men creeping out of the shadows holding sharp swords; creeping toward Murtagh. "Look out!" I tried to cry out, but my heart was caught in my throat. Murtagh didn't appear to notice them!
Yet suddenly, Murtagh spun and clashed swords with one of the men, throwing him back. The man lost his grip on his sword, and it flew in the air. Murtagh's hand shot out and grasped it, and he swung both swords in an intricate pattern, keeping the men away, but he was always on the defensive. Without warning, a huge man with an even larger club rushed out of the shadows, coming upon my son with extreme speed. Murtagh tried to move out of his deadly path, but the club crashed onto his head, and he dropped like a stone.
I screamed. The man in brown leather looked up and laughed. "Don't fear, milady. He has a hard head. This was merely practice." Two of the men sheathed their swords and picked Murtagh up, carrying me out of his vision. The man in russet followed after them. I leaned back in my chair, trying to figure everything out. My heart pounded in my chest, and I felt weak and faint.
I felt this way for a few minutes until I heard footfalls in the corridor. The door to the healing room was opened, and the two men carried my son into the room, laying his inert body on a nearby cot. The man in brown entered and stood beside his bedside, smirking. I turned my body and caressed Murtagh's head. His black hair was stained in places by crimson blood.
The healer came in and began to bind Murtagh's head, cleaning the wound carefully before he did so. Murtagh woke up suddenly just as he finished and grabbed the healer's wrist, throwing himself behind him and twisting the healer's arm, all in just a couple of seconds. "Let him go, Murtagh," the man in leather growled.
My son gritted his teeth, but when he looked down and saw who he was holding, he let go immediately and stumbled a few steps backward. "Oh. Oh. Oh," he kept saying.
"Murtagh, you got hit in the head. Lie down or I'll lie you down for you!" the man ranted.
"Tornac, why'd you send him to hit me? That wasn't fair!"
"Life isn't fair, son." The man, Tornac, put his arm around Murtagh's shoulders and led him to the cot, past the trembling healer. "You can go now," he nodded to the frightened man.
"Yessir." The healer ran out of the room. Tornac sat Murtagh down on the cot. My son held his head, and for a while, all was silent. But soon I felt a pain deep in my chest, and I began to wheeze. Murtagh jerked his head up, apparently ignoring any pain of his own. "Mother?" he questioned. I couldn't answer. The pain was too terrible; I began to convulse. "Mother?!" Murtagh screamed. Tornac threw himself around Murtagh's cot and began pumping my chest to get me to breathe, but I couldn't.
My son pushed him away and threw his arms around me, cradling me in his strong arms.
The last thing I ever saw was my eldest son, Murtagh, with pain on his face; blood on his tunic; and in his eyes: a river of tears.
That's all I ever really knew in life: pain, blood, and tears. It was always that way in my life. When I was born, I saw them, and now, when I died, I saw them. But when I was born, I saw them on a mother I never knew. When I died, I saw them on my eldest son, the son I had labored so much for, the son who I knew loved me though I had deserted him. But now, his life will be a river of tears.
The End of My Account