Summary:
Blonde was golden and beautiful. Brown was warm.
Black was boring. Purple was cold.
Blonde was right. Purple was wrong.
Angela the Herbalist is left to teach Elva, a magical and rebellious child with black hair and purple eyes, cursed by the great Dragon Rider Eragon. Furious with Eragon's ignorance, Angela decides to take Elva into her own tutelage, hoping to help the child in ways that no one else can. Guided by memories of her own tutelage under the elusive hermit Tenga, Angela hopes to help Elva endure her horrible curse and teach her how special and unique she truly is.
Elva, abandoned into the care of an old woman without family, is taken to Angela the Herbalist. The spunky, blonde woman annoys the young girl beyond all patience. As the pain of those around her wears her nerves thin, Elva hates herself for the strange anomaly that she is, despising the wary and fearful glances from the people of the Varden. No one will ever accept her for who she truly is, she feels certain.
Can a pair of such opposites ever cooperate and get along? Can a friendship be formed? Can one learn from someone so completely opposite?
Chapter One—Angela"Are you Angela?" I heard a small, scratchy voice ask. "Angela the Herbalist?"
I glanced up to see an old woman standing before me, her face more wrinkles than actual features. Her shoulders were hunched, as if she constantly carried loads of heavy bucket water with her everywhere she went.
"Why, yes, I suppose I am," I replied, a wide smile stretching across my face. "Some do call me that."
"Would you, please, come with me?" she asked, her voice strained with apparent stress. "There is a baby I hope you can help. Something very odd has happened to her." Her voice pitched upward on the last few words, causing her request to sound more like begging.
Her distress worried me, though I was curious as to what she meant, and I quickly agreed. Throwing the strap of my herbal bag over my head, I followed closely behind the old woman as she weaved through the Varden's tents, Nasuada's people and army now camped several miles away from the Beor Mountains on their way to Surda. At last, she stopped at a tent that looked absolutely identical to all the others… identical, that is, but for a stain in the curious shape of a bull's skull on the stiff canvas beside the opening.
I brushed aside the flap covering the tent opening, wondering what kind of child I might find inside. I bit my lip and tilted my head to the side as I hoped I would not find a child with Urgal horns growing out the sides of her head.
The old woman stumbled ahead of me. She really was such an odd old woman. She seemed nervous and never certain of where she was going. She reminded me of a blind desert snake, abruptly changing direction every few feet.
I watched with curiosity as the old woman bent over a heap of purple and black blankets. Gently, she shook the folds of heavy fabric. The heap of blankets quaked and rolled over. Fascinating, I thought. Then, silly me, I realized that the pile of blankets was a girl! A glanced quickly over the girl as she stood to her feet.
The little child stood barely three feet high and looked to be about three years old, upon my guess. Black hair hung straight around her face, and her dark bangs slanted partially over her eyes. Purple eyes, the deepest violet hue I had ever beheld, peeked out from under the slanting, black bangs. The skinny, poor child was clothed in a thin cloak of black lined with purple. I smiled as I realized that the purple in her cloak perfectly matched the color of her eyes. She looked positively magical, though a little delicate. Though the little girl could not have been more than three, her violet eyes glared out at me as if assessing me and passing premature judgement upon me. The intelligence I found there caused my curiosity to spike.
Curious as I was, I pulled my gaze away from the purple-eyes child and, with hands now on my hips, asked the old woman, "So where is this baby you have brought me here to see?"
The old woman's voice croaked, her mouth open to answer. No sound left her lips, however, and her hands nervously clasped one another.
"I am the baby she is referring to," a startlingly harsh voice answered me.
I whipped my head around. "I am Elva," the purple-eyes child spoke again, her voice deep and mature as an adult's.
I shivered at the quality of her voice. I suddenly had the idea that this child was like an adult trapped in a toddler's body.
Just then, Elva flicked her head to the side, her bangs, flipping free of her forehead. I gasped. In the center of the child's forehead was a silvery dragon's mark.
"Eragon blessed her, you see," the old woman explained, wringing her hands. "And the dragon left that mark."
I ignored this obvious bit of information. It wasn't like there are a lot of dragons around anymore to be handing out marks.
The old woman's expression then turned vehement, an emotion I had doubted the old woman had the capability of feeling. "I fear that the dragon has cursed her!"
"No, my dear," I tried to explain, "that is a good thing." A thought occurred to me. "Yes, all and good, but I thought you brought me here to see a baby. Where is the baby?"
"I am that baby," Elva spoke again, her voice startlingly cold.
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head and waving my hands in front of me as if to swat the statement away. "No, no," I started, "you may be little, but you are no baby."
The child's purple eyes narrowed in on me. "No, she is referring to me. I was a baby. The curse compelled me to use magic to grow several years older in just a few short weeks." She spoke slowly, as if she were the one speaking to a child.
I glared at her. I did not like her tone of voice. Then, her words sank in. "Curse?" I repeated. I lifted my eyebrows.
"Yes, a curse. Eragon's curse," she clarified. "I feel everyone's pain and am compelled by the curse to relieve or to intervene, or to even prevent the injury if I so choose." Even as she spoke she winced and her lip quivered, as though she were feeling someone's pain just then.
Repulsion crashed over me. I stared in horror at the child. Elva's eyes hardened in anger, witnessing my reaction and awaiting my verbal response.
I ground me teeth together. "That stupid clod Eragon!" I growled.
Elva's eyes relaxed. A faint, humorless smile stretched across her thin lips.
"What should I do to help her?" the old woman piteously interjected.
I lifted my chin. "Do not worry, my dear. I shall take her under my personal tutelage. I will take care of her education," I declared. Perhaps in time, we could also find a solution, or at least a way to help her deal with the pain.
Snapping out of my reverie, I growled again. "The next time I see Eragon, it will not go well for him," I promised, the pleasant ring of a threat in my voice.