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A Realization

After years of waiting, the opportunity of a lifetime finally presents itself.

...

It was late that night when Oren came to his senses once again. He never exactly fell asleep, but everything in the world seemed to move by in an ethereal blur ever since he heard the innkeeper utter those fateful words. He could barely remember his father taking him out of the inn and somewhere else. He could remember having an energetic conversation with him along the way, but could not recall any of the words. He now found himself in a strange dark room, lying in a bed that was not his own. His eyes couldn't decide whether to stay open or closed, but it did not matter because his pounding heart would never have let him sleep anyway. When he tried to stir, he found that nearly all his fingernails snagged on the bed sheet and realized that he must have mutilated them with his teeth without knowing it.

"Xandar," he silently uttered, wishing he could drift off to his world of dreams. But even Xandar did not come for him that night, not with real dragons and real Riders coming closer with every passing moment.

He sighed, and the dusty air of the room almost made him burst into a coughing fit. He remembered that he was in a rich man's guest room, a room which apparently hadn't been used in a very long time. He started to remember that after none of the inns would accept them, his father took him to an acquaintance among the city and begged him for hospitality for a single night.

"Three weeks," he whispered to nobody in particular, trying to find comfort in the sound of his own voice. "Three weeks and I'll get to see Eragon and Saphira. But are they still trying to find riders for the eggs? After six years, are the eggs still unhatched? They must be! They have to be! News of a dragon hatchling would have spread like wildfire."

He decided that, in the absence of his journal and pen, speaking to himself would suffice for today.

"To think that Saphira's children are taking so long to hatch! To think that they've been touched by thousands upon thousands of hands, but have rejected them all! They must know they are the last of their kind and have set high standards for their riders, or maybe just very unlikely ones. They must take after their mother! And Saphira… will she be as majestic as Eragon's words have described? I have never seen a dragon with my eyes or even a drawing of one, I have only seen the pictures my mind has drawn for me. Even now, I'm trembling at the thought of standing before one. How would a dragon's thoughts feel inside my head? Will I hear words when she speaks, or pure understanding? There is so much I don't know about them, yet, my desire to find out doesn't waver.

"It's just now starting to dawn on me how unlikely it will be for one of them to choose me. But it doesn't matter. I have decided that being rejected by them, becoming one of the thousands who have also been rejected, is not going to break my heart. I will be content forever just knowing that they have made their decision of me."

"But in three weeks, in just three weeks, I'll finally have my answer. This desire to touch the dragon eggs has been set into me and has bothered me every day of my childhood, and now I'll finally know whether or not it was for a reason."

"GAH!"

A voice suddenly screamed in anguish from somewhere else in the mansion, interrupting Oren's thoughts. Oren didn't recognize the voice as his father, but thought maybe he remembered it from earlier that day. Shoving all his thoughts to the side, he escaped from his bed sheets, pushed himself out of bed, slipped and tied his clothes back on, and carefully tried to feel his way out of the room. He found that the room was much larger than he predicted, but eventually found a wall to trace and emerged out into the main hallway.

He glanced down the lengthy corridor and spotted the bouncing rays of several candles cast upon the wall from a doorway near its end. He tread lightly on the hard floor, trying not to make a sound and startle whomever he approached. He wasn't quite sure what he expected to see or even whether he was doing the right thing. The voice cried out again when he was nearly halfway down the hall, screaming various words of curse and lamentation. It was undoubtedly coming from the lit room.

When he came to the end of the hallway and glanced inside, he saw an elderly man with a long white beard hunched over a writing table. Several tall candles lit the room from high above his desk. He clenched a piece of parchment with his hand and stared at it loathingly, as if trying to tear it apart with his mind. Oren recognized him as his father's friend and the owner of the estate, the man he had seen earlier during his bout of trance-induced amnesia.

"Is everything alright, sir?" Oren asked meekly from the doorway.

Instantly, the old man slammed his paper down and snapped his head around to see the boy. When he recognized who it was, his face lightened up considerably.

"Oren Glaedrson, is there something I can do for you?"

"I heard yelling," Oren said. "I was afraid something was happening."

"Oh, oh, my apologies," said the old man. "Sorry, I… I'm fuming over this letter I received, that's all. One of my colleagues has the brains of an ox. Half of his life savings was stolen because he refused to keep them in the king's treasury like I asked…" his voice faded down into a grumble as he turned to his desk and slammed his hand back onto the paper. "I'm deeply sorry if I've awakened you. I sleep late in the day and I do my writing work at night, you see, and I'm not used to having guests at this hour…"

"No, no, it's okay," Oren said. "You didn't wake me. I was already awake."

"Well, in that case, don't bother yourself with me," he said dismissively. "Go on and enjoy the rest of the night."

"Yes, sir," Oren said as he glanced back toward the dark hallway.

"Please, call me Andov," said the man. "As far as I'm concerned, you and your father have earned my friendship well enough."

Oren smiled in acknowledgement and moved to leave the room when Sir Andov raised an eyebrow and added, "Your father tells me you're looking forward to seeing the Riders."

"Yes," he said simply. "It's been a fantasy of mine to meet them."

"You know," he nodded, turning back to look at the boy in the eye. "It won't be easy to see them. You should be prepared; you aren't the only person in town with that fantasy. I've been around for a while, and I think I can tell you some things about them that might interest you. Tomorrow morning, I'll tell you everything I know."

"Thank you, Sir Andov," Oren said with a respectful nod. He once again turned to leave.

"Unless…" said the old man with a smirk on his face, stopping Oren's escape once more. "Unless that's the reason you're losing sleep in the first place. If that'd be the case, I don't see any harm in a little storytelling where we stand."

Oren fought it, but couldn't hold back a smile at the offer. "Fine, tell me," he finally said.

"Ah ha," said the man with a very wide grin as he turned on his stool to face him. "Us old men are more clever than you give us credit for. Now, the Riders. Where would you like me to start?"

"The eggs," Oren said, a gleam in his eye now. "How many of them did Saphira have? Have any of them hatched yet?"

"There were three eggs," said the man, turning to stare at the wall in an effort to recall his past. "I remember them clearly. Black, blue, and green, they were."

"How do you know?" asked Oren.

"Because I touched them myself when I was a child," he explained. "Eragon and Saphira were doing the same thing years ago, traveling from city to city and trying to find Riders for the dragons in the eggs. I remember the whole ceremony and all. I really didn't understand what the eggs were or why they were so important, I merely joined in because my father told me to. Fortunately for me, I was not chosen as a Rider. They've done this three times in the past, each time for the new generations."

"But didn't Saphira only lay the eggs six years ago?"

"No, but it was six years ago they began their latest trip around Aephea. Saphira's eggs have been around before you were born. Before I was born, in fact, and even before my father was born. It seems they don't want to hatch for anybody in all of Aephea. In fact, I believe this is the last time they are presenting the eggs to us. If they still refuse to hatch, they will be sent back to Alagaësia. Maybe the dragons insist on being born in their homeland."

Oren's heart sank just a little bit at the thought of the eggs being around for so many decades without finding one Rider. He was that much more convinced that the dragons would reject him as well.

"Did you see Saphira?" Oren asked a bit eagerly. "What did she look like?"

"I did," hummed Sir Andov. "Saphira… she was a sight to behold. And Blade, her mate, was with her as well. He was a green beast, smaller, and not quite as spectacular, whereas Saphira… she was blue, and she was nearly a third of the size bigger than him. When you see her at first, you'd almost have to strain your eyes to see her true color, since her scales reflect the sunlight so brilliantly. I've never seen such intimidating animals in all my life. They were a gorgeous sight, but you can guess that I was eager to leave the ceremony the first chance I got."

"What can I expect the ceremony to be like?" Oren asked.

"The ceremony isn't all that special," he admitted, "at least when I was there to see it. Eragon's a storyteller. He'll dazzle you with some of his words about the past, then he sets the eggs on the ground and everyone lines up to touch them and see if they'll hatch. After everyone has their hopes dashed, Saphira flies off to get away from all the people, and so does Blade, although they tell me he and his Rider are usually never around for the ceremony in the first place. Then there's a reception afterwards, where Eragon tells some more stories and talks with everybody. If you're lucky, he might show you some magic tricks or recite some poetry for you. Oh, and of course, everybody gets drunk out of their wits. Eragon stays around for about a week, more or less, and he offers to heal the wounded. Might be great if you accidentally scraped your knee at the festival or something, but he can't do anything like give you new arms or legs or even heal most of the worse sicknesses he's been presented with. All in all, a bit overrated, I'd say."

"Interesting," said Oren. "Do the Riders ever do anything else besides travel around and try to hatch the eggs?"

"Of course," said Sir Andov. "They've fought in many wars in Aephea to keep the peace. They're heroes to us all. But the last war hasn't been for almost two centuries now. It was a border dispute over eastern Aephea. Seventeen cities didn't want to live by the rules of one king, but another, so they took up arms and tried to change things by force. It lasted for nearly three years before Saphira and Blade put an abrupt stop to it. The presence of dragons here hasn't exactly encouraged uprising for quite a time."

"And so the Riders have nothing to do during a time of peace," said Oren. "I see. Except, maybe they could fly around and try to stop all the minor things like thievery."

"Don't be silly!" Sir Andov said. "You might as well ask them to put an end to lying and cheating. That just isn't their duty. Don't misunderstand me, I've no doubt that the world still needs them, but just not at the moment. On the other hand, news from across the ocean doesn't reach here but once in a shooting star, and the last recorded news we've heard of Alagaësia is that they're in a bit of turmoil ever since the Riders left them. I can only wonder why they didn't just stay there in the first place."

"In the book," Oren said, "Eragon said that he had no choice but to leave, even though he didn't want to."

"I know the story," he said, "but it's still something to wonder about, isn't it? Since, after all, he still refuses to tell us just why he left and why he never plans to return."

"Maybe that's why they're so eager to hatch the eggs," Oren wondered. "Maybe they want to send the new Riders back to Alagaësia in their absence."

It was indeed something to wonder about, something that they both knew they wouldn't be finding the answer to anytime soon. Their chat lasted a little while longer, Sir Andov explaining some of the specifics about where the ceremony would take place in the city and how it would be moderated.

"You should probably go back home to avoid these blasted crowds," Sir Andov said, "but if you return here in exactly fifteen days from now, I can help you get prepared for the event and make sure you get into a prominent position with the Riders."

"Thank you for your hospitality and your generousness, Sir Andov," Oren said with a nod.

"Think nothing of it," the man grunted. "Your father and his craft have served me well for all my life, it's about time I start repaying him in some better ways than just money."

With that, he handed Oren a candle to find his way back to the room. Oren returned to bed, his mind much calmer now and better prepared for sleep. He passed out very quickly and slept for a very long time, not even stirring until high noon.

"Oren! Come quickly!"

His father pounded on the door of his room, rattling him out of his morning dreams. He jumped up to attention.

"What is it?" he yelled as he got out of bed.

"What makes you think you're allowed to sleep the day away?" Glaedr complained. "The world is going by without you! Sir Andov has some news he wants to announce to us. If he waits any longer, he says it might be too late!"

"I'll be right there," he replied.

Oren scrambled to dress himself, then joined his father in the hallway. They walked through some cramped corridors before entering the rich man's impressive dining hall. The table was lined with various bowls and dishes, all ready for a meal.

"Ah, finally," Sir Andov said from the head of the table upon seeing them. "This is the second meal I've had prepared. Your father and I finished off the breakfast before you even arose!"

"I'm sorry," Oren said.

"Well," said the old man with a wink, "did you at least sleep well enough?"

"I slept very well, thank you," Oren answered with a smile.

"Glad to hear it," he said.

Glaedr and Oren took their seats, and everyone began to serve themselves. Oren appreciated the opportunity to have such a large meal to fill his tingling stomach. Keeping with Sir Andov's pace, they all ate quickly, and the table was cleared within minutes.

"Now then," said Sir Andov, clearing his throat when everything was finished, "Let us get down to business. I have a bit of news for you. Last night, when I heard of your interest with the Dragon Riders from Alagaësia, I've had some servants stand by at the town's meeting halls for any new information of them. As luck would have it, there came some very early this morning. The news is as follows: as of nearly one week ago, the Riders have left the city of Raxius."

"They're getting close," commented Glaedr.

"Indeed," said Sir Andov with a glimmer in his eyes, "but much closer than you think! I didn't expect you to be able to decipher the implications of this news as I have done, but that's just what I will explain."

Sir Andov yanked on a large pouch that was hanging from the back of his wooden chair and produced a very large scroll from it. He unrolled it across the table. It took Oren a moment to realize what he was looking at: it was a map of Aephea, but on a much greater scale than he had ever seen before in his life. The entire top of the map was lined with the notorious Mountains of No Passage. Far to the east, the ground seemed to dissolve into the ocean, forming countless deltas and crumbs of land. To the southeast, a great river sprouted from the ocean and snaked up and down as it flowed to the west, curving off the bottom of the map as shortly after entering the great western woods. The woods lined the western end of the map, flowing up and around in a mighty cluster until they connected with the mountains. In addition, a hundred dots and lines were drawn over the surface, indicating every road and city in what must have been the known world.

"Amazing!" Oren said as he gazed at the work of art before him. "This is all of Aephea, right?"

"It's some artist's rendition of the most of it, yes," said Sir Andov. "I'm a very lucky man to have such a thing. Now, do you see where the ocean begins out to the east? Leagues and leagues and leagues across that ocean lies Alagaësia. Nobody knows how far it is, but that's the ocean which the Dragon Riders flew across when they came here."

"You could spend half your lifetime just trying to walk to the ocean," Oren gaped. "I never realized it was such a long way."

"Now then," he said, turning his attention to a small portion of the map. "This is Rohall, the place where we sit right now. And down south here is Raxius."

He indicated two clearly labeled dots on the map and the road which connected them.

"If you were to leave right now and gallop to Raxius, it would take you no less than seven days to arrive there. But! That would be useless, would it not? The Riders have already left Raxius some days ago. They're no longer there. Instead…"

He pointed to a blank spot on the map a little bit east of Rohall.

"…they are here."

"They're in the wilderness?" asked Oren. "How could you guess where they would chose to camp in the wilderness?"

"It's just as much the wilderness as THIS little spot," he said, indicating another unmarked area up in the forest near the foothills of the mountains. "Recognize that little patch of the woods, do we?"

"Rassan-Kaya, 'friend of the mountains,'" remarked Glaedr thoughtfully.

"Indeed," said Sir Andov. "The author of this map has chosen to leave off the smaller, less significant points of interest, such as your little town was many decades ago. In the same way, I know for a fact that there exists a tiny village in this unmarked area of the wilderness which goes by the name of Qin."

"So what does this mean?" Oren asked. "The Dragon Riders are there?"

"They are," said Sir Andov as he folded his hands over the map. "It is a promise; I would bet my life's earnings on it. And since it's not a well-known village, they will not attract a crowd like they would here."

"What are you implying?" Oren asked.

"I swear to you," he said definitely as he rolled up his map, "that if you set out on horseback immediately and ride until the sun goes down, you will see Saphira and Eragon with your own eyes this very night!"

To say that Oren's face lit up at the words would have been an understatement. His father and the old man eagerly awaited his response, but it took several minutes for one to reach his mouth. Finally, he just said "… Is that so?"

"What do you think?" asked his father. "Should we go?"

"Sounds like an adventure," replied Oren with a wide grin. "If you approve of it, then let's go."

"Then so be it," announced Glaedr. "We'll ride for Qin Village."

It took less than an hour for Sir Andov to pack enough a day's worth of food for the travelers, fetch two of his horses, give Glaedr some detailed instructions to get to the village, and send them on their way.

Many thanks and handshakes were given to the old man at their departure, but he shrugged them all off saying that it was only his duty as a friend. Within the hour, they were off.

The nine-hour ride seemed to last for days. They stopped a total of four times to feed the horses and let them rest, also replenishing themselves with the crackers and water which had been supplied for them. As the afternoon faded into evening, the air became chilly again and the two travelers began to reflect upon just how mad they were for attempting such a trip.

"Are you scared?" asked Glaedr on their fourth and final rest stop off the side of the road.

"Of course," said Oren as he crunched on a cracker and held his coat tightly around him. "The closer we get to actually doing this, the more part of me wants to run away and never come back."

"I understand," Glaedr said nervously. "I'm scared too. To tell you the truth, when I was a child and the dragons were making their rounds, I made a point of staying away from them. I wouldn't be caught dead in the same city as one if I could help it."

"So you knew," Oren said simply. "When you told me about the eggs, you already knew long beforehand that they were there."

"I suppose so," Glaedr said. "Back then, I could care less about what the Riders were doing. I only told you what I knew because you seemed so interested in the book I gave you."

"Thank you for everything," Oren said solemnly. "For the book, and for being here with me today. I owe you so much."

"You owe me one promise," said Glaedr sternly. "The whole thought of dragons still gives me a weak stomach. After all this, you have to promise me that you will make Xandar be friendly to me."

"Xandar?" Oren repeated, mouth halfway agape. "How did you know that name?"

"You mutter it in your sleep," smiled his father.

When they were rested enough, they saddled onto their horses one last time and started the final drive to the village of Qin. As the miles continued to fall away behind them, Oren kept trying to squint ahead to catch any glimpse he could of the place which Sir Andov promised would be there. His vision faded further and further, though, as the sky grew dark and only the full moon lit the path ahead of them.

"Wait! Stop!" his father called, pulling on the reigns of his horse and slowing down. Oren did the same.

"Is something wrong?" He asked. "Did we go off course?"

"We're here," Glaedr whispered excitedly. He pointed to a narrow and hardly noticeable dirt path branching from the main road and into the woods. He carefully started his horse down the path and motioned for his son to follow.

They rode the path through the dark forest for a good half an hour. The horses whinnied in fright at every sound that came from the surrounding woods, but the riders managed to keep them focused well enough. Glaedr was also on his guard in case some creature would jump out at them, but thankfully none did.

At last, the forest ended and they followed the now clearly distinct path to the top of a hill. Below them, nestled cozily between the rolling hills of the grassy plains and shining in the moonlight, was the village of Qin. Oren scanned over the scenery but saw no signs of Saphira or anything that might resemble a dragon. Glaedr did the same as if by instinct, and also found himself disappointed.

"It's a bit late," said Glaedr in a worried tone, "but let's go in."

Oren nodded, and they both quietly strode their weary horses down the hill and towards the cluster of wooden buildings that constituted the village.

The first thing that Oren noticed about Qin was that it was deathly still. At that ungodly hour of the night, it was impossible to tell that it was not just a ghost town without a single living soul. He slowly coaxed his horse down what looked like the main isle of town, glancing left and right for any signs of life. Some hinge made a creaking noise nearby, causing Orin to jump straight up and nearly fall off the saddle.

"Saphira probably got hungry and ate everyone," Oren joked in a nervous whisper.

He turned a corner and started down a new row of buildings. There was a storage barn just like he had in Rassan-Kaya, and a well-house, some buildings that were probably workplaces, and then more homes with only darkness and silence emanating from inside. Eragon and Saphira were still nowhere to be seen. He started to feel the pangs of betrayal, but decided not to let his heart break just yet- After all, he had nothing to lose in the first place.

Before he knew what was happening, his horse started to whinny and rear up out of his control.

"Easy, easy!" he said as he pulled himself forward with the reigns, trying not to fall off.

It was only after the horse calmed down that he saw what the problem was. There was a giant pit dug into the ground right in front of him, a pit which the horse refused to walk into. It was massive. It looked as if someone had pitched a giant, jagged boulder from a nearby rooftop and stuck it into the ground.

Looking closely, he could see that three smaller trenches surrounded the first. He started to guide his horse around the obstacle, but soon realized there was another nearly identical formation nearby.

"DON'T MOVE!" a voice suddenly demanded of him.

Oren's head snapped around. To his horror, his father nowhere to be seen. Instead, he found himself alone with an angry man dressed in a dark hood who threatened him with a spear. He could only freeze, afraid to do or say anything. After all, he was the intruder.

"Get off your horse and face me," the man barked, jabbing the spear in the direction of Oren's face. He obeyed.

"I'm unarmed," Oren pleaded. "You don't need to threaten me."

"Sorry, but I can't trust that," snapped the man. Looking Oren up and down, he added, "You're a young one."

"Yeah, I am," Oren said nervously. "I don't mean you harm. I'm just a visitor."

"A visitor," said the man with an arrogant laugh. "If you're visiting us to rob us or murder us, I laugh in your face at your impeccable timing. I warn you: tonight, we're guarded by a dragon!"

"Show me to her!" Oren pleaded. "She's the reason I came!"

The man tilted his head and gave Oren a look like he was crazy. He lowered his weapon.

"Oh, Oh," he said, "now I get you. An egg-hunter, you are. She's sleeping just over that hill. But I wouldn't disturb her in her sleep if I were you. You'd be a fool of the highest degree to wake a sleeping dragon. The ceremony is tomorrow. You'll have your chance at the eggs just like everybody else. I can tie up your horse for you, but you should go find a rock to curl up around and be patient, aye?"

"Thank you, sir," Oren said politely, guiding the horse to him and handing over the reins. "By the way, my father should be around this village. Have you seen him? He was just with me, but he's gone."

"Haven't seen him," the man said brashly, "but I wouldn't be surprised if he's bound and gagged in my brother's house right now, a bit like you were about to be. Go rest your little head somewhere and wait for tomorrow, aye?"

At that, the watchman turned and left, taking the horse with him. Oren started to look around for somewhere to rest, as the man suggested, but soon found that his restless heart had other plans.

He glanced back toward the village. The man was out of sight.

He turned his gaze toward the hill.

"I won't wake her," he told himself. "I just want to look at her. Just one glance, and I'll be content until tomorrow."

Taking one last look back, he began bounding up the hill. He ran slowly at first, but soon found himself running as fast as his legs could carry him, his heart throbbing harder as the hilltop dropped to reveal more of the night sky. With one final dive, he dropped to his knees at the hilltop and carefully peered over it.