Are we leaving or have we left?
As the day glided as smoothly as the icy sun above through towards the evening, the house warmed with the glow of company, presents waiting upon the table, the fire crackling to the conversation throbbing within, food and future confrontations just waiting to be served. My friends and I left this bubbling cauldron to play Crotchets in the field behind the house. To put the game into simple terms, one person was a crotchet, and everyone else had to escape the crotchet. When the crotchet caught someone, that someone had to hold onto the crotchet's shoulder, continuing in a chain until everyone was in a chain. Those who weren't caught could pull people off the end, as long as they weren't caught by someone else on the chain, in which case they joined the chain as normal.
We were quickly joined by the boys in the village, which cheered up my friends to a suspicious degree, and making me guess of later antics at the climax party my parents were planning for me later. My family aren't wont for money, because of their considerable work for the Varden, so I hoped it would be a nice one so I could leave on a high.
This inevitably returned my thoughts to the egg, now safely tucked away in my warm wardrobe, away from the many eyes in the house. The dragon inside shifted again when I had put it inside, which by then I had assumed that it showed that it was cold, so I covered it more tightly in my scarf, and rubbed a little, which caused that strange sound I had heard in the forest. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sound, locked in a trance, until I heard the door open, which caused me to hastily shut the wardrobe, as my brother's face peered around the door, informing me that my presence was needed. I gently pushed the thought away, promising myself that the next morning I could take the egg with me on my adventure, deliver it to the Varden and gain enough respect to perhaps meet this mysterious Eragon. The excitement I felt was mistaken for birthday jubilation, so nothing could be discerned.
"Gotcha!" I yelped, as I was crotchet, grabbing Ophelia's arm, making her squeak. She has always been shy, our Ophelia, but within she has a wicked sense of humour, that comes out with all the frequency of an Elf from the Northern Forests. This is more often than people think, especially these days.
"Nora that hurt! Why are you so strong? You're not a boy!" I was tempted to reply what I always replied; that I was magician, and those boys could easily become snails if I so wished. They would laugh, and tell me to stop being so silly. One day, I'm afraid my friends will have to mash, eat and digest their words.
Instead, I apologised meekly, and proposed that we swapped if I hurt so much. I noted with slightly exasperated amusement that the boys seemed more relieved than the girls.
As the moon and the sun swung each other around, swapping watches on the world below, secretly winking a secret love affair, or so it sometimes seemed to me, as the moon was oftentimes in the sky the same time as the sun, coloured banners were draped over the sides of the house and various people my age poured into our small estate, chasing each other, swapping casual banter, hopefully not all about me, judging by the words used that made my ears flush red as I rushed up the stairs, all galvanised by running around all afternoon with my friends, to be primped up to a ridiculous quantity by my hyped mother.
She was sitting on my bed, and when she saw my bedraggled appearance, she merely smiled, and began to pull off my dress, pointing to the waiting iron bath, which I sat in, scalding my feet on the hot water, which felt like little pinpricks on my feet, making me gasp. My mother, with the aid of magic, levitated water upon my hair, and scrubbed soap into it, which removed all traces of dirt and grease, leaving my long dark hair shining and clean. Satisfying, she gave me a sponge, which I charmed to scour the mud off my body, and the soap to sluice sweat off of me. When the objects finished their job, I felt strangely different, completely new, like a cut gem carved from a solid block cut from a vein in the ground.
I stepped out of the bath, and my mother dried me with a magicked warm towel which seemed to fatigue her slightly, so I bolstered the spell with my own strength, so I was dried faster. With a sigh, I then stepped into my white dress, which seemed different to how it did that morning. Back then, it was a trinket. Now, it was...a right. I pulled up the neckline as high as possible, feeling rather self conscious, as my mother strapped on the green bodice. She didn't comment, and so nor did I.
She reached into her dress pocket, and retrieved a necklace, made with a silver chain and embodied with a single green emerald. I started, realising that it was grandmother's necklace, and stepped back from my mother, not wanting to wear it, as it was all that remained of my grandmother after being slaughtered by the Forsworn when defending the egg carriers before I was born, resulting in that particular egg being taken. I wondered if there was the irony that the same egg was in my wardrobe, unknown to my mother.
"No Tamunora please put it on. She would want her only female grandchild to wear it with pride. The weight of memory isn't always so hard to bear."
How right my mother was. When I look back now, it was the memories that made me, never mind the future. The future can be changed, with the right or wrong decisions, and it can even be controlled, within reason, but memories? All that can be changed is their presence, and that is tantamount difficult, even with magic interference. So we learn to live with them, and so in living with them, we learn.
I sniffed, feeling my eyes shake slightly, "All right mother, if you insist." I whispered, slightly shakily, and I bent my neck forwards for my mother to reach upwards to my neck, feeling as if an axe may fall without my realising.
My mother finished off my appearance by applying green eye powder to my eyes, black ink to my eyelashes and red ochre to my lips. My hair was bound into a modest bun, put up to show that childish innocence was cast aside and I had to show humility now.
My mother stood back with a heartfelt sigh, and looked me up and down, "I think you'll do," She commented, eyes alight, "Count how many jaws and eyes drop, will you? I need to get the pie out of the oven."
I smiled, "Yes mother." She left the room, humming a sweet tune to herself quietly. I watched her go, and to this day I feverently hope that I will be more subtle on my daughter's fifteenth birthday party.
I slipped in my parents' room next door to see myself in the looking glass. I had honestly only used it once, and that was when I was eleven. I shocked myself by my appearance, for I was much taller than I thought, with a slender waist, long black hair that was like a large bird's nest, interesting green eyes with quizzical eyebrows set with a small nose and mouth. My ears were the funniest, sticking out at an extraordinary angle, making me finally understand why my brother always asked to use my ear to measure angles when he was building a new contraption with his friends.
Yet four years later, I looked much different. Not only was I even taller again, but my hair was in an elegant bun, my face sculpted into a new chiselled shape, with my cheekbones as smooth triangles, my eyes still more interesting and green, and my nose and mouth were bigger. Most of all, my ears weren't at such an extreme angle anymore; they were now steep enough to be mountains, not hills.
"Tamunora! Are you coming down?"
I jumped, my new ears a brighter red, "Just coming!" I called, taking one last peek at myself. I wasn't sure what to make of the person I saw, but I decided that, indeed, she will do.
For the next few hours I felt a little like a castle under siege. I was forced to parry various questions shot from all directions, as well as requests for dances and speeches as the music started, and there was no question of escape. I did my best to socialise, but I discovered quickly that if I wanted adventure, there would be no chance of a celebratory feast and dances afterwards. Rather, it would have to be, for this grumpy old youth, a plate of bread and cheese, some ale and bed.
However, it wasn't all so awful. At one point during the evening, I found myself sat down with a boy I had never met before. Apparently he was the cousin of the baker's son, and after a little to drink, we sat down on the back porch of the house, and, or so I'd like to think, cantered away into the night. Sadly, all we did was talk there, but as we drank more, and moved into the house away from the harsh weather, and the pace increased, he began leaning against me, which I have to admit I didn't mind at all, as he was a good looking boy and alcohol had clouded my senses. It was at one point I admitted to him that my father tried to give me a dragon's egg.
"A dragon's egg, you say?" He slurred, "Do you realise...that...that you could be...you know...killed for that?"
"Of course," I sniggered, "But, who gives...a...a...shit about what happens here? On...ly people who live here, yes? Anyway, I'm sure that...that someone migh' spirit it awaaaay!"
"Yes, that's pl-pl...Possible!" He agreed, sluggishly taking a long sip from his tankard, then he widened his eyes into my face, which I found myself liking, "Can you show me this egg, or 'as it been shpririted away?"
Despite my clumsy tongue, I felt myself hesitate; was it safe to show him. I shrugged, deciding that he wouldn't remember in the morning, "Why not?" I led him up to my room, and upon entering my room, he flopped onto my bed, grinning like, well, a drunken fool I suppose! I giggled at the impropriety of it, and opened my wardrobe to show him the egg. It was almost scalding to the touch, near vibrating because of the heat, but I didn't notice as I was too befuddled and proud to notice.
He stroked it, and gave a mock yelp, "Burning silk – now who was smart enough to think of something so genius?! Do you reckon it will hatch to you?"
I shook my head roughly, "Of course not. It didn't choose me." I put down the egg on the bed, when he reached forwards, touching my cheek in an odd manner. I stared at him.
"I chi-choose you." He slurred, his eyes a too brilliant sight for me to bear, and I heard the egg vibrate even more, this time little squeaks perpetuated from it, but I didn't register it, as the attraction I felt for this boy was overpowering and bizarre. I took the hand he had against my face, and ran it down my neck. He used it to pull me to the bed, careful to not land on the egg, and began sliding his nose down over the side of my head, and I reached my lips around to kiss his, but he stopped me, his hand to my lips. He got up, and began pulling off his jerkin. Taking the message, the infusion leading me on, I pulled at his jerkin, and he at my bodice, feverishly fighting to be free of these restricting clothes, to really touch each other...
Within seconds we were down to underclothes, and he reached for the lower part of mine, intent on undoing them. This was when common sense flushed in, like a dam being smashed apart, allowing the water to escape. I caught his hands, feeling scared, and his face did nothing to help, his cheeks red with infuriation, eyes aflame, but shame was there, I like to think now, shame of what would happen if we continued.
Perhaps we stopped at just the right moment, because the egg suddenly began to rock between us, vigorously, furiously, reflecting on the emotions that coursed through both of us. Transfixed, we stared at the egg, watching the truth before our eyes. As the crack appeared, I was convinced that one of us was the new Dragon Rider.
The problem was, who?
