Brom's strict training filled nearly every hour as the days slowly blended into weeks. Sparring, memorizing, history and thinking clearly in battle were all prominently featured topics that took up most, if not all, of Eragon's waking moments. However, in the brief breaks or the times he found himself lying awake and gazing at the stars, Eragon found himself missing Zoe more and more. He missed reading with her, sparring, learning from Brom with her and practicing the Ancient Language during the evening. She had been an addition to his life he hadn't fully appreciated until she was gone. Was it her open wonder at his tacking skills? Was it her wry sense of humor? Or was it, simply, her steady presence in a world that seemed to be constantly shifting before him?
He tried to tell himself in those moments that she would make it. They would see each other in Dras'Leona and continue on from there. He tried, like anyone would in his position, not to think about the very real possibility that Zoe would not make it to Dras'Leona – they had seen no sign of her along the road and, while Brom thought she might travel further down the coast and then cross the mountains, it was only a guess. The old man, if he felt any worry for their companion, did not speak of it and the topic went undiscussed between father and son.
Because of the splint on his right hand which he had earned during his ill-conceived fight with the Urgals, Eragon was forced to use his left hand when he sparred and practiced his writing. Before long he could duel as well with his left hand as he could with his right – the challenge of it proving to be just what he needed to keep his thoughts off Zoe. Writing with his left hand, however, proved to be a far sight more difficult than he had originally imagined it could be. He just never could get his hand to do what he wanted it to and it amused Saphira endlessly. The letters would turn out spikey and larger then he wanted. Eventually he gave up on it for the task seemed maddeningly frustrating.
And through this, they kept on traveling. Following the swift flowing Torak River southeast, along the edge of the Spine they watched as the river grew in size as tributaries flowed into it from every side, feeding its bulging girth. Along the river towns and villages began to spring up and they had to be careful about concealing their identities. A task made more difficult for Eragon because of the posters which featured his face in every single village, no matter how small it was.
When the River was over a league wide, Brom pointed at the silt islands that dotted the water. "We're close to LeonaLake now," he said. "It's only about two leagues away."
"Do you think we can get there before nightfall?" asked Eragon.
"We can try."
Dusk soon made the trail hard to follow, but the sound of the river on their side guided them and, when the moon rose, the bright disk provided enough light to see what lay ahead. The sight would stay with Eragon for his whole life. It was not the first lake he had seen, for there had been many beautiful ones hidden within the steep valleys of the Spine, but it was the largest and, in the silver moonlight, it was the most enchanting.
Leona Lake looked like a thin sheet of silver beaten over the land. Aside from a bright strip of moonlight reflecting off the surface, it was indistinguishable from the ground. He wondered, with an inner laugh, if he ran down to it if he would be able to run across it as if it were solid and not liquid. Saphira was on the rocky shore, fanning her wings to dry them. Her scales reflected the glittering water and she seemed even more beautiful than usual to his eyes.
Eragon greeted her and she said, The water is lovely-deep, cool, and clear.
Maybe I'll go swimming tomorrow. In an effort to joke he said to her, Remember how Zoe was always going on about being clean?
Yes and she had a point you do smell rather...unfortunate. Eragon shook his head at his dragon and they set up camp under a stand of trees. For once Brom did not pull out the sword and challenge Eragon to a spar and they ate in silence, both lost in thought.
Eragon was just preparing to sleep when he asked Saphira.
Yes little one.
Do you think we will see Zoe again?
Saphira blew a puff of smoke over Eragon's head and said I think we will. Zoe would not allow anything to come in between her and accomplishing her goals. Have some faith little one. Eragon sighed but he was too tired to think too long on the matter and in a few minutes he was soon asleep. He fell asleep looking up at the stars and imaging that, in the dark space between the glimmering orbs, he could see the softly smiling face of one of his dearest friends.
I had arrived at a cross roads.
Trees and dense vegetation surrounded me and the trail was just wide enough for a wagon or carriage. It was not that I did not know what route to take, it was the left one, but that it was currently blocked by a rather odd and eccentric looking middle aged woman and a boy of about twelve. She was standing, in the middle of the road, as if considering what route to take and I was just about to try and move Melynlas around her when she turned and gave me a brilliant smile.
The sight of her made me gasp in shock and sudden recognition.
The woman's clothes were travel worn but they looked to be of good quality. She had a sword was hanging from her hip and a travelling pack on her shoulders. With her wildly curling hair and the mischievous glint in her eyes she was quite striking if slightly frightening. This was Angela the Herbalist and, of course, the young boy standing beside her with a feral grin upon his face was really not a boy at all. That was, in fact, Solembum the werecat. Her mind was guarded by walls of iron and there was an inexplicable feeling of power, of strength and of mystery that hung around her.
"A fellow traveler I presume?" asked Angela in a cherry voice.
Had I not known that Solembum was actually a werecat I would have thought he was just a young boy. His feral grin was unnerving and it put me on my guard. I knew just how dangerous the Herbalist and the werecat were...what if she found out who I was? In my time traveling alone I had quickly grown accustomed to evading questions, patrols of Empire soldiers, the occasional merchant caravan and any villagers I encountered, but Angela would be a hard one to fool.
I was still riding along the coast and would soon have to cross the mountains which would then drop me down to Leona Lake. As I had traveled spring had come to Alagaesia - sooner to the coast where most of the precipitation came as rain not snow. Melynlas had enjoyed searching for the little bits of green grass that were starting to poke through and her coat was beginning to lose its rough, winter length as her silky summer one came in. Because the road I followed ran so close to the sea, I even took my mare for a canter down the soft sandy beaches and satisfied an old-time childhood whim.
I had also enjoyed the milder weather. It became easier to find edible berries and roots, but the downfall was the cold rain that would occasionally be blown in from the sea and drench everything with cold water. When the squalls would become too unbearable to travel in I was forced to stop and find a somewhat dry camping space in a clump of trees or under an overhang of rock. Since being separated from Brom and Eragon, I travelled mainly by night depending on how busy the trail was. I had rather enjoyed the silence and the chance to perfect my archery and hunting skills, but there were times when the loneliness grew unbearable. I missed Eragon's constant questions, Brom's lessons and Saphira's company, but I had no choice but to grow used to nothing more than the company of my horse and my own thoughts.
According to the merchant I had spoken with and bartered for a new cloak from, when I dropped down to the Lake I would need to take the ferry across the Lake. Apparently it came every other day and it was usually used by merchants and the occasional traveler coming from the coast. I would have to pass through a small village and use a few of my gold coins for passage, but it was faster than traveling around the Lake which would take upwards of three to four weeks of hard riding. From my current location, I had guessed that I must be just a few weeks travel from Brom's old village of Kuasta that was just a little further up the coast.
But I was currently at a crossroads and facing a very difficult to fool wielder of magic.
"I am," I said simply. With a little bit of luck Angela would not demand better responses. It was a feeble hope.
"Well, what is your destination?" asked Angela impatiently. Her eyes took in my clothes and the black cloak that I had pulled around to cover my sword.
I was silent for a moment considering my answer before saying with a shrug, "I had thought of journeying to Dras'Leona, but that is subject to change. I go where the winds blow and there is a chance of adventure. What about you and your companion?"
Melynlas shifted underneath me and I hoped that by twisting the question back to the Herbalist I could escape without having to go into all the details. Solembum was staring at me and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew I was withholding a great deal. It felt as if the werecat stripped away all my armor and exposed all my secrets with just one look. It was unsettling; very unsettling and I could not wait to escape this claustrophobic clearing where the road divided.
Angela smiled cheerily, "I am of the same mindset when it comes to travel. Where the wind goes and adventure is sure to be found." Twirling one of her many scarves around a finger she asked, "Why, in the name of fluffy hedgehogs, are you thinking of traveling to that city? It is hardly a pleasant vacation destination unless you want to visit their monument to evil and see all the worst kind of people." Angela gave me a serious look and I could not help but inwardly agree with her. If I had a choice I would not travel to Dras'Leona. However, it wasn't as if I had much of one: Eragon and Brom were going there.
I shrugged again as if to say 'It is so unfortunate isn't it?' With a casual smile I said out loud, "I agree with you, but unfortunately I was hoping to meet with some old friends and leave as soon as I could."
It was then, to my surprise, that Angela stepped forward suddenly and took Melynlas's reins in one hand to hold her still. My hand unconsciously slipped to my sword hilt and I automatically felt myself prepare to fight, but the Herbalist just shook her head and said in a quiet voice that I had lean down to hear.
"Do you really think I don't know who you are?" Her eyes burned with intensity as they met my own and I was frozen in place by them, unable to move or look away. "Your arrival sent shockwaves throughout the very fabric of the world. You are lucky that that accursed King isn't in touch with the land or else he would have flown out on his dragon looking for you." She rested one hand over mine and the touch sent shivers through me as she continued, "I can see the mark of power on you. Use that power wisely, girl. For you, Zoe, is someone who has been cursed or gifted – if you want to look at it that way – with knowledge of the future. You had better not destroy the world with your meddling for if you do then you will answer to me."
The look that she gave me chilled me to my bones and her hand tightened around my own until it hurt. I realized, quite suddenly, that the books really hadn't explained to readers just how dangerous the Herbalist really was. Angela was many things but she kept it hidden under a mask of eccentricity and odd habits. She could destroy me with a snap of her fingers. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if she could destroy Galabtorix just as easily if she really put her mind to it.
I gathered me courage and, somehow, managed to find my voice which had temporarily deserted me. Softly, my voice unsure and sounding so young to my ears, I did my best to put words to my feelings. "I understand all too well. I can only hope that my choices and my very arrival have not changed things irrevocably. Can you tell me why I was sent to this land?" I felt a bit of desperate hope - maybe Angela would have answers for me. Just maybe...I waited with bated breath.
The Herbalist shook her head and gave a small laugh as if the question amused her. "No, your purpose has yet to be discovered. Remember Zoe that sometimes people have to die. You can't always save them." I felt a cold chill grow within me and her next words did nothing to ease it. "Perhaps there is hope for you after all - you seem a great deal clearer headed and refined than that Rider. Now off you go! We haven't all day."
Before I could respond she gave Melynlas a smack on her rump and my mare bolted away all too eager to leave the Herbalist and her odd companion behind. By the time I got her back under control Angela and Solembum were far behind and I had no doubt that if I returned to the crossroads they would be gone. They seemed to have been waiting for me, as if Angela had known the road I chose to take and how quickly I would travel upon it.
Sometimes people have to die.
What had she meant by that? Eragon was right; the Hebalist seemed to leave you with more questions than answers. It was as though she purposely enjoyed making you feel lost in a wilderness of possible meanings and ambiguous statements.
I clucked Melynlas into a trot and tried to keep my thoughts occupied on other, less troubling, thoughts but to avail. I kept thinking about Angela and her words. Did she know that Brom would die saving Eragon? Probably for, after all, Angela was a true seer. She must have guessed that I would plan on rescuing him and decided to warn me against changing what had to be. Or was that not what she had meant? Had she been talking of other lives? Other people who I could not save?
It was giving me a headache.
Alagaesia in general gave me a headache.
I was so preoccupied with my thoughts that three days of travel past without me really being aware of my surroundings. That was a foolish mistake on my part. It was my distraction that proved instrumental in my near capture. I had forgotten just how dangerous this world was and how even a simple mistake can lead to either your death or your capture. I was no longer just a simple American girl, but a potential enemy to a mad King who had no qualms about killing anyone who threatened his position. In my isolation from the world and the quiet weeks of travel that had gone by so peacefully, I had forgotten. This was no fairytale in which you woke up or were saved by a knight in shining armor before you got killed.
I had just passed through the mountain pass and was about three days from Leona Lake when I choose a camp in a small hallow after a long night of travel. It was well sheltered, but I did not search with my mind to see if there was anyone camped close by. Instead I unsaddled my mare and sat down on the hard dry ground while Melynlas ate some of the sparse grass that grew between the gnarled trees. While I sat there I played with stick as I considered my options along with the very real possibility of destroying everything because of my meddling. I was weary, but sleep refused to find me easily and any that I had found was so restless that it really wasn't like sleep at all.
I was also thinking of the sudden disappearance of my visions. I had not had one since separating from Brom and Eragon and it both troubled and comforted me. Why had they suddenly stopped coming? It was if something about Brom and Eragon triggered them or maybe it had nothing to do with my friends. I didn't know what to think or do – about anything. All I knew was I no longer saw those vivid images and there were no more equally vivid dreams.
Melynlas was standing a little ways away grazing and the sky was just beginning to lighten to the East. A warm breeze ruffled my hair and I leaned back against a tree feeling the tension slowly leave my shoulders. It would be nice to be back with the others, to have their company distract me from these never ending questions which I had, currently, too much time to think about.
There was a sudden snap.
The noise was so sudden and unexpected that I jumped and my mare spooked, her head flying up as she flared her nostrils. Suddenly I was on high alert and every single horror story I had ever read started playing through my mind along with the very real possibility that I was about to be attacked. I stretched my mind out and realized, to my horror, that there was a group of three slavers watching me. I could sense their evil intentions – the unspeakable things they would like to do to me – and I almost, not quite but almost, screamed out for help.
I mastered my panic, horror and anger at my stupidity. Adrenalin was beginning to course through my veins and it made it suddenly easier to think and to act as I had to. I rose, careful not to make a noise, and slipped my sword from its sheath. The well-oiled blade did not make a sound as it slid free and settled comfortingly in my hand. Just holding it made me feel more confident and it seemed to sharpen my senses. It was then that the men acted for they had realized that I was aware of them.
And so began my very first true fight with people of my own race.
They lunged from the shadows with their blades drawn. I whipped my sword up and engaged them. From the brief glimpses I got of their minds I could feel their surprise and shock at my skill. They suddenly realized that attacking me was maybe not the greatest idea. But it was too late for them to back out and, despite their shock, they were fairly certain that they could overpower me if they fought their hardest.
As we exchanged blows, I came to find that their movements were slow and clumsy though they made up for it with brute strength and the simple fact that outnumbered me. The slavers used their swords like clubs while I was more used to more flow and grace where the true danger lay in being out-thought by a clever opponent. However, this was no sparring match but, rather, my first true fight and it was both terrifying and exhilarating. As I fought my mind went on autopilot: parry, lunge, twirl, jab, back and then forward.
Dead.
On to the next.
I killed my first man without realizing it until I nearly tripped over him. It was an amateur mistake and, had I been facing a truly skilled opponent, they would have disarmed me then and there. But I was so focused, so intent on the movements and the fighting that I had, unconsciously, not realized it and shock nearly made me drop my sword. Some part of me, the part fueled by adrenalin that had not gone numb by this terrifying act, made my body back up quickly which saved me from being beheaded.
That part of my brain made my body continue the fight. For, in such a situation, there is no time for stopping or considering what just happened. It is after the fight that you look back and sometimes throw up or burst into tears or well you get the idea. There is no time in between for trying to digest everything that just happened.
On to the next.
I want to be sick.
The rest of the fight went by in a blur of jabs, lunges and parries. It was only when I stood panting in the middle of the clearing that I realized my sword was bloody, the three scruffy men were dead in front of me and that the fight was over.
It was over.
I felt sick and I could not tear my eyes away from the three bodies. I had killed.
What have I done? I thought to myself. They may have had families and while they had been thinking of doing some rather unspeakable things to me it still felt wrong – horribly wrong – to have killed them. It didn't matter that I had acted in self-defense. I had killed and it seemed as if some part of me had been broken - my rose tinted glasses were shattered and I saw the world with clear eyes. It was not a pretty world in fact it was cruel and ruthless. I had known this but it felt as if the message had just been driven home. It was as though someone had dumped a bucket of icy water on me. I had convinced myself that I would never have to deal with something like this – somehow I had – and allowed myself to be caught up in an adventure. I had conveniently forgotten the fact that I would have to kill other people. I had been a romantic fool to think that this would not be part of following Eragon around.
I would go to war.
I would kill again and again.
This was what I had signed myself up for and I had conveniently forgotten it in the weeks of travel, the fun times, the laughter, the slowly growing friendship between us and the isolation that the wild landscape provided from such hard truths.
I suddenly realized that this is how soldiers must feel - why they come home so changed. I gazed at my bloodstained blade and, finally, I just sat down and stared at my hands. A distant part of me urged me to leave before anyone found me, but I felt numb. It was then that the soft muzzle of Melynlas nudged me. The mare blew in my face and nudged me again. A bit of life came back to me and I rose. My motions felt mechanical and I avoided looking at the dead bodies. Instead I cleaned my sword on some grass and saddled my mare.
I could not go home now. I had changed so much and, after all of this, could I ever face my ordinary parents after this? Could I look them in the face and say: I learned how to fight with a sword, fire a bow, defend my mind and I have killed? No…no I probably couldn't.
I forced myself to examine the reasons behind my actions as I walked Melynlas down the trail. Were they good enough? Yes. They actually were and deep down I knew they were. Would I have do this kind of thing again? Yes. Could I live with it? Maybe. No – scratch that – I could if I did it in self-defense and because it was my last option. What was I fighting for? Was it good enough? Yes. It was. I was fighting for the freedom of Alagaesia and for the slim chance of returning home to my family. I was fighting because Eragon was my friend and he needed all the help I could give him. I twisted Melynlas's mane around my fingers and leaned against her as she walked down the trail - walking away from the dead bodies of the slavers.
The thought that kept bugging me was not the typical one of: did I enjoy killing that most ask themselves over and over. My answer to that question was 'no' a thousand times, underlined and capitalized until people got the point. It was another, maybe cliché, but just as important one: why me? Why a girl from Earth? Why a typical teenager whose biggest problems was her family and not an entire country of thousands of innocent bystanders?
Stopping Melynlas, I mounted my mare and nudged her into a trot. I was tired, but there was no way I was stopping after what had just happened.
As I rode a chilling thought suddenly struck me: this wasn't the first time I had killed.
Far from it.
I felt as if there were memories just beyond my reach and I felt glad that they were for I didn't know if I could live with myself if I remembered some of them. This wasn't the first time I had been caught up in a war. This wasn't the first time I had to choose between killing and being killed. It was a chilling realization. It was terrifying to suddenly realize that I didn't actually know all the things stored in my head or all the things I had done. The realization was more terrifying then even facing Urgals or fighting the men had been. I was suddenly and so completely relieved that there was a wall between what I was now and who I had been. I could only hope that it would stay there until I was ready to deal with it.
The truth of it might just be the hardest thing I would ever face.
I made myself a promise then as I rode towards Dras'Leona. The sun was just peaking over the horizon and sending rays of bright sunshine out over the land. The light was a welcomed sight and the old line of "everything looks better in the sunlight" rang true. My adrenalin, still pumping through me, made everything seem clearer and brighter as if it had all been put through photoshop and had the color increased.
I raised my face to the sky and smiled slightly, soaking up the sun and grateful for the simple pleasure of seeing the light again after what felt like complete darkness.
I would save Brom because I loved him. I would do my best to make sure he lived because he didn't deserve the death that awaited him. Killing the slave traders that had attacked me had shocked me back into reality and out of the negative tailspin I had been unknowingly caught in. It had me realize that I could not live with myself if I failed to save the old, grumpy man that was so many things to so many people - that was so much to me.
As I rounded a bend in the road I caught sight of Leona Lake glittering in the distance and I clucked Melynlas forward into a canter. I was filled with renewed determination - I would become who I was meant to be and discover who I used to be.
It was better to know. Better know who I was then not know at all.