Sylvan Shadows

The wind rustled the leaves of the Menoa Tree, and a cloud of starlings exploded from the cover of its branches. The sun had sunk low enough that all of the forest was in twilight. Grey-green, sylvan shadows of late afternoon danced across the ground.

Kyran sat high in the canopy, perched upon one the Menoa Tree's colossal branches. His eyes were closed as he listened to the music of the forest: the singing of larks, the howling of wolves, even the footsteps of ants. Ebrithil had instructed him to wait on this branch without opening his eyes for three days and three nights, and the sun was finally setting on the third day.

When the world settled into darkness, Kyran opened his eyes, which quickly adjusted to the nighttime gloom, and unceremoniously leaped from the branch. He plummeted through the air, ten feet, twenty feet, fifty feet. Seconds away from the unforgiving ground, Kyran reached out and grabbed one of the many vines hanging from the trunk of the Menoa Tree. He slid down this vine for another twenty feet or so and then, coming to the end of the leafy rope, fell the last ten feet to the ground.

Kyran landed gracefully, rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet for a moment, enjoying the feeling of solid ground under his toes, and then sprinted off toward the lights of Ellesméra.

###

The streets of the greatest elfish city were quiet and calm. Warm lantern light spilled from the windows and doorways of homes that were hardly distinguishable from the trees they grew out of. Kyran loped along, dodging the few elves still walking about in the darkness. He ran without stopping, his feet flying across the ground, until he reached a tree house that was several dozen feet above the ground, a story or two above the rest. It was dark except for a lone candle in the leftmost window.

Kyran hesitated for a moment and then started up the narrow staircase that grew from the tree's trunk. Upon reaching the doorway to the house, he knocked once (for propriety's sake, Kyran expected that the house's occupant must already know of his presence). Hearing nothing, he pushed aside the curtain of woven grass covering the entrance to the house and stepped inside.

The front room was dark, empty but for a fairth of a blooming lily hung on the wall. Kyran glanced for a moment at the physical memory of the white-flowered plant before walking deeper into the house.

He passed through two more darkened rooms before reaching the leftmost room. Kyran could see the candlelight leaking through the miniscule gaps in the reed curtain that hung across the entrance. He stopped just on the threshold, bowed his head and whispered, "I have returned, ebrithil."

A voice from beyond the curtain replied, "Enter."

Kyran brushed aside the curtain and stepped into his teacher's study. The room was austere and neat; a long ledge grew out of the wall to form a desk, concavities in the wall of the room were filled with books, and the only furniture consisted of two chairs woven from twigs and vines. Sitting in one of these chairs, facing the window with her back turned to Kyran, was his teacher.

"Have a seat, Kyran."

"Yes, ebrithil."

Kyran moved with inhuman speed. One moment he was standing stiffly in the doorway, the next he was seated in the chair, as still as if he had been there for centuries.

His teacher sighed, her midnight-black hair rippling softly.

"Is something wrong, ebrithil?"

Kyran's teacher turned to face him. Her green eyes and fine elven features were impossible to read and—though her clothing was unassuming and plain— everything about her seemed to radiate authority. As expected, of course.

Arya Dröttning, Queen of the Elves, addressed Kyran with a hint of disappointment in her voice. "No, Shur'tugal, nothing is wrong. You have completed your assignment satisfactorily."

Kyran was confused. If I have done everything correctly, then why does ebrithil seem unhappy?

"However, Kyran, I admit that I had expected more of you."

Ah. There must have been some riddle to her instructions, some detail that I missed. Kyran cursed his foolishness.

"I had hoped that you would disobey my instructions or, better still, fail them."

"Yes, ebrithil, I am deeply—" Kyran stopped midway through his apology and blinked at his teacher in confusion. Did she just say… she had wished me to fail?

"I… I do not understand."

Arya nodded. "No, I expect you would not. You have yet to grasp the subtle beauty of imperfection."

Kyran was silent.

"What did you learn during these past three days?"

"I have memorized the birdcalls of twenty-seven species, counted the exact number of leaves on the Menoa—"

Arya interrupted him. "But what did you learn?"

Kyran wrinkled his brow in confusion.

Arya watched quietly as Kyran struggled, futilely, to come up with the answer that she desired. After a few minutes, she said, "I had hoped that you would tell me how the wolf-mother in her den amongst the Menoa Tree's roots coddles her youngest pup because his white fur is unlike any of his brothers' grey pelts. I had hoped you would tell me of the wind from the south and west that carries with it the faint scent of Gil'ead. I had hoped that you would recount for me the individual dreams of a flock of starlings."

But what's the use of all that? Kyran thought, disgruntledly.

"And it is exactly because you do not understand the meaning of my words that you have neither failed nor succeeded."

Chastised, Kyran dropped his gaze to the floor. "I am sorry, ebrithil."

Arya rose from her chair and walked to the shelves on the other side of the room. As she ran her hand along the spines of the books, she said, "I had always planned for you to continue your training outside of Du Weldenvarden—"

Kyran fought to keep his shock from showing on his face. Outside of Du Weldenvarden? I had expected to travel Alagaësia as a Rider, but to train beyond the forest? What is the use? There is no knowledge, no learning in the world not already known to the elves.

"—but I had not expected this day to come so soon." Arya's hand stopped, hovering over a particular book. She pulled it from the shelf, and Kyran was horrified at the sight of its leather-bound cover.

"Ebrithil! That book!"

"Yes, it is not of elfish make. This is a human creation and a rare one. The Domia abr Wyrda. Nearly every copy was destroyed during the reign of Galbatorix. I doubt that there are more than a dozen still in Alagaësia."

Kyran narrowed his eyes. "Using the skin of an animal to bind a book. Humans are barbarians."

Arya slid the book back in to place. She turned from the bookshelf and sat back down across from Kyran. "Do you truly believe that? Many of your predecessors were humans. Besides myself, the only full-fledged Rider in existence is human."

"But Eragon-elda is unique; he was blessed by the dragons at the Agaetí Blödhren and has become more elf than human."

"Your prejudice is unbecoming, Kyran-finiarel." Arya's voice was uncharacteristically harsh, all the more for her ironic use of –finiarel— an honorific used to praise a young man of great promise.

The heavy silence remained for a few tense moments before Arya continued, "Of the eight dragon eggs sent to Alagaësia, yours was the first to choose its Rider and the first to hatch. It has already been two months since you left your home of Osilon to join me in Ellesméra, and you have learned much of the secrets of the Ancient Language and of magic."

Kyran felt a glow of pride in his chest at his teacher's words.

"And yet you understand nothing." Arya's tone was chiding. She crossed her arms. "Fírnen also tells me that Vindroth is similarly immature, though he has the excuse of being only two months old. Nevertheless, it is time for you both to leave Du Weldenvarden for the easternmost city of Hedarth. I have just received word that the last of the eggs sent to the humans has chosen its Rider. Both of the human Riders and their dragons will soon depart for the Beor Mountains, where the dwarf king, Orik, plans to welcome them before their final journey to the east."

"Will the dwarvish Rider be joining them?"

"Yes, along with the dwarves' unhatched egg."

"What of the two eggs sent to the Urgals?"

Arya smiled knowingly. "The Urgralgra are not particularly fond of dwarves. Their party has already departed for the east and will likely reach the river's edge before us all."

Kyran felt a soft tug at the edge of his consciousness. Are you still speaking with Arya-elda?

Yes. She says we will be leaving Du Weldenvarden soon.

Fírnen-elda has told me. We will meet at the Crags. Vindroth seemed annoyed; his tone was terse. But he would not respond to Kyran's inquires about his sour mood and withdrew from his Rider's mind.

"And when are we to depart, ebrithil?"

"First light tomorrow."

"But what of the second egg? I thought it was still in Sílthrim."

Arya shook her head. "It has not chosen a Rider. Moira-vodhra will return tonight with the egg."

"I see."

Arya stood up from her chair, and Kyran mirrored her movements. "Go, gather your belongings." Kyran was already brushing aside the reed curtain when Arya called after him. "Remember to pack light. Vindroth is unused to carrying much weight."

As he dashed down the stairs, Kyran couldn't keep himself from grinning. Vindroth!

Kyran?

We're finally going to fly together!

###

It was the darkness of early morning on the next day. As Kyran hung the last of the saddlebags from Vindroth's spines, he discovered that the dragon's dejected mood had rubbed off on him. Yesterday, he had been overjoyed at the thought of finally flying with Vindroth, only to have his hopes crushed upon reaching the Crags. Despite Vindroth's and his own protests, Fírnen had firmly stated that the younger dragon was not yet strong enough to carry a rider on such a long journey. Vindroth would be given the task of bearing the party's supplies, as well as the unhatched dragon egg. Kyran, Arya, and Moira would ride atop Fírnen's back via a specially built saddle.

Why am I being treated like a packhorse? I'm strong enough to carry a twig like you on my back, grumbled Vindroth.

Kyran sighed. For a few leagues I'm sure, but across the whole of Alagaësia?

Vindroth reared his head, sunlight glinting off of his lilac scales. Of course!

Nevertheless, we must obey Fírnen-elda's directions.

The dragon brought his scaly head down to Kyran's eyelevel. His lavender eyes blazed defiantly. But I could. Carry you.

Kyran grinned. I'd expect no less of a valiant hunter of the skies.

Hmph. Vindroth twitched his tail with a surly flourish.

Kyran reached for the final saddlebag—one of Arya's—and stretched to hang it over Vindroth's spines. As he did so, one of the straps of the bag came undone, and the contents began to slip out. Kyran quickly righted the bag and caught the few items that had fallen. As he repacked the luggage, one parcel caught his eye.

It was a smooth tablet, wrapped in a cloth. One corner had come unwrapped, and revealed the telltale edge of a fairth. His curiosity piqued, Kyran pulled back the rest of the cloth, while Vindroth bent his neck to look over his Rider's shoulder.

The fairth was a portrait, depicting the head and shoulders of a man. At first, Kyran thought him to be a particularly rugged elf, but upon closer inspection realized that his ears were not nearly pointed enough and his hair was neither white nor black but a sort of brownish color.

Vindroth was the first to guess at his identity. It looks like some sort of half-elf.

Kyran turned the fairth over in his hands, looking for some sort of label. He found none. Flipping it back over, Kyran and Vindroth scrutinized the portrait. There was something off about it, something other than the strange appearance of its subject. Kyran couldn't quite wrap his head around it. Although the brown-haired man was by no means as beautiful as an elf, there was a sense of majesty about his features. His brown eyes were alight with an inner fire, and the right corner of his mouth curved upward in a wry smile. Arya's fairths were usually beautifully composed yet simplistic and realistic; however, this one was different. Kyran felt that there must be some deeper emotion hidden beneath the surface of this particular portrait.

"Have you finished loading the supplies, Kyran, Vindroth?"

Kyran turned around at the sound of Arya's voice. "Ebrithil."

Vindroth echoed. Ebrithil.

A shadow fell over them as Fírnen glided to the ground, Arya and Moira on his back. The towering, emerald green dragon landed on the grass with a soft thud, and both female elves sprang from his back. Moira, a female elf with unusually pale blue eyes and starlight hair, cradled a silver dragon egg in her arms. Even in the darkness it shone like some massive gemstone, and Kyran couldn't help but recall Vindroth's own amethyst-colored egg. You were so much smaller then.

Next to the much larger Fírnen, Vindroth was always a little touchy about his size. Yes, but I have grown. And I will grow even larger still.

Moira approached, offering the egg. "Shur'tugal."

Kyran smoothly slipped the fairth back into its saddlebag and took the egg from Moira's arms. She nodded tacitly before turning to mount Fírnen's back once again. Vindroth was amused by the odd saddle Fírnen wore and wondered to Kyran; Do you think that would be very difficult to fly with? It must catch the wind all wrong.

Kyran glanced at the saddle. It was completely unlike the normal molded leather or thick woven canvas that Fírnen usually wore. This saddle was in fact a kind of platform that balanced across Fírnen's shoulders and was secured by thick leather straps. There was more than enough room for three riders, and Kyran guessed that up to eight passengers would be able to fit comfortably.

Arya had come to stand beside him and gently touched his shoulder. "Ready?"

Kyran looked out over the treetops of De Weldenvarden and took a deep breath. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he would never see his home again.

We will return. Though you are right to fear, for it will no longer be the same home that you left behind. The forest grows and dies. That is the way of things.

Vindroth, I fear that you are growing into quite the philosopher.

Vindroth snorted in response, stood up from the ground, and stretched his wings. The first pale rays of sunlight shone through the thin membrane and cast purple shadows on the grass.

"Yes, ebrithil. We are ready."