Chapter Seven

I Also Considered "Erogain"

Eragon, Arya, Orik and Saphira were traveling through the Hadarac Desert, to not particular place and in no real logical part of Inheritance continuity, when Eragon said "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Then go," said Orik.

"Where?"

"Ugh—you've been traveling around Alagaesia for months now. Where have you always gone to the bathroom before?"

"I don't know. Paolini never really addressed that awkward topic."

"Find a bush!"

"We're in the middle of a desert! There are no bushes!"

"There must be one around here somewhere," Arya said. "Just go, we'll wait for you?"

Eragon grumbled, got off his horse and went off. Orik turned to Arya and muttered, "Are we actually going to wait for him?"

"Yes."

"Damn."


"Finally," Eragon muttered, as he came across a very scraggly and emaciated bush. He grimaced. "Well, it's not much of a toilet, but it'll do, I guess."

And thus he commenced urinating. "Ah," he sighed.

Just then, he heard a cold, cruel voice from behind him. "Hello, Eragon."

Eragon whipped his head around. Standing behind him was a figure, dressed all in black (yeah, I know, that makes four so far, so sue me), his face hidden except for his eyes, a dark cloth like a turban wrapped around his head.

The figure took a dagger out of his belt. "Prepare to die, Shur'tugal." He raised it up and was about to attack—

"Um—eh-heh," Eragon said awkwardly, "uh…as you can see, I'm a little…busy right now. Could you just—"

"What? Oh," he said. He lowered his dagger and cleared his throat. "Alright."

A moment passed. The figure cleared his throat again. "Just a second," Eragon muttered. "Wait—oh, wait…"

"Err…"

"Okay, done." ZIP. Eragon turned to face his opponent. "Anyway…you were saying?"

"Yes," the figure said irritably. He raised his dagger again. "Prepare to die."

And with a "HI-YA!" the black-robed villain launched himself at Eragon. Eragon let out a cry and dove out of the way. The figure landed on the ground, then quickly jumped back to face him again. His brown eyes narrowed.

"Hmm. That was pretty lame," the dark-robed figure admitted.

Eragon raised a hand. "Look. I've done this kind of thing before, with Murtagh at the end of Eldest. You're a mysterious figure, all cloaked so I can't see your face; obviously there's going to be a big shock when I find out who you are. So, um, I'm kind of in a hurry before my friends leave without me. Can we just skip to the big discovery?"

The figure shrugged. "I guess," he said. Then, clearing his throat again, he said, all dramatic-like, "Who am I, you ask? I—" he whipped the folds off of his face. "AM YOU!"

Underneath the cover was the face of Eragon himself! He gasped. "Okay, that really was a surprise," he muttered.

"Yeah, I know," the other said. He was still cloaked in a black costume and turban, though his face was now revealed. "For you see, I am your clone, created by King Galbatorix to slay you at last. You cannot outfight—yourself! HIYA!"

With that, he drew out his sword—a long, red blade Galbatorix's best smiths had made, itself a perfect clone of Zar'roc—and leapt into the air. Eragon quickly reached for his hip and pulled out—nothing. "Oh, yeah. Murtagh stole that," he muttered, looking up as his twin began to descend toward him. "Uh-oh."

His doppelganger's boot connected with Eragon's face; he flew to the ground, the evil Eragon standing over him, a foot on Eragon's chest. He held clone-Zar'roc over Eragon. "Time to die," he said dramatically, and brought the sword down for the kill.

Eragon quickly kicked up—his knee connected with certain parts of evil-Eragon that are rather delicate, and the villain reeled back, dropping his sword from his hand. He bent over, gasping and coughing, his turban half-off his head. Eragon quickly picked up the faux Zar'roc and said, "Your evil days are over, Evil Eragon!"

He came forward and slashed the air; his clone ducked, and the turban finally fell of his head. "I defy that name as I deny you!" he hissed. "My name is Hairisgon!"

"Hairisgon?" Eragon said, raising an eyebrow. Then his twin stood; his crown was no longer covered. Eragon gaped for a moment…then began laughing. He pointed. "You're bald!" he cried.

"Shut up!" the evil one cried. His completely hairless skull glistened in the sun.

"You're—oh my nonexistent gods!" Eragon cried, doubling over. "Why—why are you—"

Hairisgon hissed. "The spell that Galbatorix used to create me requires either hair or blood—the two staples of the 'evil clone' cliché. But what he didn't realize was that whichever component you use, the clone will lack the other one. Since I was made from blood, then, I have no hair. Which is a lot better than the other option, I might point out!"

"I'm not so sure," Eragon said; his face contorted, and then he fell, hollering with laughter again. "And your name is HAIRISGON! Oh, that's freakin' BRILLIANT! Oh…I'm gonna die," he giggled.

"Yes," Hairisgon said, his eyes steely. "You are."

And with that, he attacked, with Eragon incapacitated with laughter—the chuckling hero could only raise his arm in defense, and even with his opponent attacking, he was unable to stop laughing.


"All I'm saying, is, you just like to keep him around because he compliments you on your hair," Orik said.

"That's not true," Arya said. "He also compliments me on my eyebrows. I mean, seriously, do you realize how much time it takes every morning to get them this sculpted?"

Just then, in the distance, they heard—"ARYA! Pfft—heh-heh—ORIK! SAPHIRA! YOU GOTTA—HA HA HA!"

"Oh no!" Saphira cried. "Eragon is in trouble!"

"Yeah. Sounds like he's being attacked by a gang of clowns," Arya said skeptically. She sighed. "Let's go save him."

They rushed over and found the two fighting, hand-to-hand, rolling on the dusty ground. Eragon had finally managed to stop laughing—perhaps because Hairisgon's hands were wrapped around his throat. Saphira quickly dove into the fray, ripped the two combatants apart and separated them, and everyone gasped at the two dusty foes, shocked.

"By Guntera's beard!" Orik cried. "There are two Eragons!"

"But how?" Saphira wondered.

"I've heard of this enchantment," Arya said. "Galbatorix must have created a clone. One is the true Eragon; the other is evil."

"But which is which?" Orik asked.

"What?" Eragon said, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know," Arya said, biting her lip. "They look so similar, I—I can't tell them apart."

"You can't?" Eragon said, incredulous. His eyes turned to Hairisgon's shiny dome.

"I know!" Orik agreed. "Aye, there's no way to tell them apart!"

"Um, yes there is," Eragon said.

"Saphira," Arya said, turning. "Which one is the real Eragon?"

The dragon brought her serpentine neck close to the two of them, nostrils dilated. "Um…the one on the left. No, wait—the one on the right. Maybe."

"Come on, Saphira," Hairisgon said. "Don't you remember me? It's me, Eragon—I've known you your entire life!"

"You're not Eragon!" the real Dragon Rider cried. "I mean—look at him, Saphira! You can magically sense my mind from inside your egg but you can't tell he isn't me?!"

"Quiet, both of you!" Arya retorted. "We need to think this through," she said to the others. "How can we tell which one is real?"

"What if we ask them a question only Eragon could know?" Orik suggested.

"Like what?"

Saphira twisted to face them. "What was my first word?"

"Eragon," both said together.

"Ugh, of course," Arya said. "The spell would duplicate their minds as well. Aside from the fact that one is evil, the two are exactly the same in every way!"

"No we're not!" Eragon cried, completely exasperated. "Come on—notice any difference?" He motioned to his head, then the other's. The others weren't paying attention, though.

"Would they both have the gedway ignasia?" Orik asked.

Arya nodded.

"Oh., seriously, am I the smartest one in this group? Because that would just me sad," Eragon called.

"We could…I don't know…use some kind of spell to figure 'em out?"

"I don't know any spell of that nature," Arya said thoughtfully.

"I mean, we're not even wearing the same clothes!" Eragon cried. "Look—he's wearing black ninja clothes! Was I wearing black ninja clothes five minutes ago?!"

"Wait," Hairisgon said. "There's only one choice. Kill us both. That way you know you'll kill the real evil Eragon."

"Wouldn't that kill me?" Saphira said doubtfully.

"Well, yes—but don't you see? Only the real Eragon would say that!" Arya cried suddenly.

"No I wouldn't," Eragon said. "How noble do you think I am?"

"Shut up, clone!" she cried. She waved a hand at him—Eragon suddenly went flying through the air, hit the ground hard and blacked out.

"Wow," said Hairisgon, smiling. "I'm sure glad you guys figured out I was me."

"Well, I am pretty clever," Arya said loftily.

"What do we do with the clone?" Orik wondered, pushing the toe of his boot against Eragon.

"We should kill him," Hairisgon said quickly.

"Good idea," Orik agreed.

"Ugh, you bipeds are stupid," a languishing voice said, as Solumbum appeared from behind a sandy dune.

"The werecat? What are you doing here?" Arya asked. "You were killed off, like, three chapters ago. And what do you mean, we're stupid?"

The feline cleared its throat. "Did you, by any chance, happen to notice that this version of Eragon doesn't have HAIR?"

Orik, Arya and Saphira all blinked; then they turned and gaped at Hairisgon. Then, all at once, they fell on the ground and started laughing uproariously, as Hairisgon's eyes narrowed and his face began to turn red. "Stop it!" he hissed.

"Oh my nonexistent gods—look at him!" Arya cried, holding her middle.

"Guntera's beard, we're stupid!" Orik laughed. "But—not as stupid as he looks! HA HA!"

"Er—BRISINGR!" Hairisgon cried. And with that a burst of fire shot from him, and instantly incinerated Orik, Saphira and Arya to ashes and bone.

"Hee-hee. That was fun," Solumbum said. "Hey, wanna go get wasted?"

Hairisgon shrugged. "Okay."

And so the two of them went off to get drunk in Dras-Leona. But that's a whole 'nother story (which I may wind up writing, if I run out of other ideas).