In the early morning light, Ceunon appeared one of the more tranquil and quiet cities of the Empire, although as the day progressed it would no doubt get livelier. At this time there were few people in the streets, only a handful of fisherman heading down to the docks, a beggar, and the gate guards who muttered respectfully as Arya and Eragon made their way onto the large, cobbled, road.
The time meant that few had seen Saphira flying near the city earlier, and as such the usual throng of people attempting to catch a glimpse of Eragon Kingkiller was absent. A fisherman spotted them and jogged off down the road with renewed vigour, presumably to find his colleagues, and a woman who was setting up a number of signs and displays outside of a clothing shop rushed back indoors.
Arya had long learnt to ignore this kind of behaviour, having travelled among Men and Dwarves for decades, but still couldn't shake the feeling of concern that perhaps the townsfolk had rushed away that little bit too quickly. In time Eragon stopped outside a large half-timber building with a respectful frontage and wide, smooth glass windows, and rapped on the door heavily with his knuckles. In the window nearest to the doorway sat a wooden tablet bearing the words "We are closed, come back later!"
Obviously the residence of a relatively wealthy and prominent merchant but not of one who wished the show off, the door was opened by a girl who was, by Arya's casual reckoning, maybe a year or so younger than Eragon.
"The door quite clearly states that we're not yet op- oh…" The young woman froze as the door pulled fully open leaving Eragon directly in her face. Her eyes darted between him and Arya rapidly, a look of surprise and embarrassment fleeting across her features before she composed herself somewhat, curtsied, and welcomed them inside.
"Father said we should be expecting them. He's still in bed; he blames his age, as usual." She shook her head, but a smile on her face showed she meant no offence. "I was just making him breakfast. I usually take it up to him about now, and then we'd open up in an hour or so."
"Well no need to get him up just yet if he'd rather not, we can wait." assured Eragon. The girl laughed.
"Oh I'm quite sure he'll insist on getting dressed and coming down to talk as soon as possible. He also has something else to show you, or so he was saying the other day." And with that, the girl disappeared up the stairs with a tray of food and tea. "Oh, and help yourself if you want anything!" came the shout a few seconds later.
"His daughter?" asked Arya. Eragon nodded.
"Hared's wife died when their daughter, Kels, was very young… when I was last here, he was always talking about how he relies on her to keep him going, and he isn't as young as he used to be, but the poor man doesn't actually know how old he is. He was orphaned and… well… the whole story is quite an epic to tell. He'll probably insist on telling you." He explained, with a slight smirk. Arya smiled, pouring herself a boiling hot mug of tea.
"I'm sure I'll look forwards to it" she muttered, only slightly sarcastically, and settled into a chair. The kitchen was quite small, but warm and cosy. Various paintings and even an extravagant tapestry hung around the walls along with the usual pots and pans, a significant herb and spice rack, and a few other indistinguishable items.
Through an open door at the back of the kitchen she could see there was a small dining area joined with a half-study-half-library. They'd entered the kitchen through a cramped hallway where the flight of stone stairs lead upwards to the rest of their house. The door on the right of the hallway opened into the much more significant portion of the property downstairs; the shop itself.
From what Arya had seen most of the rooms internally gave the same impression as the outside of the building; that of the house of a man not afraid of making it comfortable, maybe even stylish, as long as it wasn't overly extravagant.
In due time, the noise of talking travelled down the stairs and Hared hobbled into the kitchen, Kels behind him and once again appearing slightly embarrassed. To Arya's slight surprise, he initiated the traditional Elven greeting with her and Eragon in turn, also adding the extra line to show his respect.
Despite being slightly stooped over, he stood well over 6 foot and appeared to be a man who was once built not unlike an ox. His hair was a fair blonde faded to grey and he sported a large beard, braided around the edges almost in a Dwarven fashion. His eyes were a bright blue and possessed the twinkle of intelligence and eccentricity that Arya recognised from many others, Jeod, Orrin, and Brom, to name but a few. This was in stark contrast to his daughter, whose hair and eyes was dark brown, and whose overall built was rather slim, although she seemed to have inherited some of her father's height, and the same aura of intelligence.
Hared settled into the chair opposite Arya, next to the kitchen fireplace, and placed his hands onto his temples.
"Well. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, of course, but these circumstances leave much to be desired." He spoke in a deep voice with the usual inflection of the people of the northern coast. Arya nodded in agreement, and was about to reply when he spoke again. "Anyway, usually I'm a rather roundabout man, and, at least here in Ceunon, I have a renowned difficulty with getting my point across quickly and understandably. That is to say that I'm prone to losing track of where I was in a conversation, of making nonsensical comparisons and subject changes, and generally letting my thoughts float all over the place until they come out of my mouth leaving everyone confused, including me, of course, and what with my age I can't help but think it's got worse. I read something in a-"
At this point Kels coughed lightly, a wry smile on her face, and Hared stopped and blinked once.
"Oh. I appear to have made my point very obvious, and that would be a first. All right, I'll say what I have to say and then I'll shut up until either of the two of you ask me questions, as I think that's the best way of doing it."
"A few days ago, I received a message from one of my business partners, as it were. A man in Kuasta, a healer, who practices the lower levels of magic to the best of his ability. He is neither rich, nor powerful, nor particularly well known, but among the sailors there he is appreciated for his abilities. Many an ailment or injury has been healed, if only in part, by his skills, and many an amputation has been averted, if you listen to all the tales."
"Anyway, to get back to the story, he sent me this letter concerning someone who broke into his house and stole several magic trinkets of his, nothing of world-changing importance but of significant sentimental value to him, as well as actual value in his line of work."
"I know not his reasons, and there was much he neglected to explain, but the fact he sent me this letter specifically with a warning means something. I'm convinced there must be something he has not told me. It is a shame, really, the letter was written almost 4 months ago and yet arrived only a week or so late. If it'd arrived before our little incident I would have made sure to protect the shop a little more."
He slowly climbed out of his chair and picked up the poker next to the fire, pushing back the charred lumps of wood and tossing another couple on, causing a fountain of embers to dance up the chimney.
"So several months ago, a man who you know experienced the exact same style burglary as you recently, and decided to warn you about it, but did not give you any information whatsoever about why he would decide to warn you?" Queried Eragon.
"Exactly so. And as a result, call me sceptical, but I believe he may have something to hide. I see no specific reason why he'd choose personally to warn me unless he knew more than he has told me."
"Well we don't have any other leads to follow up. We may have to travel to Kuasta and find this man." Eragon sighed. "I've got this horrible feeling of inevitability… that everywhere we go someone will simply point us in the direction of somewhere else on the other side of Alagaesia."
"Well, statistically speaking, you must be getting closer each time. Not that that's much consolation, of course, what with your current state." He added quickly, smiling sadly at Arya. "I have an extensive library of the bizarre, rare, and interesting things of this world, be they people, spells, places, events, animals, plants, or other phenomena, but I'm sure no matter how extensive my library is it must pale in comparison to the vast knowledge your races possesses, Lady Arya. Even so, know that none of what I have read or seen would explain the ailment from which you suffer. I am sorry." He bowed his head slightly.
"Please, you have already helped us enough and offered to give us hospitality here, and it is nobody's fault that I suffer from this ailment but my own, it would seem. As long as there is the hope of even an explanation Eragon and I shall pursue it. We cannot dare to abandon hope."
The room fell silent except for the crackling of burning bark and Eragon absentmindedly tapping his foot on the stone floor. After a while, Hared excused himself to go and open the shop, explaining that business was rare and he had a good feeling about today, and Kels busied herself with several pieces of housework, leaving Eragon and Arya sat in the warm kitchen nursing mugs of hot tea and contemplating their next move.
Kuasta was quite a journey, especially with the mountains taken into account, and if the wind remained strong it could take them significant time to cross the Spine. They both agreed Saphira needed to rest and regain her strength, but Eragon refused to wait too long, insisting to Arya that every day that Saphira rested was a day that Arya was going to grow weaker.
Reluctantly, she had to agree. There was no sense in keeping up the pretence of improvement, especially not to Eragon, when it was quite clear to both of them that the opposite was true; not every day would be painful, and not every night would be filled with nightmares, but every morning there was a bit more of her that she couldn't feel.
There was no doubt that it was worsening, and if anything the lack of pain was more disturbing than if it had been painful.
She placed a hand on her bare skin and closed her eyes, feeling the burning heat trace patterns on her palm, and yet feeling nothing, no pressure, no temperature, and no pain, from her body.
Silently, inside her head, she wept.
