Righting The Wrong


Far below, they spotted a blight in the landscape. Whereas the surrounding land was lush and full of life in the shadow of the Beor Mountains, this patch of land that Saphira was now circling seemed almost … dead. Could that be …? Eragon wondered, staring at the blemish below – it looked almost like an ugly disease that was starting to spread across the land so recently torn apart by a war that had lasted a century.

Land and let us find out, Glaedr suggested. But be careful, Shadeslayer … Brightscales.

Yes master.

Drifting cautiously to the ground, Saphira tilted her wings as Eragon reached out with his mind to his surroundings, trying to determine if anyone or anything was about. However no shred of life, not one minuscule glimmer, remained in that spot around a lonely hill on the eastern most edge of the Beor Mountains. As she landed, a small puff of dust rose and was seized away by the breeze of early summer. Despite the height of the midday sun, the fact that the mountains were yet to cast a shadow and the absence of any whiff of clouds in the sky, Eragon shivered.

As he jumped down from Saphira's back, he glanced around wondering where this breach was supposed to be. In the back of his mind he sensed the collective minds of the eldunarí searching and watching and waiting. As he began to make his way to the crest of the small hill, he once again ran though his mind the overly complex and slightly twisted spell that Glaedr had painstakingly taught to him during the three weeks since he'd left the island and the elves.

I don't see anything out of the ordinar-

He broke off mid-sentence as he reached the top of the hill. From the sky above it was virtually invisible to see for the crack – the breach, the rupture – between their world and the next had no depth comprehensible or possible. He stood with the hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms rising up as fear and awe settled over him in a cold flush. It was … full of possibilities too disastrous and awful to bear thinking about, yet the unknown gave him an oddly perverse desire to find out more; to yield to his curiosity and excitement and take that unimaginable step forwards … forwards into that light … so bright and so full … who knew what adventures – what lay beyond? All he wanted was a look … a glimpse … one little peek –

Eragon!

If it wasn't for Saphira and the awareness's of dragons long gone, Eragon might well have taken that fateful step forwards.

You would not be dead; and not being dead would mean you could not come back. How can that path bring you life if you already have it? How can it send you away if you are not meant to be there? You would be trapped in the land of the dead but you would be alive … and you would not die.

Eragon shuddered as the dragon's mind withdrew. He hadn't known who it was, although he suspected it had been a wild dragon in life; wild and free and not at all afraid of anything other than death and the beyond. He retreated several steps and it was then that he noticed the rotting corpse of an earthy brown dragon and a dwarf.

Alarmed, Eragon dropped to one knee beside them; there were no wounds, no marks of battle … nor did he recognise the dragon and the Rider. It seemed that they had drained themselves of all energy – even that of their life-force – and had perished from exhaustion. Eragon wondered if they had been the ones to tear apart reality … then he dismissed the thought for where could they have learnt such a possibility from? She didn't know of it; of all the secrets Oromis had let slip to her, Eragon knew he'd never let this one out to someone who wasn't a Rider.

And all the while he had his back turned to the gap, he could not shake the feeling it was watching him and that it knew exactly what he was there to do; as if it was silently preparing itself to fight him tooth and nail to remain open. Eragon wondered how many of the dead had escaped through into life … images of people, half rotting and not quite dead or alive, roaming the streets of Dras Leona flashed across his mind and he shuddered.

Unless that second spell – the one designed to create a pathway to restore life – had actually worked of course … then there would be no not-quite-dead people roaming Alagaësia. Only fully alive people whose design and purpose was anyone's guess and everyone's concern … fully alive people who knew what death was like and who had no intention of returning there any time soon … and only the breach itself knew just who had been set free … his gut clenched as a list of names of those he definitely didn't want back echoed through his mind.

Galbatorix … Durza … Morzan … Kialandí … Formora … Varaug …

Though he'd never met any of the Forsworn, their reputations and the stories and tales of the horror they'd inflicted at Galbatorix's command was enough to cause him dread; the names of Murtagh's father and of the two who'd broken his master were among the names that would forever be feared throughout all of Alagaësia. Eragon suspected also that, without her at his side he'd not survive an encounter with another Shade – be it one he'd already killed or helped kill or otherwise.

Now we know what happened to the hatchlings. Whoever used the Forbidden Spells must've intercepted them when they were sent to us after completing their training in Ellesméra. Saphira nudged the carcasses and lifted her head so her eye was on level with Eragon before adding, they must have thought that they'd reached us. Otherwise they'd have contacted us long ago. The dragon – smaller by far than Saphira – looked roughly to be around ten years or so of age … or at least it had been when alive.

Eragon nodded, his gaze turning once again to the dwarf and his dragon. Once the breach is closed, we must burry them in stone. Else the dwarf's spirit won't reach his ancestors … I wonder what clan he was of.

Getting to his feet and dusting off his trousers, Eragon turned once more to the reason he was here along with all the eldunarí; Du Wydra Nángorörh. The breach flexed threateningly at him as it began to convulse and flare – the blinding light reaching out beyond the borders of that crack as something began to happen on the other side. And he was supposed to close that? The task ahead seemed nearing on impossible … yet it must be possible for reality had been split had it not? Whoever it was who'd cast those Forbidden Spells had achieved the impossible so what's to say he couldn't?

Ready? He asked, secretly hoping that Saphira and her brethren would say no.

When you are little one.

Eragon squared his shoulders and took a deep breath as he dug into the flow of magic, joined and merged his mind first with Saphira, and then through her, the eldunarí. With the full might of the race of the dragons behind him, Eragon began to chant in a clear loud voice the words, phrases, formulas and sequences that would undo what had been done to the world; words that had the power to reverse Du Wydra Nángorörh … words that hadn't been uttered in millennia … not since the time of the Grey Folk.

He never could recall how long he spoke, how many times he had to repeat his mantra, but slowly … incredibly … reluctantly … that opening to the void began to fold in on itself and seemingly collapse inwards. Though it fought him – forcing him to commit more and more of the precious resources of energy from the eldunarí in his efforts to close and end what should never have been done and begun in the first place. At the point where the crack had shrunk and sunk into a dense blot hanging in the sky like a terrifying mockery of the sun, it seemed to stare at him with scorn as it flared spitefully again; he staggered and fell upon the ground writhing in agony as his back erupted into a torment of pain unlike any he'd endured since the days he'd been haunted by Durza's curse.

A soundless howl escaped his lips.

He knew not what happened …

… insanity seemed to reign upon that hilltop …

… Saphira roared and threw herself into the sky …

… the eldunarí jabbered and screamed and several let out feats of inexplicable magic – shattering most of them into dust …

… Glaedr called out to someone …

… two shadows of light erupted from the point where the edges of the crack all folded together and met …

… the breach collapse in on itself and the radiating soundless explosion flattened the surrounding dead land …

… the magic released him …

… he lay on the ground, his arms curled round his knees, covered in dust, trembling from head to foot …

… the echo of Durza's curse ripping him apart all over again …

… he couldn't …

… didn't know …

… anything …

… who was he …

what was he?

Soon afterwards Eragon fell victim to three bouts of agony while fighting Vanir and then two more during the Rimgar. As he uncurled from the clenched ball he had rolled into, Oromis said, "Again Eragon. You must perfect your balance."

Eragon shook his head and growled in an undertone, "No," he crossed his arms to hide his tremors.

"What?"

"No."

"Get up, Eragon, and try again."

"No! Do the pose yourself; I won't."

Oromis knelt beside Eragon and placed a cool hand on his cheek. Holding it there, he gazed at Eragon with such kindness, Eragon understood the depth of the elf's compassion for him, and that, if it were possible, Oromis would willingly assume Eragon's pain to relieve his suffering. "Don't abandon hope," said Oromis. "Never that." A measure of strength seemed to flow from him to Eragon. "We are the Riders. We stand between the light and the dark and keep the balance between the two. Ignorance, fear, hate: these are our enemies. Deny them with all your might Eragon or we will surely fail." he stood and extended a hand towards Eragon. "Now rise, Shadeslayer, and prove you can conquer the instincts of your flesh!"

Eragon took a deep breath and pushed himself on one arm, wincing from the effort. He got his feet underneath himself, paused for a moment, then straightened to his full height and looked Oromis in the eye.

The elf nodded with approval.

He was standing, his chest heaving and his fists clenched tightly, staring with a stubborn acceptance and understanding. Oromis stood before him, staring at Eragon like he would an equal … like he would a son … pride etched upon the old Rider's timeless face as he placed a hand on Eragon's shoulder.

The sound of a sword being drawn startled Eragon, and he staggered back as Oromis pushed him aside, spinning to meet whoever it was; he'd grabbed Brisingr from the sheath at Eragon's hip and met the blow from the thin steel blade with a wire-thin scratch curving down the middle. Twice more was Oromis able to meet that blade and counter it, before he staggered on the uneven ground and fell. Eragon seized his sword, the weight familiar to him like the hand of an old friend or the touch of a lover that was forever in the heart.

He swung Brisingr round faster than Oromis could, with a confidence of one whose hands had actually made the sword. He was weak from the drain of the spell to close the breach, from the torment of his spontaneous fit and from having spent the past three weeks lacking in sleep as he and Saphira had journeyed as fast as they could to get to where they were. Yet he managed, somehow, to hold his own against the owner of the sword. His gaze flickered up and he nearly lost all concentration as shock and dread filled him – he knew that face.

"Durza."

The Shade flinched as Eragon spoke his name and snarled. Yet it seemed death had weakened him as it had Oromis – for no attack came at Eragon on his mind, and nor did he think he was capable of maintaining one himself. "You've gotten stronger," he acknowledged reluctantly before slipping his sword past Eragon's and slicing him across his bicep, forcing Eragon to switch hands. He lunged somewhat blindly and felt Brisingr bite into the Shade's flesh as it sunk into Durza's chest … missing the black heart by inches.

As had happened when Murtagh shot him through the head, Durza dissolved into a smoky wisp and fled to reform someplace else, at some time in the near future. Eragon let Brisingr slip from his fingers as he dropped to the ground, exhausted.

Saphira, he wondered, where are you?


A/N : 'soon afterwards Eragon fell' is on page 401 of the hardback edition of Eldest, the chapter titled 'The Oblitorator'