Chapter Ten

The Blood-Oath Celebration

And so the celebrations began. Galbatorix passed through them in a kind of daze. He tasted dozens of foods he'd never seen before, and drank wines so fine that only riders and royalty could afford them. There was singing and dancing and poetry recitals which he forced himself to listen to, and several epics were recited as well. These were stories – legend or history, but most often a mix of both – and he listened to them with interest. There was the tale of Astrum the Gold, the great mage, and his terrible fight against a Shade – one which had claimed his life. And the famous story of Syrinx, the Warrior-in-the-Shadows, said to be unkillable, who had defeated numerous powerful foes but whose face had never been seen by a living soul. And one human bard ventured to tell the half-forgotten tale of the Night Dragon; a wild dragon with black scales who could summon storms and spit lightning instead of fire. And there was, of course, the story of Eragon – the elf who ended the dragon wars and become the first rider. He, according to this story, had been the one who defeated the Night Dragon and driven him away from Alagaësia, never to return. And he had also killed the evil Taranis, his human rival, who wanted to found a race of dark riders – riders who would use their power for evil. But Eragon's victory had ensured that the riders became a force for good in the world, and so light had prevailed over dark.

Once that story might have irritated Galbatorix, but by this time he was feeling a little giddy and only laughed at it. 'I wonder what they'd say if I told 'em I had Taranis' blood in me?' he remarked to Laela.

'Probably chase you out of here with sticks,' she answered, grinning.

And still the celebrations went on. Night fell, and the decorations hanging from the trees started to glow with faint, magical light in all the colours of the rainbow. The air smelt of flowers and was full of the laughter and talk of a hundred different people. Elves and humans, riders and dragons, all together. Sharing their time. That was how Galbatorix thought of it. He let it all wash over him, and wandered wherever his impulse took him, meeting new people and talking to them. It seemed that word of his exploits had gone a long way – more than one person asked him about the oak tree – the Learning Tree, as it was being called – and showed admiration rather than shock over how rash he'd been.

Some time during the evening he also presented himself to the other four elders – Lachesis, Oromis, Yansan, Menulis and Saraswati – and also to the sixth big dragon, who turned out to be Thornessa, leader of the wild dragons. They proved a little more approachable than Vrael, but he was careful to show the utmost respect to them. But though most of them were friendly, they still had the same air of slight condescension which Vrael had had, as if their great age and power made talking to him a little irrelevant.

To his surprise, he found he got on best with Thornessa, who was a brown female with yellow wings. She didn't much like being in Ellesméra, as she told him outright. 'I am not a bonded dragon,' she explained. 'Humans and elves don't interest me much. I only came as a courtesy.'

Galbatorix liked her. She had the same power and ferocity about her that Ilia had had, but contained. And she seemed slightly uneasy with being in a crowd, which was a feeling he knew quite well, not being particularly social himself. He sensed that she wanted to be away from all this noise, in the sky, where she could be alone and free.

When he suggested this to her, she made a coarse dragon-laugh at him and said; 'You are perceptive, little human. I think you were born in the wrong body.'

For some reason he found that flattering. 'Thankyou, Lady Thornessa. When my training is complete I can come and visit you, if you'd like.'

Thornessa blinked her golden eyes. 'I would like that, I think. I shall remember your name.'

Among the other people he talked to were two familiar faces – those of Brom and Morzan. His two fellow students had returned, along with their dragons, and it was surprising to see how much Saphira and Morzan's red dragon, Idün, had grown in the interim. Both Brom and Morzan had stories to tell of their training under Oromis, and he spent a good half-hour listening to them talk. It seemed a rider's training wasn't as tough as he'd worried it might be; they claimed that Oromis was quite lenient and generous, and they had plenty of free time. In a year or so they'd be finished and ready to be presented with their swords and made full members of the order, with all the privileges and responsibilities that entailed. But, Brom added, he shouldn't expect to finish in the same sort of time.

'No,' he said, draining a goblet of wine. 'Not at all. You'll probably be done in six months, with your talent. Never mind being unconscious for three weeks; you'll catch up with us like this – whoops.' He snapped his fingers and accidentally dropped his goblet.

'But what do you actually do in this training?' Galbatorix asked.

'It's not much different than what we did here,' said Morzan. 'Fight training – with real swords, though, and magic. Mostly they teach you about readin' and writin' an' that stuff. Lore, Master Oromis called it. How t'be like a proper rider.' He scowled. 'He keeps tellin' me I gotta talk fancy, too. I dunno what's wrong with how I talk now. Me dad talks like this an' it never did him any harm.'

'Well, it's not how an elf talks, is it?' said Galbatorix, a shade sarcastically.

'I ain't an elf,' Morzan pointed out.

'You'll be like one soon enough,' said Brom. 'It doesn't bother me, though. Why should it? They're so much better than humans, after all. And now, so are we.'

'There's nothing wrong with being human,' Galbatorix said hotly. 'And I'm damned if I'll let them do that to me.'

'You don't have a choice,' said Brom.

'We'll see about that,' Galbatorix vowed.

And then it was time for people to start presenting their creations. Galbatorix heard the announcement, and hurried to the spot where he'd hidden his fairth, doing his best not to spill the goblet of wine he was holding. He found it and pulled it out of the hollow tree where he'd secreted it. Holding it to his chest, he sat down on a handy log and waited for them to call him.

He need not have hurried. There were dozens of people – almost exclusively elves – who had something to offer. Galbatorix sat on his log with Laela crouched behind him, and watched, his tension slowly giving way to boredom as he had to watch an endless array of artworks be presented to the crowd. It wasn't that he didn't like art, he decided. It was just that he wasn't exactly in the mood for it right now. But courtesy dictated that he stay and watch…

There were yet more poems, written for the occasion, and songs as well. Some people had brought stories. And there were paintings, sculptures, carvings of wood and stone, and items of various craftsmanship, including a new kind of weapon which the local elvish smith, Rhunön, had made to resemble a dragon's talon. Galbatorix looked closely at that, and was impressed by how well-made it looked. He knew that Rhunön made the riders' swords. One day she'd make one for him. He could hardly wait.

And then Flell's name was called. He hadn't had the chance to talk to her so far, and he watched with interest to see what she'd present.

Flell, who was clad in a beautiful light-purple gown, displayed a surprisingly elaborate creation – a large butterfly made from a light frame of twigs and covered in hundreds of petals. Galbatorix was impressed. It must have taken her hours to put it together. He'd never realised she could be so creative.

After Flell came Thrain. The purple dragon had carved a self-portrait into the side of a split log with her talons. It was a little crude, but it got a round of applause anyway.

And then it was Galbatorix's turn. He picked up his fairth and stood up, suddenly feeling a lot smaller than before. Laela had to nudge him before he went to stand in the clear spot which Thrain had just vacated. He took his place, his heart pounding in his ears, and Laela took her accustomed spot just behind him.

Galbatorix swallowed. They were all staring at him. He started to unwrap the fairth, and that was when he heard the mutterings from the crowd. He glanced up, and saw many of the elves giving him disapproving and disgusted looks. 'What's wrong with them?' he asked Laela.

'I think it's the rabbit skins,' she answered. 'I didn't think of that…'

His ears burning, Galbatorix hastily pulled off the skins and flung them aside, displaying his creation to everyone present. He heard them gasp.

The fairth was almost completely colourless; the only shades that appeared in it were black, white, and a little red. It showed an image of himself, clad all in white as he'd been in Laela's dream. He was wielding a white-bladed sword – the same one from his own fairth – and his mouth was open in a yell of defiance. All around him were shadowy shapes; only just identifiable by species. Elves, humans, dragons, dwarves, urgals… every race in Alagaësia. Even the ones he'd never seen. They were surrounding the picture of himself, and he was in the act of slashing back at them. His hair was ragged and he had a wild, untamed beard. There was blood on his hands and on the swordblade, and on a terrible wound right over his heart. But that wasn't the only stain on his white clothes. On the shoulders and around the collar, there were threads of black. As if the outfit was slowly changing colour. All around these images were others – an iron amulet in the shape of a dragon with a hollow, gaping eye-socket like a skull, whose edges were slowly crumbling into dust. A black sword with a broken blade. A white city outlined in black flames. A gedwëy ignaesia with an arrow through its heart. The rest of it was vague shadows, both black and white, feeding into each other like rivers.

Galbatorix stood proudly, turning so that those behind him could see it as well. It had taken days of hard work, but it was worth it. He wasn't sure what he'd made, but he knew it was beautiful beyond a shadow of a doubt.

But in mere moments his dream turned sour. He started to hear a much louder muttering than before, one which carried unmistakeably hostile overtones. What is it? What has he made? Is he mocking us?

Carina's voice carried over the heads of the crowd. 'What is it, Galbatorix?'

'It's a fairth,' Galbatorix answered, turning toward her for support. He could see her standing there among the muttering elves and curious humans.

'But a fairth of what?' said Carina.

'It's of a dream I had,' said Galbatorix. 'Well… Laela and I both had a nightmare on the same night. We put our dreams together and made them into a fairth. This is what we both saw, put together.'

'He's lying!' a voice yelled from somewhere behind him. 'It's an abomination!'

Galbatorix wheeled around to confront whoever it was, but found himself faced by dozens of angry, near-identical faces. 'I made it,' he called back defensively. 'We made it.'

'Made an image of evil,' someone else shouted.

'Friends, he's lying,' an elf announced. 'No fairth can capture a dream. He's a liar and a defiler! No-one should have to see a picture like this! It's a threat!'

Galbatorix was bewildered. 'What did I do?' he asked Laela, frantically. 'Why are they so angry?'

'I don't know,' she answered. 'Galbatorix, we should go. They-,'

A rock hurtled out of the crowd. It hit Galbatorix hard in the forehead, and he staggered backward, nearly losing hold of the fairth. Laela caught him, and roared furiously. 'WHO THREW THAT?' she bellowed, letting everyone there hear her words.

'He defiled our city by creating that!' an elf shouted back. 'This is a sacred celebration of life, and he brought that image of blood and destruction, made a false fairth and wrapped it in foul animal skins!'

Another rock was thrown. This one hit the fairth right in the centre, shattering it into a hundred pieces. The crowd jeered, and more rocks followed, thick and fast, hitting both Galbatorix and Laela.

Laela acted fast. She held her wing over Galbatorix, sheltering him. 'Come on!' she urged. 'Never mind about that, it's broken!'

Galbatorix gave up his attempts to gather up the broken fairth. He let the pieces slide off the rabbit skin wrapping, tucked it under his arm, and made an awkward stumbling rush out of the clearing by Laela's side, his ears full of the shouts and taunting of the crowd. Carina helped him get away, and once they were at the edge of the party and the upheaval had died down she sat him down at the base of a tree, all concerned. 'Are you all right? Here, let me heal your forehead…'

Galbatorix batted her hand away. 'I'm fine.' To his shame, he felt hot tears trickling down his cheeks. 'What happened? What did I do? They're insane!'

'I'm sorry, Galbatorix,' said Carina. She sensibly avoided trying to comfort him with touch, settling instead for sitting down next to him. 'I'm sure you didn't mean any harm, but…'

'It was just a fairth,' said Galbatorix, coughing to cover his sobs. 'I made it. It was the best I could do.'

'It was very…' Carina hesitated. 'Well, the elves are rather… I'm sure you didn't mean it, but… well, that picture you made was… it was quite violent and disturbing. The elves hold that life is sacred, you see, so they find glorification of violence offensive. As far as they were concerned, you were mocking their beliefs. And wrapping it up in leather was a bad idea. Where did you get it from, anyway?'

'Laela caught the rabbits,' Galbatorix muttered. 'I was sick of eating nothing but vegetables.'

Carina sighed. 'Giving up meat is compulsory once you become a rider. I'd advise you not to break that rule again. Here you might have managed to get away with doing what you pleased, but once you're in Ilirea things will change. Vrael isn't a mentor who'll let you go against tradition. You won't miss it much, really…'

'I don't want this,' Galbatorix burst forth. 'I don't want it! I don't want to become like an elf, I hate elves. Why can't I stay human?'

'You don't have a choice,' said Carina. 'It's part of being a rider, and you should have known that before you came here. Now, calm down. This will all be forgotten by tomorrow, I promise.'

Galbatorix glared at her, and stood up. 'I won't forget this,' he said, and stalked off.

He passed an elf child with black hair, one he recognised as having attended the handling of the eggs at Einás' home. She was staring at him with undisguised curiosity. Galbatorix dumped the bundle of rabbit skins in her arms. 'Here, keep it,' he muttered. 'Go on, it won't bite, you little freak.'

The girl watched him as he disappeared, snatching a pitcher of wine and a fresh goblet from a table on his way past. Then she examined the furry blanket he'd given her, feeling it with her long fingers. It was quite nice, really…

Galbatorix didn't stop walking until he was well away from the party. He sat down heavily under a tree, poured himself some wine and emptied the goblet in one swallow. Laela joined him after a few moments, and silently watched him drink. He could feel her sorrow and bewilderment, but he was in too much of a rage to seek comfort from her.

The pitcher of wine was only half-full, and he finished it off in what felt like no time at all, then hurled it away. His aim was off, and it hit the leaf-litter, rolled a short way, and then settled. For some reason the fact that it hadn't broken only made him angrier.

He didn't have the energy to throw the goblet too, so he dropped it and then buried his face in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. 'Damn them,' he mumbled. 'Damn them all.

Laela watched him. Then, to his surprise, she spoke out loud. 'I won't forget this either,' she vowed. 'Never.'

Galbatorix looked up. There was blood on his hands, and he wiped it off on his tunic, not caring that it left a stain. His forehead was aching savagely, and he realised he must be more badly hurt than he thought. 'I hope it leaves a scar,' he said savagely.

He realised he was breathing far faster than he needed to, and forced himself to slow down. The wine had gone to his head. It made him feel reckless and invincible, but this time he was without the good cheer which wine usually brought.

'They had no right to destroy it,' Laela said eventually, reverting to mental speech once again. 'It was beautiful in a way their things aren't. We made it. It was beautiful.'

Beautiful…

There were sounds from the trees away to his left, and when Galbatorix looked up he saw Flell and Thrain. Flell had a wine stain on her dress, and her face was full of concern. 'There you are,' she said, running a little unsteadily toward him. 'Are you all right? That was awful! I thought they were going to kill you!'

Galbatorix tried to stand up, but the ground seemed to be pulling him toward it and he sat down again sharply, hitting his head on the tree. Ignoring the pain, he looked up at Flell. 'Flell,' he mumbled. 'I'm… did you come looking for me?'

'Of course I did!' said Flell. She knelt in front of him, reaching out to touch his forehead. She was very close to him now. He could feel her breath on his cheek, the warmth of her body. 'You're hurt,' she said. 'I can heal it, if you'd like…'

'I'll be all right,' said Galbatorix.

She took that the wrong way. 'Do you want me to leave? I mean, I only wanted to see if you were all right, but if you don't want-,'

'No,' said Galbatorix, more sharply than he needed to. 'No,' he said again, more gently this time. 'Stay, Flell. I need someone to be here.'

'Laela's here,' Flell pointed out.

'That's different,' said Galbatorix.

'Are you sure?' said Flell, looking at him rather anxiously. 'I mean… I thought you didn't like me.'

'I like you,' Galbatorix told her.

Flell looked away from him. 'I thought I'd done something to make you angry with me. You haven't talked to me in days, and I thought… well, I like you a lot, Galbatorix. You're so much smarter and better than me, and I thought I wasn't good enough for you, so I…'

For the rest of his life, he was never quite sure how what happened next came to pass. No matter how much he racked his brains, he simply didn't know. It was as if there were a gap in his memory of that night. One moment Flell was talking, the words pouring out of her in a way that suggested she had wanted to say them for a long time, and the next… the next moment he had pulled her toward him and kissed her. Just once, lightly, but on the lips. Flell looked at him, her blue eyes surprised. She had tears on her face, he realised.

Then she kissed him back. She pulled him to his feet, and the two of them embraced and kissed again, harder this time. There was a strange magic in the air, an invisible fire that thrummed through them both, and the trees and the soil. It was the magic of the elves, the magic of the Blood-Oath celebration, the magic that made that night what it was – one of fire, and passion, and life. Galbatorix and Flell succumbed before it, no more able to resist than leaves could resist a hurricane.

It got into Laela and Thrain as well. The two dragons nuzzled each other, rubbing their snouts together, pushing as hard as they dared, and then embraced, standing flank to flank, their wings and tails intertwined, crooning deep in their throats.

Galbatorix and Flell finally let each other go. All their fears and anger were gone, and they smiled foolishly at each other. 'You're so beautiful,' Galbatorix murmured. 'You make me feel safe.'

Flell giggled. 'Come on!' she said, and ran off through the trees, dragging him by the hand. He followed, and the two humans left the place by the Menoa Tree and dashed away, leaving the elves behind. Laela and Thrain took to the air and circled overhead, wheeling like a pair of eagles, while below them their riders ran, hand in hand, weaving among the trees and laughing like carefree children. They ran to Flell's temporary home and disappeared inside it.

And, a short time later, Laela and Thrain began to fly. High in the air over the mad, revelling elves, the two dragons looped and circled, twisting and diving and executing a fantastic midair dance, often touching and then parting again, their movements perfectly synchronised.

All those who saw it knew what it meant. Below, by the trunk of the Menoa Tree, Saraswati clasped Vrael's hand and pointed. 'Look at them,' she said.

Vrael followed the white and purple dragons with his eyes, and smiled knowingly. He knew. 'The mating flight,' he said.

'Just like the one Vandana and Nöst flew that day when we were just learners,' said Saraswati. 'Do you remember that?'

'Of course I do,' said Vrael. He kissed her, his breath a delicate touch on her cheek.

Saraswati held him close. 'Shall we make them dance it again?' she whispered in his ear.

Normally Vrael would have avoided showing his affection for her in public, but not now. The magic of the Blood-Oath celebration was affecting him just the same, as it did every year. He took Saraswati's hand, and the two of them quietly left, shedding their years and becoming, just for that evening, the light-hearted youngsters they had once been, in love with life.

And as the wild celebrations went on long into the night and the moon rose high over the treetops, Thrain and Laela danced.

Galbatorix woke up the next morning with the worst headache he'd ever had in his life. He blinked and groaned, trying to sit up. His forehead was stuck to the pillow, and a sharp pain shot through it when he pulled it free, followed by a hot, wet trickle. He touched it, and his fingers came away bloody. What had happened?

He lay there for a time, trying stupidly to remember. It came back slowly. The celebration around the Menoa Tree, the wine and the dancing, and Vrael's stern face. And the destroyed fairth, he remembered that too. They had thrown rocks at him. And after that he'd… he'd…

Beside him, Flell turned over. 'Is it morning yet?' she asked sleepily.

Galbatorix sat up sharply, which made his head hurt even more savagely. 'What happened?' he asked. He looked at Flell, and saw that she was as naked as he was. 'Did we…?'

Flell smiled. 'You didn't forget, did you?'

'No,' said Galbatorix. 'No, I…' he looked at her anxiously. 'Are you… you're not upset, are you? I mean, I was drunk, and…'

Flell blinked. 'Not so loud, please. My head's killing me. No, I don't mind. Not at all. I was drunk too, anyway…' she looked at him, suddenly shy. 'Was it your first time, too?'

Galbatorix nodded. 'You really are beautiful, you know,' he said.

Flell smiled again, rather dreamily. 'And you've got blood on you,' she said, reaching toward him and touching his forehead with the gentlest touch.

Galbatorix dabbed at the injury. 'Yeah… have you got any water?'

They got up and dressed, both a little shy and awkward. Flell had a jug of water on the bedside table, and while Galbatorix was gulping down a mug of what felt like the best drink he'd ever had, he reached out mentally for Laela. 'Laela, are you there?'

There was a pause before she responded. 'Galbatorix, is that you?'

'Of course it is. Who did you think it was?'

Another paused. 'Sorry, I'm a little confused right now… are you all right?'

'My head hurts.'

Laela shared a feeling of irritability. 'If you're looking for sympathy, forget it. How much did you drink last night? My head feels like it's going to explode.'

'You can feel it too?'

'Of course I can.' He sensed her mood lift slightly – a quick mental grin. 'Last night was incredible, wasn't it? Did you and Flell…?'

'Yes. Did you and Thrain…?'

'We flew the mating flight,' said Laela, with a touch of pride. 'It was wonderful.'

Galbatorix rubbed his head. 'Laela, will you do me a favour?'

'If I can.'

'Never let me drink again.'

The sun rose over Ellesméra, lighting the sky with a pale glow. It was morning, and the Blood-Oath celebration was over for another year. The elves were resuming their normal lives, and the guests were leaving. Vrael and the other elders prepared to return to Ilirea with their students. Galbatorix and Flell packed their belongings and saddled up their dragons in readiness to leave Ellesméra. Galbatorix was glad to leave. The elves who saw him muttered and gave him venomous looks, as if he were some kind of criminal, and he had decided he hated them. In spite of his hangover, as he climbed onto Laela's back he promised himself yet again that they would never turn him into an elf. Not in a million years.

And after that it was time to go, as he and Laela flew up and away from the elvish settlement, dwarfed by the massive forms of the elder's dragons, heading for the horizon and a new life.