Angela hummed and hummed, prancing about Du Welden Frethyen with a sloppy sort of grin on her face. The days had worn her down and she had finally decided it was better to be in the present than anywhere she'd been in the past. Although she could have killed for some Nagra. She glanced over at Staug as he sat playing with Hûnzorl and wondered if he ever missed the cuisine of his people. She wasn't sure where Tulgrog had gotten off to, but was quite sure the young urgal was homesick. With such a small population here, Staug was no doubt at peace, although he probably would have preferred to be underground than above it. But Tulgrog was part of a massive community who was actively engaged with each other's lives.
Both young Riders had been put to hard work since they arrived and their skills had grown tremendously. Still, neither could come close to the magical abilities of Blödhgarm, Eragon, or herself, and she knew it would be decades before they would. Unfortunately, she also knew they might never. The lack of representation among the races, each member of the small party representing their entire race, made culture and growth difficult, and Angela couldn't help worrying about their more generalized educations.
As if Angela wasn't so dismally preoccupied with these concerns, Eragon's rapid approach was a clear signal that something was wrong. With an inkling of what that might be, she sighed and turned, walking back towards her cottage. She was glad that Eragon seemed to have learned enough brightness to follow her wordlessly, although she had to glance over her shoulder to make sure he really was following, silent as his footsteps were.
Unfortunately, their discussion was exhausting. After having cast the necessary magic around them to ensure proper privacy, Eragon had launched immediately into his top concerns, focusing primarily on the possibility of an attack.
"Well of course they're going to attack us," Angela laughed, stirring a cup of tea with the root of a plant she had yet to identify. "That's been obvious since we left Zi'Nawne and the rest of the elfins in that horrible state. We haven't exactly been the most friendly co-dwellers here."
Eragon was quiet and Angela took a pause to munch thoughtfully on the end of the root, grimacing as sour sap dribbled into her mouth.
"What exactly do you know about the Grey Folk?" he asked finally, eyeing her with those strange cat-eyes.
Setting her cup and the root down, she beamed widely and laughed. "Eragon! You've finally learned how to ask the right questions! And be straightforward. I'm almost proud of you," she announced.
Without another word, she stood and left the room. Eragon could hear her clamber up the stairs and then silence as she apparently sat down somewhere or remained standing in one place. He hesitated a moment before deciding there was too much at stake to risk her disappearing. With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and followed her up the stairs.
"Took you long enough," Angela called from her place near a bookcase at full capacity. "I thought it was clear that you were supposed to follow me. Really, Eragon, you were doing so good for a moment."
He restrained a smile, preferring to keep a stronger hand on the situation, and moved to stand beside her. Thanks to Brom and Oromis, he was a fluid reader now, and when the text that stared back at him was entirely unreadable, he had no doubt that it was the book rather than his own abilities.
"What language is that?" he asked gently, examining the strange font.
Whatever Angela's response was, it was instantly forgotten, and Eragon realized he couldn't even think of how her answer might be spelled or written. It was entirely unrecordable, even in his own memory. He stared at her, recognizing the importance of such a situation but not entirely sure what to think of it.
"It is my native tongue," she clarified. "I'm the keeper of the Grey Folk."
_X_X_
When Eragon finally dropped the privacy magic around Angela's hut, he realized that he knew much more than he had before, and understood very little. He was quite sure, though, that there would be consequences to the reawakening of such ancient magic, and Arya's words burned through his mind: "A war is coming, Eragon. I'll send a ship."
He'd contacted Nasuada after Arya's warning and explained briefly about both his suspicions and the elf queen's response. Details of magic and dragons were less important to Nasuada as a political leader, but deeply important as a friend, and Eragon did his best to provide only the information she would need. With all of Alagäesia on her plate, Nasuada had quite enough to worry about.
In a single afternoon, a great many decisions had been made, and Saphira would own centerstage in a terrifying play. Eragon was happy she took it so well and, despite his own paternal feelings towards the egg she'd recently produced, he couldn't help being glad his partner wouldn't be distracted by her offspring when the fighting began.
Without realizing where he was going, Eragon managed to make his way to the cottage Tulgrog and Staug shared, and summoned the three dragons there with a gentle mental shout. The Riders, already having been warned by Angela, were ready, and he took a moment to chastise them for failing to communicate with their dragons. Remembering the lesson he'd learned so harshly from Oromis, and with Glaedr's guidance, he explained that they should always know what their partner was doing whenever they were close enough to be in contact. When the dragons arrived and settled themselves comfortably, three great heads positioned to hear and observe the conversation about to take place, Eragon squared his shoulders and began.
"When Saphira and I were newly bonded and we first made it to the Varden in Farthen Dûr," he said, nodding at Staug, "we were thrown into a battle that was not our own and forced to take sides. We began a war that lasted years. It did not end with the downfall of Mad King Gallbatorix."
The younger Riders exchanged a glance nervously, although their faces were strong and set. Saphira, seeing the plan of Eragon's explanation, continued.
We fought tooth and claw, sword and magic, to destroy an enemy that was never in front of us, but inside of us. We ask you now to do the same.
Vezh and Hûnzorl seemed entirely more enthusiastic than their Riders, and Eragon couldn't help laughing at the familiar feeling.
"How can we know there will be a war, ebrithilar?" Tulgrog spoke up.
"Because we know that there must be," Eragon responded, his voice full of sparks and his words drawing warm flames through the stomachs of those listening. "We know that this magic—maga- is older than the Ancient Language, and far more unbound than anything we've known. We know it is terribly similar to dragon magic, although we know little of that bond. We know that we have maga and that we must learn it."
Silence crackled through the air, interrupted only by Saphira's added words:
We know that the queen of the elves is sending an army, and that each of your races will likely pledge the same.
Eragon's throat clenched painfully as he realized that Nasuada had promised no such thing. While he was certain that the leaders of the dwarves and the urgalagra would be happy to commit to the defense of their first Riders, as well as to a battle that would surely win them the sort of honor that meant so much, he knew Nasuada would not intervene. He truly had stopped representing the human population. Alagäesia was no longer his home. Remembering Angela's prophecy all those years ago, he shuddered and forced down a thick fear that bubbled in his stomach.
"But that could just be a precaution, right?" Staug asked, clarifying. The young dwarf was unsurprisingly more reserved, although he seemed eager to fight should the need arise. Both Riders were painfully aware that they knew little of how to fight in general, and even less of how to fight as Riders.
No, Saphira responded. There will be war. We will win or we will die. I plan on winning.
Eragon wanted to laugh, a feeling that surprised him when there was so much tension in the room, until he realized that he truly was terrified. He'd led men to war before, but never what were basically children, and the men he'd led had been seasoned warriors, if not capable of nearly the same feats as he.
"Angela will begin your instruction immediately," Eragon continued, directing the conversation towards a more comfortable place for him: planning. "You will discover your maga and learn to control it. All of you will." He nodded at the dragons who had thus far been quiet and reached out a mental tug towards Saphira.
I hope you're right about this, he whispered privately to her.
Am I ever wrong? she sniffed, indignant. Have some faith, Little One. We will prevail.
He smiled gently and sent an image of himself rubbing her nose, to which she snorted happily.
"Why Angela?" Staug asked, tugging nervously on the sleeves of his shirt and scooching closer to Hûnzorl, who breathed reassuringly against his face.
"I am of the race we will fight," Angela's voice poured in from the nearest window as she herbalist traipsed around the cottage to the front door. "Magic has shaped me and changed me, but I am a creature of maga, and I am the best hope you've got!"
Blödhgarm and Tawny followed close behind her, the former shooting a concerned look towards Eragon who nodded apologetically. He was sure the elf understood his methods and reasons for choosing to speak first to Angela alone and then directly to Saphira and the Riders, but it was unlikely to feel good regardless. Still, Blödhgarm wouldn't have preferred to hear this news from any but Angela herself and he nodded in return, a silent acknowledgement.
"Can we really use maga?" the dwarf asked. "We've got no Grey Folk in us."
"It won't be as strong as mine," Angela said, suddenly appearing awkward. Eragon remembered her ill-aptitude towards magic in Alagäesia and wondered exactly how powerful she would be now. The thought made him glad he was fighting with her and not against. "But you'll be able to perform adequately."
And us? Vezh asked, a number of other questions surfacing in her mind. What of us, Adurna Svit-Kona?
Angela smiled, an almost crazed look entering her eyes at the mention of her water strength. Indeed, Dragon. You three will be the first dragons in a very long time to do so on purpose. She opened her mind to project the thought to the group but didn't stop there. Instead, she widened it, spreading it like a blanket over those gathered.
Memories seemed to pour from each person, and they watched as Saphira entombed Brom in a glorious crystal casket and when she healed the Isidar Mithrim. From Blödhgarm came thoughts of change, of beauty, and of soft music dancing through the air. Eragon's aptitude for fire was clear to everyone and his exposition was the shortest. Angela offered her own strange memories, all involving water and the atmosphere in ways none of them had scene before.
Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, she labeled each of them in turn. And now we will learn more about the four of you.
The training began immediately and the new Riders, with their dragons, accompanied Angela to the training field. Blödhgarm went, too, curious about this new ability he would soon learn to work with. Eragon, however, stayed behind with two very unhappy individuals.
Earth, Saphira sniffed, thinking of her great love of flying. That cannot be correct. I am a beast of the sky, I am the color of the oceans, and I breathe fire.
Unsure what to say, Eragon simply placed a hand on her head as he walked out of the cottage, and hummed gently, a habit he'd picked up from her. She snorted haughtily in response and then stoope her head in an apology, although she still boiled inside.
And what of me, you great lizard? Tawny asked, her thoughts stabbing sharply into each of them. What am I in this world?
Angela stopped and looked back, responding to the sheer force of Tawny's frustration, but only turned in time to see a bushy orange tail disappear into the woods. She sighed and returned her focus ahead, moving ever forward.
There is no place for me, she thought privately, shutting her mind again. But I won't let you die, too.