A/N The first few chapters will have quite a lot of content very similar to the book while the scene is set. As the story goes on, more and more changes will occur.
Eragon had been tracking the doe for hours. His companion had spotted the tracks in the late morning, and they had been following ever since. Her foreleg was injured, and she had fallen behind the main herd in the last hour or so. Honestly, it was surprising she hadn't been attacked by another predator by now. Now the light was starting to fade, and he still hadn't found a good enough position to risk taking a shot from.
A silvery cloud drifted over the mountains that surrounded him, its edges glowing with ruddy light cast from the harvest moon cradled between two peaks. Streams flowed down the mountains from stolid glaciers and glistening snowpacks. A brooding mist crept along the valley's floor, almost thick enough to obscure his feet.
They were on the third night of their hunt, deep in the Spine. Eragon had snagged a couple of rabbits the day before, but nothing that would sustain a family of four over the coming winter. They needed this doe, but if they failed tonight, the two of them would have to head home virtually empty-handed and unable to afford to buy meat.
To his left, he could just about make out the slightest sound of his companion making her way through the undergrowth. Isabella had never been as stealthy as he had. He was also the better shot, but she was the superior tracker.
He looked up and saw Isabella signal to him. She was his cousin, although they shared no direct blood. Eragon's mother, Selena, was his uncle Garrow's sister. She had come to Carvahall when she was pregnant, giving birth to Eragon shortly after and then leaving once more, asking her brother to look after her new-born son. Garrow and his wife Marion also had a son, his cousin Roran. However, there was also Isabella, who was Marion's daughter from her previous marriage. Her first husband has passed away during a particularly vicious winter while she was pregnant. Alone and pregnant, she had met Garrow, and they had fallen in love, marrying shortly after Isabella's birth. Now, Isabella had just had her eighteenth birthday, making her three years older than Eragon himself, and many suitors in the village had been vying for her hand. So far, she had refused them all. Much to Eragon's delight, she preferred hunting with him and helping out on the farm much to Garrow's mixture of amusement and consternation.
He was torn from his musings when he heard the snap of a twig not too far in front of him. The doe had finally stopped and was standing, frozen, in the glen up ahead. Despite the late hour, there was enough light peering through the trees to give him good enough visibility to make the shot. There were twenty or visible lumps on the ground. They had caught up to the herd. The doe settled down at the edge of the glen, foreleg stretched out awkwardly.
He slowly pulled out three arrows and notched one as quietly as possible. Isabella was doing the same, twenty feet to his left but she gestured with her head for him to make the shot first.
Eragon took careful aim and was about to release his arrow when a loud crack rent the still air followed by an explosion. They all jumped, and the herd bolted away from the noise, rapidly disappearing amongst the trees as a fierce wind blew around them. Eragon loosed his arrow at the doe anyway but missed by a hair's breadth. He swore under his breath. Soon he lost sight of her amongst the chaos.
He swore a second time when Isabella took off like an arrow herself, darting after the doe. For all of her lack of stealth, Eragon had never met a swifter runner than his cousin. She always joked that it was from all her practice running away from the men wishing to marry her.
A few heartbeats later there was a triumphant yell and Eragon shook his head. He had no idea how she'd managed to catch the doe, even with its injured leg. As he was about to head towards Isabella to help with the preparation of the meat, he spotted the cause of the noise that had driven the doe away in the first place. In the middle of the clearing, a large circular area had been blackened and charred. The surrounding pine trees had lost many needles that now lay, scattered on the floor. Wisps of smoke rose and curled in the air, mixing with the tendrils of mist. Right in the centre of the chaos, sat two polished stones. They certainly hadn't been there a minute ago. One was as black as coal and the other a stunning blue. The fading ruddy light and swirling mist made it seem like they were glowing slightly. They looked ethereal. He had never seen a material like it before.
Slowly, he crept forwards. Nothing moved except the mist. In the distance he could hear Isabella attempting to move the doe, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the stones. Carefully, he reached out, gently tapping the blue stone with the tip of an arrow.
"Hey! Come and help me with this you oaf!" Isabella called out in irritation. Eragon startled backwards, almost falling over at the sudden loudness of her voice.
"Izzy, come and look at this," he called back. He heard several expletives that she certainly wouldn't have said within Garrow's hearing.
A few seconds later she reappeared, striding towards him, irritation plain on her narrow face. His cousin was growing into a beautiful woman. She had similar brown hair to Eragon and Roran, although hers was slightly lighter, bordering on a dark blonde. The lighter colour of her hair only added to the male interest in her, as only two other people in the village had any colour other than black or brown. Her eyes were a stormy grey, currently darkened to almost black by her annoyance and the low light.
"What now? We need to be making camp soon and getting back to the farm early in the morning."
"Just look." He pointed to the two stones. Her gaze flickered over them, and the surrounding area, before one eyebrow lifted slightly in surprise.
"Where did they come from?"
"I don't know. But they weren't there until we heard that noise."
"The only way they could have appeared like that is through magic," Isabella stated in a low, grim voice. "They clearly can't be for us though."
"Then why would they have appeared right in front of us? Two stones, and two of us."
"What about Roran?" At this, Eragon shrugged.
"We should just leave them here. Whoever sent them probably made a mistake and will come to fetch them."
"They could be valuable," Eragon protested. Transporting them would be bothersome, and he knew they might be dangerous, but something in him also wanted to grab them and never let go.
"They could also be dangerous."
They argued for several minutes before Isabella gave in to his request to take the stones with them only with the stipulation that neither of them touched the stones with their bare skin. Instead, they wrapped them in an extra blanket before going to fetch the doe and make camp. Dinner was cold, a simple combination of bread and cheese, as their supplies were dwindling.
It was bitingly cold through the night. Even huddled close together under many layers, Eragon could feel his teeth chattering. They were pretty high up one of the mountains in the Spine now, having no worthy game further down. He and Isabella were the only ones who hunted in the Spine. Everyone else in their village feared it. Many frightening tales were told about it, including how King Galbatorix had lost half an army that simply disappeared after marching through its ancient forest. People thought that any who ventured in would be beset by misfortune. Neither he nor Isabella had suffered such misfortune, surviving on years of instinct and quick reflexes.
Despite the protection of the trees, there was a bitter wind that started up, constantly rattling their tent. This was the first year they had even had a tent. Normally they simply slept on bedrolls in whatever safe place they could find. But during the summer, Isabella had killed a stag and had taken lessons with the tanner to fashion it into a rudimentary tent, held up with the deer's bones. It wasn't big, and barely fit the two of them, but at this time of year the closeness was welcome given the temperatures overnight in the Spine.
As soon as there was enough light, the began skinning the doe and preparing the meat to bring back to the farm. There was a light frost on the ground and the small pools of water had completely frozen over. It was a sign they needed to get home. They would be in trouble if they weren't back before the snows arrived.
Between the two of them, it didn't take too long, and they were able to start making their way back down the mountain. They were just shy of a three day walk back to Carvahall. The game trail had been made solely by animals, meaning that it took many twists and turns, even doubling back on itself several times. In some places, it virtually disappeared, and, for the first few years, it was only thanks to Isabella's skill that they had found it again further on. Both of them knew it like the back of their hands by now. Still, it was the quickest way out of the forest as neither of them were willing to even consider leaving the trail for a direct route. Not even they would risk such a thing unless there was no other choice.
Over the next day and a half, whenever they stopped for a break, or to camp for the night, Eragon would take the stones out of his knapsack when Isabella wasn't looking. Each time he looked at them, he was taken aback by their beauty. He was stumped by the material, which was flawless and felt perfectly smooth. The blue stone had thin veins of white running through it like a spider's web and seemed to change its shade of blue in different lights. The black stone had no secondary colour, although when directly in the sunlight, some parts softened to a borderline dark grey whilst other parts just seemed so dark, they simply absorbed all light. They were of similar size, around a foot long, and, while heavy, were lighter than he would have expected. He wondered if they could have been made by magic. Surely, no rock like these could be natural?
Eventually, they came to a slate outcropping that overlooked the entire Palancar valley. It was a stunning sight, and never failed to take his breath away. The river rushed past them, flinging itself over the edge into empty air and plunging down to the valley floor, creating the Igualda Falls. At the base of the falls, more than a half-mile below, was the northernmost point of the valley.
Carvahall, a cluster of brown buildings, was not too far from the falls and could easily be seen from their vantage point. White smoke rose from the chimneys, defiant of the wilderness around it. At this height, farms were small square patches no bigger than the end of his finger. The land around them was tan or sandy, where dead grass swayed in the wind. The Anora River wound from the falls toward Palancar's southern end, reflecting great strips of sunlight. Far in the distance it flowed past the village Therinsford and the lonely mountain Utgard. Beyond that, he knew only that it turned north and ran to the sea. Therinsford and Carvahall were the only villages in the valley with few travellers passing through.
"The trip is worth it just for views like this." Isabella's soft voice came from right beside him. He nodded in agreement. It was beautiful. Wild and rugged, the valley was harsh but beautiful. Rather like his cousin, if he was honest. Not that he would ever say that to her face. He could perfectly picture her expression if he said that, the little wrinkle of her nose and the narrowing of her eyes that promised retribution. She was, in almost every way, the very opposite of Roran. Though he knew Roran's calmer, steadier nature hid a spine of determination and steel that was every bit the same as his half-sister. His temper was slower to rouse, but just as vicious, and much slower to cool.
"We best get a move on if we want to get home before dark," he said reluctantly. Honestly, Eragon could stare at this view all day. He felt Isabella retreat from his side and took one last look before following her down the trail.
"Maybe we can sell the stone and buy some additional meat before we get home," Isabella suggested as they walked. "If the frosts are starting this early, we'll need it." Eragon frowned. He didn't want to sell the stones. If they hadn't caught the doe then they would have had little choice, but they had meat for now.
"Sell them? We don't know how much they are worth, and you know what Sloan is like," he pointed out. Her mouth twisted into a disgusted grimace.
"Roran wants us to give a message to Katrina anyway."
"I'll let you handle that," he muttered.
"Gee, thanks," she replied sarcastically. "Either way, I wasn't thinking of selling them directly to Sloan. You know how he feels about the Spine. He'd refuse. One of the villagers might be able to use the material. Horst?"
"Maybe we could ask Brom. From all of his tales, he must have travelled a lot. Maybe he's seen something similar before."
"That's not a bad idea," Isabella agreed. "But if we're going to do that, it might be best to wait for the traders to arrive. We can speak to Brom then and get rid of the stones at the same time. It's already late, and I wish to be home."
"Selling them for meat was your idea," he reminded her with an eyeroll. "But I agree." He wasn't going to complain about keeping the stones a while longer.
The village was composed of stout log buildings with low roofs, a mixture of shingle and thatch. Smoke billowed from the chimneys, giving the air a woody smell. The buildings had wide porches where people gathered to talk and conduct business. Occasionally a window brightened as a candle or lamp was lit. Eragon heard men talking loudly in the evening air while wives scurried to fetch their husbands, scolding them for being late.
They approached the butcher shop, hoping to speak with Katrina before heading back. It was a large building, belching out thick black smoke. Unfortunately, she was nowhere in sight, and neither of them wanted to go inside and ask Sloan to speak with her. Roran wanted to keep it a secret as there was no way Sloan would approve of him for Katrina. A widower, the only person Sloan cared about was Katrina and in his view, nobody was good enough for his daughter, especially a poor farmer like Roran.
They quickly searched the surrounding area, wondering if Katrina might be around but neither of them saw her until they were about to make for home. A slim figure darted in front of Isabella as soon as they were out of sight of the butcher shop.
Katrina was a tall girl of sixteen. She had long copper hair and vibrant blue eyes. Eragon could see why Roran liked her.
"I saw you two looking into the store."
"We were looking for you, actually," Isabella stated. "Roran wished for me to tell you he will be coming into town when the merchants arrive." Katrina smiled widely at the news. "Additionally, he thinks you are the most beautiful girl in the world, and he misses you." Isabella pulled a face at the words while Katrina beamed delightedly.
"I miss him too. I look forward to his arrival," Katrina replied.
They chatted for a few minutes longer, but Katrina had to get back before her father closed up for the night. Eragon and Isabella turned for home. He wanted to stop in and talk to Brom now, instead of waiting. His curiosity was peaked. Still, he was eager to be home.
They walked past the edge of the village, renewed energy in their steps as they made the last leg of their journey. As they left the warm lights of Carvahall behind, their way was lit purely by moonlight, giving the land a bleached look. The mountains of the spine were looming black shapes on the horizon.
Some way down the road, long after Carvahall had vanished from sight, they turned left off of the main road. A simple, dirt path led through the surrounding grass that came up to Eragon's waist. It came up a knoll almost hidden by a group of elm trees. As they crested over the hill, a warm glow became visible from the farmhouse.
The farmhouse had a shingled roof and a brick chimney. Eaves hung over the whitewashed walls, shadowing the ground below. One side of the enclosed porch was filled with split wood, ready for the fire. A jumble of farm tools cluttered the other side.
"Home sweet home," Isabella murmured, though there was a tinge of wistfulness in her voice.
They had moved into the house when his Aunt Marion had died. It hadn't been an easy time, Garrow widowed and with three fairly young children had had to sell their previous home in the village and move into the dilapidated farmhouse that had been abandoned for half a century prior. Eragon had been only seven at the time, while Roran and Isabella had been nine and ten respectively. It was ten miles out from Carvahall, further than any other farm, and the villagers considered the distance dangerous as help from the village could not be relied on. Which was especially concerning with three children. But they had managed. The three of them had learnt to help around the farm quickly and they made enough to get by. Especially once Isabella began hunting, and then taught Eragon.
A hundred feet from the house, in a dull-coloured barn, lived two horses—Birka and Brugh—with chickens and a cow. Sometimes there was also a pig, but they had been unable to afford one this year. A wagon sat wedged between the stalls. On the edge of their fields, a thick line of trees traced along the Anora River.
Both of them felt dead on their feet when they saw the light moving behind the window.
"Uncle Garrow. We're back. Let us in, please," Eragon called. There was the sound of a lock being slid open and the wooden door swung gently open.
Garrow stood with his hand on the door. His worn clothes hung on him like rags on a stick frame. It made a lump form in Eragon's throat. A lean, hungry face with intense, brown eyes gazed out from under greying hair. He looked like a man who had been partly mummified before it was discovered that he was still alive.
A lantern flickered on a wood table so old that the grain stood up in tiny ridges like a giant fingerprint. Near a woodstove were rows of cooking utensils tacked onto the wall with homemade nails. A second door opened to the rest of the house. The floor was made of boards polished smooth by years of tramping feet. Eragon looked about for his other cousin.
"Roran is asleep," Garrow told them in a soft voice.
Eragon and Isabella swung their packs onto the table and began unloading the meat.
"A good haul," said Garrow approvingly.
"We caught a doe on our last night," Isabella told him. Eragon wanted to protest that she had done most of the work but decided it didn't truly matter. They had worked together during the trip.
"And a couple of rabbits. Not much meat on them, but every little helps," Eragon added. Garrow nodded.
"You've done well. This will keep us going for a while. How was the weather?" He asked as they hung their bows and quivers up behind the door.
"Cold," Eragon muttered.
"It froze each night but no snow yet." Garrow looked worried by the news.
"Tomorrow the pair of you will help Roran finish harvesting the barley. If we can get that done and the squash picked the frost shouldn't bother us overly." They both nodded. "It's late. Get some sleep, both of you. It's going to be a long few days."
"It's good to be home," Eragon stated. His uncle's eyes softened, and the thin line of his lips lessened slightly. He nodded and Eragon stumbled to the room he shared with Roran. As he flopped down onto the mattress, he took the blue stone out of his pack and stared at it. After a few moments, he wrapped it back up and slid it back into his pack. For the first time since they had left, Eragon was able to relax completely and let sleep take him.