Chapter 1: Discovery
Eragon knelt in a bed of trampled grass and scanned the tracks with a practiced eye. They were fresh, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Sitting back on his heels, he pushed back his mat of brown hair and wiped his forehead. He cursed his uncle.
It wasn't as if they had needed the meat. His uncle's farm had never been prosperous, but it grew enough to meet their needs and a little extra to barter for what they could not grow. And if they were that desperate there were the chickens to eat, though the eggs they laid were far more valuable.
Eragon wasn't on bad terms with Uncle Garrow. The old man could be gruff and impatient at times, but he treated Roran, Eragon's cousin, just the same.
And it wasn't as if Uncle Garrow was crazy, Eragon mused. At least he had never acted that way before. Uncle Garrow had always struck Eragon as being extremely cunning in his business. Whenever they had gone to market, it was Uncle Garrow that drove the bargain for the meager vegetables they had to offer, and he never came away with less than what he'd earned.
But here he was in the Spine. Uncle Garrow had practically shoved him out the door with nothing but his bow and hunting knife. Eragon had needed to shout through the door to convince the man he at least needed food and provisions. The satchel had been thrown out the window for him. He had been told not to come back without any food. When he had complained about hunting in the Spine, Garrow had only replied through the locked door, "And here I heard you were the bravest hunter in the village. Act like it for your poor, starving uncle at least."
Briefly Eragon had toyed with the idea of bringing down a couple squirrels in the backyard and calling it food, but that seemed ripe for a beating, so off into the Spine he had gone.
Uncle Garrow hadn't been lying when he said Eragon was the bravest hunter in the village. It was by forfeit really, he was the only hunter who dared enter the Spine at all. But it didn't mean he treated the craggy mountain range with anything other than deep respect. He only hunted there by day, and he never traveled much deeper than the base of the mountains. He had heard the stories just as often as everyone else in Carvahall. Stories that chilled your very bones, of faerie light that enchanted hunters and lead them off the tallest cliffs, of witches that cast curses, and monstrous creatures that ate men.
This was Eragon's third day hunting, and the deer had led him deeper into the mountains than he had ever been. Eragon counted himself lucky that he had gone unnoticed so far. Even if the tales were false, the animals in these parts were not afraid of men, and could easily consider Eragon a meal.
With a sigh, Eragon climbed to his feet and looked up at the moon. It was full tonight and lit the forest, casting crisp, black shadows behind the many trees. Despite its light, Eragon knew he should be bedding down and waiting until morning before pursuing the deer. But he wanted to go home and put this madness behind him. His food was nearly gone and the nights were getting colder. If he waited another day, he would be waking up with frost dripping from his face. Thus with a fearful heart, Eragon donned his pack again and followed the deer trail.
Eragon silently crept into the glen, keeping the bitter wind in his face. The moonlight revealed a dozen motionless lumps huddling close together in the grass. The sun would have revealed their red-brown hides, but in the night they were just as grey and black as everything else. Eragon licked his chapped lips as he strung his bow and drew an arrow from his quiver. Creeping closer, he looked the deer herd over. A buck, distinguishable only by its size and huge antler rack lay near the edge. It would be a great prize, enough to tide them over for the winter, but Eragon doubted his ability to carry it back. Instead Eragon nocked his arrow and pointed it towards one of the smaller does in the middle. Taking one last breath, Eragon brought the arrow up to his cheek and squinted.
An explosion shattered the night.
Eragon fell to the ground as brilliant light blinded him and a horrid noise filled his ears. His arrow went wild and shot up into the sky. The herd bolted in all directions, trumpeting in fear. Stunned, he laid there, the echoes of the explosion resounding in his ears and up through the mountain range. He stared up into the night sky. The stars winked at him and he wondered if they might be laughing at his failure. Then he shook his head free of fancies and sat up.
Cursing, he stared forlornly at the deer's resting place. The deer were long gone and his arrow hadn't even scratched them. But what was that explosion? Squinting, he stared up at a high hill and saw dark smoke rising off it. The pine trees there stood naked in the stark moonlight.
Piercing his lips, Eragon knew the night was botched and he should be waiting for morning to try and pick up the deer trail again. He certainly shouldn't be climbing up the hill towards whatever was up there, most likely something dangerous. But yet it drew him, and he found that even great tangles of thorns were not enough to warn him off. When he arrived at the top, he was scratched and panting heavily, and not quite sure of what had come over him. Even then he thought of turning back, but it seemed like such a shame to go through all that trouble and not even see what was there.
So he went forward reluctantly, but the steps came easily, almost eagerly, and again he wondered why he was so excited. Why wasn't he more afraid? But this question went unanswered as Eragon passed the stripped evergreens and entered a small clearing. The grass was gone, burnt away, and here and there small flickers of flame died. Eragon's eyes watered from the acrid-smelling smoke which fill the air, but he wiped his tears away and peered closely. Laying in a freshly-dug hollow was a stone.
Eragon's eyes widened and he took one step forward before catching himself. There might still be danger. But the stone looked so harmless from where he stood. Even in moonlight he could tell it was blue, the purest blue he had ever seen. His thoughts warred with him for several long moments as he stood there, confused and uncertain. Finally, reasoning that if something bad was going to happen it would have done so already, Eragon started forward again.
He halted above the stone and frowned. This wasn't right. If he were the least bit cautious he should be running back to Carvahall and his uncle's farm right now, and Eragon was nothing if not cautious. The stone was surely magic to be enchanting him so. But he couldn't concentrate his thoughts upon the matter. The stone captured too much of his attention.
Still apprehensive, Eragon drew his hunting knife and tapped the stone with his boot. He backed away quickly. When nothing happened, he drew closer and kneeled before it.
Nature had never polished a stone as smooth as this one. This close, Eragon could see that it was not a pure blue as he had first thought, but was veined in white. Before he could stop himself, he reached down to stroke it and he felt the hairs on his neck stand up. The stone was cool to the touch and slicker than ice. He found himself picking it up and cradling it between his arms. It was large, as long as Eragon's forearm, and heavy, though perhaps not as heavy as it should have been.
"Beautiful," Eragon said softly. And dangerous, came another thought, but it was too small a voice to be bothered about. Instead other, stronger thoughts replaced it. He wondered about where it had come from. And what its purpose was, for certainly such a stone had a purpose. And if it had a purpose, it couldn't have been sent here by accident. I'm meant to have it, and this thought outweighed all the others. It was a feeling so strong, that Eragon was suddenly suspicious. "It's just a stone," he said carefully, his voice sounding false in his ears. "I don't even have room for it."
Eragon willed himself to drop the stone and turn away, but a flicker of indecision stayed his hand. It looks valuable. It could pay for some food. It'll be too long tracking those deer again. Winter is coming and I need to get back. The sudden rush of thoughts had him grimacing, he knew he should leave it, but he desperately wanted to go home. So with a sigh that was more of defeat than of relief, he tucked the stone into his pack.
Feeling suddenly exposed on the high hill, Eragon bent his head and climbed back down. He began to look for a place to make camp.
