Hello everyone, sorry for the delay but I had to work things out with my new Beta (Zukafew119) and I want to personally thank all of those who've PM me and offer to take the job. It's not easy being a beta reader and to know that you enjoy my story enough to consider doing so is just amazing really. Anyways, this chapter is a very crucial chapter that I needed to make sure didn't hold many mistaks because the plot will be unraveling from this point until the end. And hopefully all of you would understand the suddeness of it and enjoy it like I do. Anyways RR!
Fixing the laces on his black leather boots, he stared at the worn leather with a critical eye. The once strong and fine material was worn away from the tedious ventures that he'd been through as of late. He was going to need new boots. Maybe when he returned to Ellesmera he would ask for some. Or he could always make himself a pair from magic. Debating the subject, Eragon felt himself frown when a shadow passed over him.
It was merely a vulture.
Who'd died now? He wondered wryly as he stared at the large, dark, bulky bird. So far, there was no sign of Saphira and Eridor. If they didn't return within the hour, it would delay them in their traveling to Du Weldenvarden. Straightening from his bent position, he rolled his shoulders lightly letting the muscle relax. The tent area was cleared up and the saddles were ready with their bags tied expertly to them leaving him with only one task and that was waiting. He hated waiting.
It made him feel restless. After a moment of merely standing there, he set out to find the one person that he found both amusing and knowledgeable: Angela, the herbalist. His feet carried him as he wove between the rows of tents and lines of men as they went about their everyday life within the Varden. Nodding to those who greeted him, he otherwise remained indifferent to most. They were very optimistic, he thought as he watched them, for all he could see there wasn't one show of discontent amongst the men. Appearances can be deceiving at times.
Though he doubted his thoughts, a thought struck him as he watched them work; defeating Galbatorix was the only thing that united them all. If they did manage to defeat him, after that what would happen to the Varden? Would it simply dissolve and become a part of the Empire again? What would Nasuada do when victory smile upon them? He hated to think about it but there was a great part of the Empire that was accepting and used to Galbatorix's rule and to suddenly have a resistance group overthrow an Empire that was around for a near century would disrupt society. If anything, riots and rebellion would erupt in the streets if there wasn't order to quell it.
But who would be that new order to uphold the laws of the land? For a long moment, the thought of Queen Islanzadi taking control made a chill run down his spine. If she could control Alagaesia, she would no doubt. But the land had always belonged to humans since the elves had abandoned the flat plains and raised mountains for their lush forests. He couldn't imagine the dwarves taking it for themselves; their mountains were enough for them. His thoughts wondered to the large, muscular race of the Urgals. Once the war was done they would return to their halls in the Spine and be done with it until their population grew and they needed to spread out.
That left the biggest concern: Surda and King Orrin. He wasn't merely supporting the Varden for his own will. No, there was more to it. He wanted the spoils of war that was promised to him upon entry in their fight. It was only natural that he would want so. Would he go as far as to fight for the crown?
A chilling voice answered his unasked question, "He will if he believes that it is his right."
The hair on the back of his neck seemed to stand on end as his ears registered the high voice and his mind felt the presence of another. He turned to find a young girl dressed in black, her violet eyes peering up at him, an unnatural smile upon her lip. "It's been a while since we've last spoke, Elva."
"It has been Eragon Shadeslayer," her voice was still as out of place as when he first heard her speak. Glancing about them he blinked when a shadow seem to shift. But his worry was misplaced as it was only a child running about the tent that his family stayed in. "If you fear that someone might overhear us speak, then let us walk to the bend of the Jiet River."
He followed her, she seemed much better than the first time he'd met her and that was when he remembered Saphira telling him of how Murtagh's spell allowed her to ignore the need to shelter others from pain. "How are you feeling?" Eragon asked cautiously.
"That I want to stab myself in my left foot on my small toe," she pointed to a tall, slim man about fifty yards away. "In his haste, he'd stabbed himself." Well, that is quite a way to start a conversation. Her eyes found him again. "You seem much better than before."
"You know?" The question left his lips before he had time to think about it but he had a strong inkling that nothing escaped the young child.
She laughed, "Does that bother you that I do?"
Eragon thought about it for a moment before shaking his head lightly. "No, but I do like to be under the illusion that you do not know all of my secrets and fears." At his slightly disgruntled tone she laughed again.
"I do not," they came to a stop near the bend in the river, the rushing water loud in their ears. Taking a seat on the ground with her legs crossed at the ankles, she patted the spot next to her. He sat hesitantly. What could it be that she wanted to speak to him about? For a moment the only sound that pierced the silence between them was the rushing water but then Elva spoke again, her voice impassive. "Ever since you and Arya had joined souls, your fears have become confusing to separate."
This new piece of information pleased him. Elva was not a considerable foe anymore than. As if sensing his emotions, she raised a dark brow at him. Arya's own emotions began to tip slightly towards irritation. Was King Orrin annoying her again? He could only speculate. The thought of the king brought back his original train of thought and Elva's response to his silent question. "You said," Eragon began tentatively, "that he will if he believed that it was his right. Why would you say such a thing?"
Her expression clearly told him that he was a missing the larger piece of the puzzle. "You've led me to believe that you are an intelligent person, Eragon. Does it surprise you that King Orrin would want to gain Alagaesia as part of his own?"
"No," he answered truthfully after a moment of thinking. "It was always a possibility."
Elva nodded, "That fact has not escaped Nasuada and neither should it escape her vassal. If the Varden wins this war, he will be your greatest enemy and ally. But you should not worry yourself so."
"And why is that?"
"Because none wish to see Orrin to ascendency over such a large empire. He cannot lead a nation," he blinked at her outright insults at the monarch of Surda. It was a good thing that they were alone and even if they did have company, they wouldn't be able to hear the conversation over the rushing water of the river.
"He's doing it rather well now," Eragon countered watching the amusement grow on Elva's face.
"Yes and that's because his house has resided over the small kingdom for some time now, even then it is his ministers that advise him crucially," she poked at the dirt beneath time. "But he cannot motivate a mass like the Varden. His disposition is too eccentric, too formal. He can never rouse an army as Nasuada had and that is key to being a leader."
"Have you something against King Orrin?" Eragon asked slightly suspicious. From what he'd heard, the young man was rather kind towards Elva.
"When fighting for a cause, one most make sacrifices and he wants to make the least," she said simply. He nodded. After a moment of thinking he glanced at the young girl. All that he knew about her was that her talents were used by Nasuada to keep assassins at bay but other than that there was nothing else that was known about her. He wanted to ask but for a reason, it felt rather intrusive. "Do not loss confidence when speaking to me, Eragon."
If she was insisting, "Do you believe we will win, Elva?"
Her violet eyes were piercing as they gazed at him but he did not falter. Her answer interested him greatly. "I do," she said slowly as if to prevent any misunderstanding. "With Nasuada leading the Varden with such an iron grip and three dragon riders to combat Galbatorix, I do not see where we can go wrong."
"Ah," he nodded. She didn't know but he did. The Eldunari were not a public fact and that alone tipped the balance of power greatly. There was also the matter of what Galbatorix was trying to search for. The thought of it unsettled him greatly; he was close when Eragon had left him for the Varden. He'd an entire century to look for it. And now he was almost upon it: the true name of the ancient language. With that magic would be rendered useless unless he willed it. The elves, especially, would be at a great disadvantage.
How was one supposed to combat that strategy? Galbatorix would be untouchable if they didn't stop him now. He agreed with the king that the use of magic was a danger to the land but to control it would destroy a way of life. He thought about Arya and how she would feel if her magic was rendered useless. It would anger her to no end. But there was another thing that he had been thinking about: the vault of souls.
Ever since Solembum had told him about it, his mind had wandered to the vault every night. There was a way; he knew it, to counter the true name of the ancient language. Could it lie in the vault of souls? Even if it wasn't magic didn't necessarily need words, it was just easier to speak the incantations than set thoughts to it because words channeled the magic and thoughts if distracted could easily draw away the attention of the caster. And that small lapse in attention could easily kill a magic user.
Spirits, Eragon thought, could use magic without the use of the ancient language. But how? And where would he find spirits who could help him? If he wasn't careful he could end up creating a shade. Staring at the ground, he sighed. "Do you believe that we can win?"
He started forgetting momentarily that Elva sat beside him. His distress did not go unnoticed by her but she kept quiet about it. "Yes," said Eragon after a moment. "Only if I can find a way that will lead us there."
Elva nodded, and then she spoke again, "Then let me ask you another question, Shadeslayer. Do you believe in the afterlife?"
That was a far cry from the subject at hand and it disarmed him. Letting the question float about in his head, he lifted his shoulders slightly in a shrug. "I cannot say I gave it much thought."
She blinked, her violet eyes knowing, and the next words she spoke unsettled him, "Those who die do not truly leave us."
"What do you mean?" he asked slowly. Instead she didn't answer him and turned her gaze skyward.
Those who die do not truly leave us…those who die do not truly leave us…truly leave us…those who die…
The words tumbled in his mind repeatedly but there was no connection. What was there in death then? His eyes stared intently at the ground not actually seeing what was before him as he thought ardently. The dead did not walk Alagaesia not that he knew of. He had heard about strange and unusual occurrences but none like this. For a moment he imagined Tornac walking about, his body transparent against the background and nearly burst out laughing.
Ghosts didn't exist. Not to his knowledge at least. When one died, their body was lowered into the ground or burnt to ashes to be spread into the air. There was nothing more to it. "Ghosts don't exist, Elva." Eragon said after a long moment.
"I never said that they did," came her reply. She sounded like she was enjoying herself. Only she would think his confusion was of any entertainment. "But think about it for a moment."
"There's nothing to think about," Eragon said resolutely. "Ghosts do not exist."
"When one person dies, Eragon," Elva spoke slowly. "Their body dies but does their spirit die?"
He glanced at her for a long moment. "I wouldn't know."
A sound of exasperation rose up from her. "Think Eragon! Do the dead really leave this land?"
"Alagaesia—"
"Exactly!" Elva cut him off midway.
"What does this have to do with Alagaesia?" as he said the words the idea slowly manifested in his mind. If the ancient language had a true name then why didn't Alagaesia have a true name? The land itself was a living, pulsing sea of energy. Not only because of the plants but because of the buried bodies from fallen warriors and people. A land so large and filled with so much raw power that was built up century after century. And then there was the elves singing their heart and soul into the trees of Du Weldenvarden. But did such a name exist? Was it even possible to divulge it when Galbatorix had to use a century to search for the true name of the ancient language?
It was such a slim hope that he couldn't bring himself to believe in his own train of thought. Why had none of the magicians before him had tried to divine the true name of Alagaesia? The spirit of the land that allowed them refuge? "That's not possible," Eragon said hesitantly, doubting his own words as it left his lips.
"Do you really believe that?"
He frowned staring at her before saying, "Even if it does exist, I'll never find it in the time allotted. In another few months, we'll be upon the plains of Uru'baen and Galbatorix will be coming down on us. There's no time, Elva."
She didn't respond to him, and if anything her silence seemed to anger him even more than her words. She had a silver tongue. But she hadn't once used it on him and it angered him that she was allowing him that moment to think for himself.
"Even if we did divulge the true name of Alagaesia, how will it help us when he has—" he stopped cutting himself short. Elva couldn't know about what Galbatorix wanted to uncover. It was too dangerous. And if anything he had an obligation to inform Oromis, Murtagh, and Arya first hand. The discussion was turning down a dangerous path and that was when he decided to draw the line. Standing, he gestured towards the position of the sun in the sky. "We should be returning to the Varden camp, the dragons should return soon."
She smiled at him knowing that he was in an uncomfortable position, "Let us return then."
Unnerved, the two of them walked side by side as they headed towards the main body of the camp, where it was showed that the conversation was at an end. But even then his thoughts were in a mess, jumbled together and what not. Elva had instilled within him something he didn't think possible: a great hope. But he didn't know how to get it. What was he supposed to do? There was no reference to Alagaesia being called another name and he was sure that none had ever thought of it as a land other than Alagaesia.
Feeling like his body was on fire; he clenched and unclenched his fists in frustration. To know such an idea but not having the willpower to move on it. The dead do not truly leave us. Did that mean that they became a part of Alagaesia? It made sense. Just as the two of them submerged themselves in the mass of tents that was called the Varden, Elva turned to him in departure.
"I shall see you another time, Eragon Shadeslayer."
With that she turned to leave in the left direction, leaving him to his confusion. It was too much. Just too much. Unable to think of anything else, he made his way towards his mother's tent. He needed a distraction and he had yet to say goodbye to his family. Even if it was a short trip, it always made him nervous leaving his mother behind. As he made his way towards the large tent of his parents, he was greeted with the sight of his servants and Murtagh's guards lounging outside of the tent. Well, not merely lounging but rather guarded and relaxed at the same time.
As he was nearing, Rosalie who was conversing with Blodhgarm glanced up at his approach. He smile was blindingly bright. "Lord Eragon," she stood to greet him. Rosalie looked much better than when he saw her after he woke from his injuries. Instead of being caked in dried blood and filth, she was clean. Her clothes weren't torn and her hair was its healthy shine of dark red. The biggest difference was her emerald eyes which weren't red from her tears but shining brightly.
"Rosalie," he glanced warily at the elves. He didn't think they trust him but at his approach they didn't change their stance nor glanced up. He nodded to his other servants who excitedly greeted him. "Are my parents in their tent?"
She nodded, "Murtagh is with them," she blinked up at him, her eyes seeming to do silent calculations as she beheld his image.
"Is something wrong?"
Rosalie merely shook her head, opting not tell him her train of thought. He stared at her for a long moment before inwardly shrugging to himself. If she wasn't going to tell him then he wouldn't push her about it. "I'll go meet my parents then." Acknowledging the elves for a moment he pushed the tent flap aside and entered the tent.
The sight that greeted him made his heart clench slightly. His mother was sitting on the bed; her pillows propped up against her as she ate her soup, her belly large and round. Brom sat on a stool on one side of the low table that was centered in their tent and opposite him was Murtagh. The three of them stopped in their conversation and glanced up at his entrance. His mother smiled at him as she sat straighter, "Eragon," her voice sounded pleasantly surprised.
"I wanted to see you," he went to sit down beside her on the bed.
"How are you feeling?" his mother asked.
"Well," and he meant it to the fullest.
"Are you sure?" Brom asked his expression one of slight doubt. Eragon nodded. It was getting easier to interact with his father but he still couldn't help the slight resentment that rose up in him when he caught Brom's eye.
"Absolutely," he quickly saw a flash of emotion in Brom's eyes but ignored the thought altogether if he didn't want to voice it then there was no reason to bring about the subject. Glancing at Murtagh, Eragon spoke, "You are leaving for Farthen Dur." It was not a question but rather a statement. He was sure and absolute in his answers.
"When you leave for Du Weldenvarden, I'll be departing for Farthen Dur," said Murtagh with a rather dull expression. "Nasuada wishes to see a monarch sympathetic to the Varden's cause. If I'm lucky then they would not spit on me when they see me."
Eragon snorted slightly, that was right, the dwarves did not take to it kindly when King Hrothgar decided to adopt Murtagh and by extension Eragon and Roran into his clan. He glanced back at his mother and her swollen belly. It hurt him to leave her seeing that she was very close to labor. But he knew that his servants would take care of her no matter what.
"Another month or so and you'll have a younger sibling," his mother said serenely. Eragon tried to fight the grimace that fought its way forward. Bringing a child into the world at such a depressing time . . . He blinked erasing the thought from his mind, he should be happy not morbid about the situation at all.
"Yes," Brom agreed, "We'll be a real family then."
The silence that reigned then wasn't uncomfortable but it held a great truth that no one, not even Eragon dared to refute. Because deep down, in his own heart he'd realized how deeply he wanted that statement to become true. To fix the relationship with his family and it seemed so close at hand, he could almost see it happening.
Are you ready to depart?
Grateful for Saphira's interruption, he swiftly stood. "Saphira and Eridor have returned," said Eragon. "It's time we've left for Du Weldenvarden."
Murtagh also stood in one fluid motion, "Then it's time I leave as well," he said. He quickly gave Brom a one arm hug and tenderly kissed their mother on the forehead goodbye. Eragon moved to kiss his mother farewell as well before stopping before his father.
Not knowing what to do, he searched his mind. Coming to a sudden decision, he lifted his hand towards Brom. His father seemed disappointed but had gripped his hand firmly, "Fly safely," he advised.
Eragon nodded, releasing his hand watching as Brom went bustling about the tent to grab an old tattered book. He held it out to him. "Here, I wanted to give this to you before you left. It's a rather thick book but I'm sure you'll enjoy its contents soon enough."
He gripped the voluminous book in his hands and nodded not able to find the words to speak. Letting Murtagh lead him out of their tent, the two of them accompanied by the twelve elves and Eragon's servants made their way over to the clearing where the dragons were waiting. And to his surprise, the saddles for Saphira and Eridor were already strapped onto their backs. "This is where we depart then," said Murtagh as they came to a stop before the dragons.
Eragon nodded, gripping Murtagh's offered hand. "Take care of yourself in Farthen Dur, the dwarves are not kind. Their granite halls and cold chambers are proof of that. Trust in no one besides Orik and his clan."
"I will see to that I take your advice to heart," said Murtagh with a faint grin. "And you take care as well. Do not cause trouble in Ellesmera."
He grunted but otherwise did not make a rebuttal. "It's time," Arya's musical voice floated over to them and he watched as she stepped away from Eridor's bulking mass as she finished securing one of his straps. Her emerald eyes flickered to Murtagh. "A safe journey to you, Murtagh."
"And to you as well," he inclined his head to her.
Eragon caught her eye, seeing the questions in them but he slightly shook his head. He would explain to her his emotions earlier that day when they were out of earshot. Moving towards Saphira to tuck away the book, he turned back to the small assembled crowd waiting for them. While Arya was busy speaking to Blodhgarm and the others, he turned to his servants.
"Take care of yourselves," said Eragon.
"Yes, my lord," they murmured.
"I'll return soon and until then you must take care of my mother."
"Of course!"
"Leave it to us."
"We'll not fail you."
He glanced at each one of them, their bright expressions accompanied by their smiles and grins, it was infectious. Trying to fight his own chuckle, he nodded at their willingness. Of course they wouldn't object, they'd followed him for so long now. "Right, shall we Arya?"
"Let us depart," mounting Eridor, she waited for his to mount Saphira and secured his legs. With one last look to the others, Eragon watched as they slowly became smaller as Saphira and Eridor ascended into the vast sky giving him a clear view of the land below.
Alagaesia…
Now I know you all have a lot of questions and if you want answers just leave a review and I'll try to adress it in the next chapter. But anyways, the explaination to my way of thinking: since trees and plants are considered sources of energy, I thought it would only make sense that Alagaesia itself could be considered this great entity of energy because of the life embedded in it and the dead that are buried in the land. And personally when I first read that Galbatorix was trying to find the true name for something I honestly thought it would be for Alagaesia and not the Ancient Language because it made more sense to me. Anyways, the way Eragon defeated him in the end was just lacking the passion I thought it would have. This made completely more sense to me. If they knew the true name of Alagaesia then the Ancient language wouldn't be a necessity in fighting Galbatorix off but I won't tell you everything just yet. The next chapter is already halfway done but be warned, it probably won't be uploaded until the end of next week because of my new Beta Reader (thanks to you again!) but I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and my new plotline. And do tell me your thoughts in your reviews if you plan on leaving one!