Chapter Two – Bearings

Under normal circumstances, Eragon would have taken a few days to reach Carvahall from his current position in The Spine. However, he now moved with a purpose, and a very important one at that. Not only did he have his moral duty to try and save this boy's life, but he was excited at the prospect of how much meat he could possibly buy in exchange for the mysterious blue stone. He had wanted to go back to the site of its appearance, but that was second to the importance of returning to Carvahall now. However, even with his increased pace; stopping to make camp was apparently inevitable at least once. He reached a precipitous ravine after several hours of slightly laboured hiking on the game trail. The stranger was light in comparison to the weight of another human, a feature Eragon put down to malnourishment because of his skinny posture.

His light weight notwithstanding, returning home was still not an easy task for Eragon. He carried the man over his shoulders, which tended to slow down his advancement significantly. Even with his renewed vigour, he doubted he would reach the town until two days passed by. As he sat by the fire he had made, eating his regular camping dinner of bread and cheese, he wondered where this boy had come from. It was as though he had just appeared out of nowhere, the same way the stone had. Eragon placed him at around the age of seventeen, Roran's age. He hadn't searched his pockets for any clue to his identity, and resolved not to. He believed in privacy, and wasn't about to undermine that of anyone else. He had, however, removed the glasses his new "friend" was wearing, so they wouldn't get lost or broken during the trek to Carvahall.

Suddenly, Eragon realised something. If he was skinny due to malnourishment, then was it possible for him to make it back to Carvahall, in his present state, with no food? Eragon considered both sides of the argument carefully, but then made his mind up. He had little food, and couldn't make the boy eat when he was unconscious anyway, but there was plenty of water. Besides, if he ran out, he could simply make a detour and refill his water-skin at the river.

Carefully, Eragon walked over and opened his mouth gently, then poured some of the water inside. Knowing what to do, he squeezed his nose and tilted his head backwards, so that the cool liquid ran down his throat. After a second, Eragon heard a loud swallowing noise and released his grip. It wasn't much, but it would hopefully keep him going for a little while. He spent an hour camped in the thicket, deciding not to spend the night. Every little step counted, but a mouthful of water wouldn't be enough to last indefinitely; if he had to keep splitting it between the two of them, he would soon run out, most likely when he was too far away from the Anora to return again.

And so he set off again, hoping that a miracle would deliver the two of them safely. A lesser person would have left the boy there to die, deciding not to take the risk. Eragon would have called such a person a coward and cursed them with the strongest oaths he knew. For two days, he continued with the same routine: using his quick reflexes and average strength to keep moving for several hours, resting for an hour or so, giving the stranger a drink of water at each stop, and praying that he would make it back.

Truthfully, he was more concerned for his unconscious companion than he was for himself. He hadn't once awoken since Eragon had found him. Eragon had heard stories of injured persons that slept for long periods of time continuously, due to severe head injuries. After he thought of that, he remembered the position he had found the boy lying in and immediately stopped, in order to check the back of his head. How could he have missed something so obvious?

He slowly sat him down on the ground, in a sitting position. Eragon was no healer, but he knew the basics of checking for head injuries. Slowly, he moved his fingers from the top of the boy's head and worked backwards, simply brushing them along his scalp. He stopped when he got to the point joining the head and the back. There was a huge bump in that position; the explosion must have knocked him backwards into the tree, knocking him out. Eragon removed his fingers and felt his face turn pale as he saw blood covering the tips of his first two fingers.

Acting on a sudden impulse, he picked the boy up once more and began travelling even faster than before, practically running along the game trail, whilst praying that he wouldn't trip. He did not. Finally, he reached Palancar Valley, but didn't stop to admire the view as he normally would. He cursed softly as he realised normal descent would be impossible carrying someone, unless he wanted to go over the edge of the cliff and fall to his death. Instead, he spent a while searching for an easier path to take, the task taking three hours. Cursing under his breath, he climbed very slowly down the relatively smooth slope, feeling his heart pound in his chest as he nearly fell four times, being saved only by those quick reflexes.

He finally reached the bottom, but didn't stop to rest, choosing to start walking the final stretch home immediately. It took him two hours to reach Carvahall; it was now evening time. He had resolved to visit the butcher's shop, but there was a more important errand beforehand. With staggering steps, he attempted to head for Gertrude's hut, but the exhaustion he had been plagued with finally overcame him; he collapsed onto his side and blacked out.

When Eragon awoke, he found himself staring at the roof of a hut, and realised he had been found by someone. Sitting upright, he turned to find the town healer, Gertrude, sitting at his side. The boy was nowhere to be seen.

'Ah! You're awake! How do you feel?' Gertrude asked him caringly.

He stifled a yawn behind his hand. 'Fine, I think. I was just tired.'

She smiled at him warmly, setting aside the blanket she was knitting. 'Exhausted, more like! Carrying someone all the way back here!' She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. 'I mean, it was very brave of you, but very foolish as well, I must say.'

Eragon shrugged impatiently. 'I wasn't about to let him die out there. He didn't awaken once the entire time; how could he have looked after himself?'

'I know, son, I know.' She patted his cheek admirably. 'It looks like your sacrifice paid off anyway; he should be just fine.'

Relief washed over Eragon like a hot bath. He wasn't afraid to let it show either; he closed his eyes and sighed. 'Thank the gods,' he muttered.

'Thank you, more like; you saved his life. Horst helped me move him into the house, where he can stay until he awakens.'

'Can I see him?' Eragon asked.

'You may, but I wouldn't bother. He's still asleep, and will probably remain so for a while now.'

Eragon nodded, understanding. 'I think I'll head on now, in that case. Thank you for everything.'

'No problem; it's what I'm here for. You can come back and check up on him in a couple of day's time, if you wish.'

'I think I'll do that.' Quickly, Eragon rose and donned his clothes, making sure to not forget the pack in which the blue stone lay. Once more he thanked Gertrude, and then ventured outside. It was a warm morning; the sun shone brightly in the distance, its rays of light dominating all. He blinked as he became accustomed to the light once more, then headed for Sloan's.

Ten minutes later, he left the shop, fuming at the butcher and his irritable attitude. It was good of Horst to pay for the meat, not to mention giving Eragon the chance to pay it off later, but it still didn't change the way the butcher had acted, and didn't make it any more tolerable. However, he was eager to be home, so, after delivering both his thanks and Roran's embarrassing message to Horst, he quickly departed the town.

He followed the road until he reached the turn-off point, and continued on from there. He practically tore a path through the waist-high grass and the knoll, which was almost hidden by the shadows of the large elm trees nearby. As he reached the top of the hill, he took one glance at his home and a broad grin spread over his face. It was still early, so he didn't know if Garrow or Roran would be up yet, but he knocked on the locked door anyway.

'Uncle, it's Eragon. Are you there?'

Eragon heard the small shutter slide back, then the door swung inwards, revealing his uncle, Garrow. The boy Eragon had rescued may have felt malnourished, but Garrow had a look in his eye that suggested the exact same thing. His intense eyes gazed out from beneath his hair, which was definitely greying nowadays, Eragon knew. Forced to make a living the hard way, Garrow displayed strength and a fairly impressive stature, although it was nothing compared to Horst's.

'Hello, Eragon,' he smiled. 'You're late.'

Eragon grinned, crossed the threshold and sat his pack on the kitchen table.

'Sorry, uncle; I was forced to spend a night in Carvahall. At Gertrude's, to be exact.'

'Don't tell me you injured yourself again!' Garrow shook his head amusingly. 'The amount of accidents you have-'

'No, no, it wasn't me,' Eragon said quickly. He summarised the story for his uncle, making sure to leave out none of the finer details. Garrow looked thoughtful.

'You say he was just… "lying there"?'

Eragon nodded in response.

'Hmm… well, that's very odd, but you did the right thing in helping him,' Garrow said proudly.

'There's more.'

'Oh?'

Eragon hesitated, biting his lip. 'Uncle, don't be mad, but Horst bought meat for us.' As Garrow's eyes flashed warningly, Eragon said in a louder voice: 'with the promise that I can work off my debt in spring.'

'Where will you find time to work for him? Will you just ignore what needs to be done around here?' Garrow asked angrily, doing his best not to shout.

'I don't know how I'll do it,' Eragon said irritably, although he had a good idea. In the surrounding land, when a life was saved, the rescuer was normally owed a life debt from the rescued, so he was counting on some help, although he would never force it. For all he knew, the stranger was needed by his own family, elsewhere. 'Besides, it may not be necessary at all,' Eragon continued. 'I found something that could be worth some money…'

Harry groaned as he awoke painfully. His head was pounding. He looked around and found himself in a strange, old-fashioned bedroom; one with very little furniture and honey-coloured walls. He sat upright, finding himself alone. A dish of water lay on a small bedside table next to him, along with a damp cloth. Grimacing, he reached up and felt the back of his head, which seemed to be the source of the pain. He found a bandage wrapped around his forehead, covering the undeniable bump.

Yep, definitely a concussion; I was probably out for a day or two. Bloody tree.

His first question was an easy one, although it would probably be difficult to answer: where am I?

He decided it wouldn't hurt to find out. Obviously, whoever had brought him here meant him no harm; else his wound wouldn't be bandaged. 'Hello?' he called out. Only a couple of seconds later, the door opened and a middle-aged woman walked in, smiling serenely. Harry couldn't find words to describe her clothes; they appeared to be even older-looking than Ron's dress robes. They weren't unusual, well, not really, just… old.

'Good morning,' she said brightly. 'How are you feeling?'

'Okay…' he replied slowly.

'Good. You had a mild fever and a pretty bad bump when Eragon brought you in, but I think you're fit to leave now. Let me just get this,' she said, reaching for his bandage. He allowed her to unroll it and remove the ball of cotton, which had soaked up the apparent blood.

'Who's Eragon?' he asked curiously.

'The lad that found you and brought you in,' she said absent-mindedly. 'What were you doing in The Spine?' she asked sharply.

'The… Spine?' Harry asked confusedly. He could still feel his head hurting.

'The mountains. You must be from a distant land if you haven't heard of them.'

'I guess I am, then. Where am I exactly?' he asked generally, trying not to give anything away.

'The town of Carvahall. It's located near the very top of Alagaesia, beside the Anora River.'

What? Harry shook his head to clear it. He'd never heard of such a place before. So, unless Voldemort had discovered some strange land unknown to him, that was a mistake… or a lie. He was counting on the former, but this woman said it so precisely, he doubted it was accidental.

'Could I please see a map? I'd like to get my bearings.'

'Certainly,' she replied, 'I'll be back in a moment.'

"This has to be a bad dream" was a clichéd expression; one which Harry had never expected to use before. But, under the circumstances, he could think of no alternative. It was possible that this… "Alagaesia" was little more than a hidden or unknown country, deep in South America or Africa. But, if that was the case, it would be easy for him to apparate away, so it was a doubtful proposition. Voldemort was very clever, and Harry didn't think he would overlook such an obvious point whilst formulating his plan.

Speaking of apparition, where's my wand?

He quickly scanned the room, until he found it lying under his pillow. He decided that if he was going to leave, then there was no point in sticking around any longer. After all, there's no place like home. Unfortunately, his attempt did not succeed.

Oh, come on, he pleaded with himself, then urged himself: think of the 3 D's. Deliberation, divination, desperation… no, wait! That's Ron's version! What the hell was it again?

But he had never needed the help of the three D's after leaving Hogwarts to hunt for Horcruxes, due to perfecting the art of apparition around that time. It meant that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't apparate home. After trying and failing to relocate in half a dozen other places he knew well, he fell back on the pillow, resigned to failure. It looked like the only way home was to find the Portkey and try to re-engineer the magic, but he knew that wouldn't work, simply because he had no idea how to do it. In any case, Voldemort wouldn't have gone to all this trouble and then just left the Portkey there. He would have designed it so that it would return to its point of origin after dropping Harry off.

Then there was the problem of powering it back up again; he wasn't able to tell at the time, being far too busy trying to fight his own mind, but he knew what that dark substance had been.

Blood. Voldemort's blood.

Harry was sure only Voldemort could power up that particular Portkey, so he had almost no chance of doing so himself. He sighed, trying desperately to think of another way home. The Portkey idea's out, I've no Floo Powder, no Firebolt, I can't apparate… that leaves me dead in the water.

He looked up again as the mysterious woman appeared once more, carrying a large scroll in her hands. 'Sorry I was so long. I had no idea where this was. Most people around here don't care for maps… prefer to keep to themselves,' she rambled, unaware that Harry wasn't really listening.

She unrolled the map and sat it on the bedside table, using a few, small ornaments to keep it unravelled. Harry looked at it in wonder. The Spine was a very long mountain range, aptly named as it made up the "backbone" of Alagaesia, running along the coast. A large island known as Vroengard occupied a small part of the water in the northwest, whilst five other, smaller islands were located at the very southwest point on the map. A great plain filled the heart of the map, dotted with sporadic cities and numerous towns. The largest were known as: Gil'ead, Dras-Leona, Feinster and Belatona, whilst Urû'baen appeared to be the capital. South of Alagaesia was a dotted line, running from the southern part of the Jiet River across to another mountain range. The map cut off after the first couple, just as it did on the northern side in terms of forest. On the bottom side of this dotted line was the word "Surda", written in large capitals. Harry could only guess this was a separate part of the country, or a different country altogether.

'How far is it from here…?' Harry pointed to Carvahall on the map, 'to here?' He now pointed at Aberon, Surda's capital city.

'Give or take, three hundred leagues, or so.'

Harry allowed his hand to fall onto the map lazily. That was almost one and a half thousand kilometres! And if that second mountain range continued on for the same distance as that of The Spine… He shook his head. There was no way this land could remain undiscovered on Planet Earth.

On Planet Earth…

No, that was impossible. He was kidding himself now. A Portkey couldn't transport you to another planet… could it? Voldemort was the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time, after all, and had boasted of discovering many new things that night in the graveyard. Could this be one of them? It would explain why Harry's apparition wasn't working – there were no other populated planets in the solar system besides Earth, meaning that there must be an enormous distance between Earth and this world. The apparition technique wasn't powerful enough for something like that.

'What's this area here?' he asked, pointing between two lone mountains that were situated several leagues east of the Ramr River.

'That's the Hadarac Desert. It stretches several times larger than the Great Plains of The Empire, as do the Beor Mountains and the forest Du Weldenvarden.'

That made the land even wider than it was long. He had to try to retrieve that Portkey. It was a long shot, but it still appeared to be his best shot at getting home.

'Thank you, err…'

'Gertrude.'

'Gertrude; thank you. What was the name of the boy who brought me here again?'

'Eragon, and don't mention it, son. It's what I'm here for,' Gertrude said kindly.

'Eragon,' Harry said thoughtfully. 'I think I need to speak to him. Could you please arrange it? Or am I fit to get out of bed?'

'I think you've rested enough. There's nothing more to do but wait until time heals your wound fully. But don't worry yourself. I'll arrange a meeting for the two of you. He wishes to speak to you, anyhow.'

Harry nodded, and she left the room, taking the map with her. Feeling unsure of how things would turn out, Harry began to get dressed.

Eragon awoke with the sunlight shining onto his face, thinking about his mother. It was this day, almost sixteen years ago, that she had returned to Carvahall, pregnant with Eragon. After he was born, she had begged Garrow and his late wife Marion to raise him, until they relented. She had then departed once more and never come back. Nor had Eragon's father, whose identity remained inconclusive and puzzling to this day. After quickly washing and once more examining the stone, he headed to the kitchen, where Roran and Garrow both sat, eating chicken.

Roran was a couple of years older than Eragon. He was muscular, sturdy and more of a real brother than Eragon could have ever hoped for. He had the ability to grow a beard, although he never did, preferring to shave, which Eragon envied him for. Roran was also in love with Katrina, Sloan's daughter, and Eragon believed they would plan to marry soon.

'I'm glad you're back,' Roran smiled. 'How was the hunting?'

'Didn't uncle tell you what happened?'

'No,' Roran replied, curious. Eragon quickly told him about the stranger he had found unconscious, and how he had carried him to Carvahall. That impressed Roran greatly. He also mentioned the blue stone he had found, which Roran was interested in. Before he could ask to see it, however, Garrow cleared his throat.

'That reminds me,' he said importantly. 'Albriech came by earlier. He said this "stranger" was awake, and wanted to speak with you. I suggest you leave soon, else it will be too late. Picking the harvest will take time later on.'

'Maybe I can persuade him to lend a hand,' Eragon suggested.

'You'll do no such thing,' Garrow said sharply. 'He could still be hurt, for all we know. That debt can be saved until later.'

'Very well, uncle.'

After breakfast, Eragon departed for Carvahall alone. Roran had decided to remain behind, saying that it would be best to start harvesting the crops as soon as possible. As always, it took a few hours of walking to reach the village, but Eragon always considered the journey worthwhile. It was good for truly waking a person up and the scenery was rather enjoyable in the good weather. Thankfully, it was one of those days, so Eragon's spirits were high as he entered the village.

He knocked on Gertrude's front door without hesitation, and she quickly answered.

'Come on in,' she greeted.

He thanked her and entered, allowing her to lead him up the simple, wooden staircase. She led him to one of the two rooms; the smaller one, by the looks of things. Gertrude nodded encouragingly, and he entered, feeling rather nervous.

The boy was sitting on the end of the newly-made bed, looking at an old map of Alagaesia. He had a long, thin stick in his hand, and was tapping the map with it, muttering to himself slowly. Gertrude gently closed the door behind him and retreated down the stairs.

'Ehm…' Eragon said, to announce his arrival. The boy looked over his shoulder and stood up, quickly storing the stick in his back pocket.

'Hello. You're Eragon, aren't you?'

Eragon nodded. 'I don't know your name.'

The boy momentarily touched a thin, lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, but then quickly lowered his hand.

'I'm Harry. Harry Potter.'

'You have two names?' Eragon asked confusedly.

'Well, ye-'

I'm sorry, that was rude of me,' Eragon said quickly. He extended his hand. 'Nice to meet you, Harry Potter.'

Harry smiled and shook Eragon's hand. 'Just call me Harry. Where I come from, Potter is a second name. It's not used in the same way as a first name.'

Eragon nodded in understanding. 'Where do you come from?'

'Oh, I come from a land far, far away.'

'You aren't from Alagaesia?' Eragon queried, raising his eyebrows. He knew there must be lands across the sea, but didn't know of anyone from there who lived in the domain of The Empire.

Harry shook his head, then grimaced, hoping these people wouldn't take the "M" word the wrong way. 'Eragon, have you ever heard of magic?'

Eragon raised his eyebrows even higher. 'Who hasn't?' he asked rhetorically. 'Around here, magic is revered and feared because of the Dragon Riders.'

Now it was Harry's turn to look surprised. 'The who?' Back in England, Dragons certainly weren't ridden; they'd sooner tear you limb-from-limb.

'You don't know who the Dragon Riders were?' Eragon shook his head disbelievingly. 'I've never met anyone who doesn't know… let's see… the Riders were a legendary group of magicians, united in both power and honour. They served the people, whether by curing diseases or fighting off evil creatures, and were loved in turn. But, they were betrayed by one of their own… and…' he paused. 'You should really ask Brom. He's the town storyteller. He's one of the only real sources of information for Dragons and the Riders that still exists. All I know are the basics.'

'No problem,' Harry said. 'I can speak to him later.' Since this possibly wasn't the same planet and its inhabitants knew about magic already, Harry had nothing to fear by giving out information about the Wizarding World; although, he didn't want to hand it out on a silver platter – he would keep it to a bare minimum.

'Well, I owe you an explanation for saving my life, which I want to thank you for. If it wasn't for you, I would have died out there.'

'No problem, I just did what was right.'

Harry nodded. He knew the importance of saving lives, although he hadn't always succeeded in the past.

'Well, to be frank, I was transported to this world by magic, and I have no idea how to get home.'

To Harry's immense relief, Eragon didn't look surprised. On the contrary, he looked rather thoughtful.

'I believe you. Quite simply because I found something that was also transported by magic: a blue stone. Is that the object? If it is, you can have it back, of course.'

'Was it glowing blue, or was it actually blue?' Harry queried.

'It was blue itself.'

'Did it have a carved pot attached to it? There was a curled snake chiselled into the design.'

'No, I'm afraid not.'

Harry was disappointed, to the say the least. 'That isn't it, then. But could I please see it, anyway? It's possible the shape changed… somehow.'

Eragon nodded again. 'Yes, of course. It's back at my home, a couple of hours away. Do you feel up to a long walk?'

'Believe me, I'm used to them by now.'

Eragon chuckled and held the door open for Harry, who thanked him and descended the stairs quickly. Harry hoped he had made a friend, for he would need those in abundance if he was to spend time in this land. Eragon wordlessly agreed with that trail of thought.