Chapter 3-Please Leave the Dead Baby Jokes at the Entrance

November 24th, 2016
The Sunset Program, Reporter: Joanna Morrison

"And now for some tragic news. New Zealand Ways flight TE-812 has crashed into the Tasman Sea just seven hours ago, just eight kilometres off the shore of Victoria. Two-hundred and sixteen people were upon the plane headed for Melbourne, when it crashed at 10:47 this morning. Of them, ninety-two were Australian. There are only thirty-two survivors, although six passengers are yet to be accounted for. Australian tennis player Tran Cheng and husband Flynn Mansfield are among these.
The crash is not being treated as suspicious, and authorities are currently searching for the black box…"

Upon a sagging couch sat a couple, both approaching seventy. They clasped hands tightly, faces tight and white with shock. They had expected a call, but it not having come was not unusual. Nor was it unusual for their son not to come home immediately, exhausted from travel. The worst was something which they had not held any foresight.
Suddenly the barrier broke, and the women began to sob fat liquid globules. The phone rang on the coffee table, the old man fumbled at the handset as he caught the name Elena displayed across the screen.


Flynn arose from an uneasy sleep to see the sun sending orange rays across the horizon, melting the plains winter frost. The faint smell of salt water filled his nose, the obscured sound of a splash. He was still caught in this dream- nightmare. That was what he convinced himself it was. Throughout the night he had been plagued again and again by the image of Tran's terrified face as he reached out to him.
He took a deep breath, before realising it had been a mistake, and no, deep breathing, whilst calming, is really not a good activity if your entire chest is on fire. Please be alive. Wherever you are, whichever universe just please…please be alright.

His company of course, were already awake. Eragon and Saphira were simply standing and staring at each other; the best conclusion was that they were embroiled in some sort of mental argument. Probably. I mean, who really knows what's going on?

The eldest stood by the horses. "Greetings."
"And good morning to you as well." Flynn said with a hint of dryness at the grunted speech. "I'm sorry but you don't happen to have any water?" A bladder-a literal bladder-with some water was thrust in his direction by a bony hand. It took great effort not to screw up his face.
"Drink up, there's not much more left. We should be approaching town this evening."
"Thanks."

The man didn't acknowledge him as he adjusted the saddling of two horses. Sensing that Brom was not interested in small talk at the current moment, Flynn approached Eragon instead. Dragon and rider seemed not to be speaking anymore, although as it seemed all in their heads, who knew what went on?
"Hi."
Eragon nodded in acknowledgement. "Flynn."

There was something that had been egging at the man's mind since he had met the boy. Somehow he had always gotten the impression that Eragon had been older, but now that he was a 'real' person his youthful face made Flynn shiver. He couldn't remember exactly what the boy would be going through, but if anything he recalled that it hadn't been pleasant. No child should be on a search for killers across the wilderness. At that, no-one should. "Look, I realise this may be a strange question, but er...how old are you?"
Eragon blinked surprised. "Fifteen, although I'll be sixteen come summer." Despite himself, Flynn let out a low whistle. Fifteen. It gave him a new appreciation of what the boy was going through. When he was fifteen he had been worrying that he would get a C on his chemistry test. This kid would have the world on his shoulders. He felt a strange surge of pity for the hallucinations his injured mind had created.

Dreams, hallucinations. Logically, they couldn't be anything else.

"Why the whistle?"
"What, sorry?"
"Why the whistle?"
"Oh yeah…well you see, where I come from that's pretty young."
"Young for what?"
"For next to anything. Where I'm from, people aren't classed as adults until they're eighteen."
There was a pregnant silence. "That's strange. Most people are married by then, some have children. Why wouldn't they be thought as that?"
Flynn blinked in surprise. This is the medieval ages. People do everything younger. "Well see, where I'm from most people aren't. Normally unmarried, almost certainly without children. That's for when people are like…thirty."
"Thirty! Half a life's gone by then. That's… ridiculous!" Flynn couldn't help but chuckle.
"All my folks would say the same of here."

Suddenly there was a great openness, his mind feeling as if a ton of bricks was pressing down from every side. He physically winced. "You keep mentioning where you are from, little man. Where do you come from?"

"Hey, leave the height be!" It was a facet he was sensitive about. At a diminutive 5'5ft, even putting his shoulder-length hair into a topknot meant he was well below the majority. He hesitated before answering the question, but something inside him stirred and calmed him. It's just a dream. A hallucination. It doesn't really matter what you tell them.

"I come from a country called Australia. It's a very, very long way from here… I think."

The conversation was cut to a halt by Brom's announcement that we were ready to leave.


"I hope we're going in the right direction, because we'll be in trouble if we don't reach Yazuac today."
"I've travelled this way before. It will be in sight before dusk." Brom then spared a look worried look. "Providing we can travel enough with Mansfield that is."
"I will keep up, provided somebody gives me some pointers at how to ride a horse." Flynn decided confidence was the way to go. He couldn't just stay behind. That would almost be a death sentence.

Eragon laughed at his comment, and let it lie. "Perhaps you see something I don't. How can you know Yazuac's close when everything looks exactly the same for leagues around?"
"Because I am not guided by the land, but by the stars and sun. They will not lead us astray. Now, get astride Saphira! It is foolish to conjure up woe where none exists. Yazuac will be there."

After giving Flynn tips how to ride a horse and Eragon to ride a dragon, they were off. Thankfully their pace wasn't too rough. Flynn's injuries nor his skills, would be able to handle it.

Just a few minutes into the ride Brom spoke. "So what was the answer?"
"The answer to what?"
"How old you are."
A broad grin stretched across the man's face. "You were eavesdropping!" The claim was not denied. Grin still in place, he replied. "I'm twenty-eight."


The ride was long, boring and painful. A good word for it would be downright gruelling. It was Saphira, Eragon clinging like a limpet upon her back, who saw the village first. Human eyes on the ground worked far harder to spot it, until finally a dark lump appeared in the distance.

Don't misunderstand, the pristine natural beauty around Flynn was beautiful enough to make him hold back a gasp at every sight.
It's just when you're riding around monotonous landscape for seven hours with minimum nutrients, sun beating on the back of your neck on your already severe windburn, a person just gets sick of it you know? Aside from the harsh uniform expanse, conversation was scarce, and few words had been exchanged between story teller and diminutive man. Hence it was of great relief when dragon and rider landed. They pulled their horses to a stop, Flynn taking noticeably longer to take control.

"Saphira and I will be seen if we stay close much longer. Should Saphira hide while we go into Yazuac?"
Brom stroked his long beard and looked at the town. "Eragon, you'll have to ride with Flynn. See that bend in the river? Saphira can wait there. We'll go through town, get what we need, figure out what to do with Flynn, then meet you." They all agreed- it was a good a plan as any- aside from Saphira who emitted an angry huff but headed for the bend anyway. Eragon took the reign's, for which Flynn was eternally grateful. It was however, significantly less comfortable.

Their pace swiftened with the anticipation of food and drink. Soon they could see and smell the smoke from several chimneys, despite the streets being deserted. All was forebodingly silent. It was unspoken consent that stopped them before the first house.

"There aren't any dogs barking."
"No."
"Doesn't necessarily mean anything though."
"…No."
Eragon paused his commentary. "Someone should have seen us by now."
"Yes."
"Then why hasn't anyone come out?"

Flynn shrugged behind him. "They might be scared." The pair looked at him strangely, some kind of peculiar mix between surprise and something else. "What, it's a valid point!"
"Yes, you're right." Eragon paused again. "What if it's a trap? The Ra'zac might be waiting for us."
"We need provisions and water."
"There's the Ninor."
"Still need provisions."
Eragon shrugged. "True."

Flynn looked between the two. "So we go in?"

"Yes, but not as fools. This is the main entrance to the village- if there is to be an attack, it will be staged here. It won't be expected if we come from a different direction."
"Around the side then?" They unanimously agreed.
Brom rested a sword upon his knees and Eragon pulled out his bow. Who are these people? Feeling suitably under-armed, Flynn found his grandfather's multitool in his jacket pocket. How he had managed to sneak it past airport security on multiple occasions he would never know. Not that it mattered now. The familiar weight rested in the palm of his hand.

There was no sign of life save a scrawny cat zipping past. The houses were dark and mutilated, window frames cracked, torn at the doors, hearths left unattended. The horses rolled their eyes nervously. Each wanted to state the obvious, but none could muster the courage.

As they rode to the centre of the town Flynn was greeted with a familiar smell and gripped the tool tighter. Eragon was white as snow.
"My God…"

One of the most appalling sights ever to have been witnessed rose before them. A mound of corpses, blood soaked into the ground, limbs twisted, rose before them, each body pierced with black arrows. None had been spared. Mothers grasped children, husbands their wives, the strong the weak. All had succumbed to deaths icy grip. Upon its pinnacle rested a newborn babe, impaled upon a spear of the same consuming black. Waves of hopelessness were physical blows.

A crow landed atop, eyeing the baby with a greedy eye. "Oh no you don't." Flynn had but a second to slide off Cadoc before Eragon let the arrow fly, sticking the scavenger through. He was promptly sick over Cadoc's side. Flynn patted him on the back as he retched again. "Get it all out." He felt very green himself, but could handle the gore. He had done anatomy- bodies were not an unusual sight. Although this was... hideous. Like nothing he had ever seen, and something he could have very well lived without seeing.

Brom was surprisingly gentle. "Do you want to wait outside Yazuac?"
"No, no… I'll stay." Eragon wiped his mouth with Flynn's jacket. The poor boy was absolutely shaken. "Just who could have…"
Brom bowed his head. "Those who love pain and the suffering of others. They wear many faces, go by many aliases, but there is only one name: evil. All we can do is pity and honour the victims."

He joined Flynn on the ground and inspected the dirt. "The Ra'zac passed this way," he concluded, "but this is urgal work. The spear is of their make. A large company has passed through here, although why I wouldn't know…" whilst the elder talked, Flynn took up a victims wrist.
"These bodies have only been here about an hour! They're fresh!"
Brom sent them all a look that penetrated the soul. "Ride! There are still Urgal's here!"
Flynn raced to Cadoc, only to hear pounding and be sent spinning by a solid fist. He faintly heard Brom's cry of "Run, you fools!" as he broke into sprint. He needed no urging. All pain was overtaken by adrenaline as Flynn zigzagged between houses, pounding footsteps just behind him. He didn't risk turning back until the space between houses was blocked by a high wall. The urgal's grey face was thrust forward, huge jet horns curling into the air, small eyes narrowed. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Why are you running? It was a good question, or so the strange voice in his head seemed to say. If it's all a dream, it can't possibly harm you. Why run when there's no reason? The voice was calming. Persuasive. Why run after all? The urgal was just three meters away… two meters… one meter… survival instinct kicked in and he dived to the side, straight through flimsy mud-daub. He did however, gain a slash on his cheek for his stupidity.
It stung. He could feel the viscous liquid dripping down into his beard, warm and sticky. He scrambled to his feet and turned around to find himself in a stable. His pain had made him realise something.

It was all real. It could not be a dream. Finally the voice in his head seemed to say. It's not like I'm allowed to even give you a hint.

The urgal was clambering through the wall now and Flynn could see his way out through the entrance on the other side. There was but one problem: a large, greying, sorrel horse blocked it off. Flynn took several steps backward as the grotesque humanoid squeezed through, tenseness balling in the pit of his stomach. He had an idea. It was a terrible idea, but it was still an idea.

The urgal was advancing.

Cutting through the stay-rope and with a leap that most sports teachers would be proud of, he was on its back. The sorrel was alert now, aware of danger. Flynn tried to use his knees to steer, holding the rope loop around its neck for dear life. The horse shot out of the stable like a bullet leaving the urgal chasing, but left behind: somewhere in the distance there was the sound of an explosion. Flynn payed no heed to it as the horse galloped, turning left, right, right, left and around. They barrelled through a line of clothing, picking up a shirt, blanket and a single sock in the process. They flew past a shop's sign, which Flynn narrowly avoided being hit by.

Unexpectedly Flynn was back in familiar territory, the pile of bodies casting a shadow upon them. The monster was nowhere in sight, although another lay slain on the ground. Bile rose in his mouth. The white horse- which Flynn had learnt was named Snowfire- pranced by the corner of a house with Brom still hanging limply from the saddle. Somehow, he managed to get the man off. He still felt dazed after what happened, up until he saw the narrow cut along the old man's arm bleeding profusely.

"Crap, we need to get that tied up before you lose any more blood." He hefted him onto the ground with effort- Brom was entirely dead weight. That was when Eragon rounded the corner, horse in tow, shaking violently. "Dude, do you have anything we can fix this guy up with?" Eragon rushed over as best he could- the poor kid looked on the verge of collapse- and pulled some rags off a bright-red sword in a saddlebag, throwing them over.

That was when Saphira landed, looking irate. He had no clue what she was saying, but he did not suppose it was pretty. Flynn could feel her gaze on him as he wrapped Brom's arm with well-practised movements. What are you doing!
Flynn shivered at the sensation. I don't think I'll get used to that quickly. "It's alright! I'm just wrapping him up…I'm a doctor, I know what I'm doing." The dragon's wrath backed off a little. That was when Flynn's eye caught the sign he had so narrowly missed further down the road. "Please keep an eye on him, I'm getting something that might help." On the sign hung a picture of a plant in a jar. He sincerely hoped that it was what he thought. "Oh, and watch out- I think there's another... whatever they are around here somewhere."

He jogged off to an outraged 'what!' before slowing to a walk due to the pain in his ribs. The adrenaline was backing off now. He reached the street corner where the herbalist's was and was just about to walk in the ajar door, when the ugly, leering face burst out.

He wasn't sure what happened next. He ducked, narrowly avoided being decapitated, and then someone else, someone who was not he flicked out his knife and stabbed the Urgal in a gap between armour. He stabbed again harder and pulled down, deeply puncturing the ogre's side. With a bellow he fell to the ground, clutching at it pained.

Flynn was shocked back to himself, blood all over him and knife in hand. A body lay before, still alive and moving, but dying rapidly. What did I just do? What the actual fuck did I just do? There was no time to think- he just walked into what, to his great relief, was some sort of doctors and began raiding the shelves for anything he recognised as potentially useful. He skirted broken bottles and smashed items; urgal's had been in there.

Most medicines were herbs, poultices and liquids that he had never seen. Those he recognised however, he took. On a hook hung a shoulder bag. He put all the medicines in it, hoping none would break.

Flynn felt ridiculously guilty. He was stealing- stealing from those who had died, no less. It felt wrong. It's so another can stay well. The humanoid bellowed weakly at him as he skirted around them for the second time, but the healer forged ahead with determination. All of his doubts and fears fled though, when he knelt beside the unconscious man and he fell into 'doctor mode.' He pulled out a bottle of lavender oil before deftly unwrapping the arm and administering the liquid onto the wound. I should probably dilute this. However there was nothing to dilute it with: so straight on it went, the initial sting waking Brom up.
"What the blazes! Oh-"
"The cuts been cleaned, I've disinfected it as best as I can. The lavender should take away some of the pain and prevent it from getting infected- you'll need that by the look of your bandage." Flynn's voice was calm and confident. He knew, more or less, what he was doing.
"Ah… thank-you."

The elders attention then turned to Eragon. Despite his initial alertness, the man was bleary. He put a hand to his head. "Did Saphira get here in time?"
Eragon shook his head. "I'll explain it later. It looks like Flynn's done a good job on your arm, but you still need a safe place to rest."
"Yes." Brom said, touching his arm gingerly. "Do you know where my sword…ah, I see you found it." Indeed, Eragon was holding a shining grey blade. Dragons and swords. It's all real. This is crazy.
The boy had apparently finished some sort of exchange with the dragon. "Saphira's going to take you and follow us by air." As soon as he said the words she arched her long neck and picked Brom up by the scruff of the neck, depositing him on her back. Eragon proceeded to work on the straps.
"Are you sure you want me to ride her? I can easily ride Snowfire."
Flynn looked between the man and the horse with concern. "Not with that arm right now."
"This way even if you faint, you won't fall off."

Brom nodded weakly. "I'm honoured." His good arm wrapped around Saphira's neck and with a flurry of eddies she took off.

Eragon tied Snowfire behind the other horse. The sorrel moseyed up to Flynn, various washing paraphernalia still hung on its wide back.
"I suppose she's yours now."
"Oh, wha-I can hardly get on her let alone ride-" the huge animal hung her neck over his shoulder. She seemed fond of him. Either way, he couldn't keep taking the other horses for however long he was stuck with the pair. "Well, I suppose she is." He hung the blanket over her back-he may as well avoid getting horse hair all over himself. The rest of the things, he stuffed into the bag without a second thought. It took a lot of trepidation and a massive jump to get onto her back, but she was obedient and well suited to Flynn's poor riding skills. You don't have a name. He thought through several before alighting on one that seemed to suit. Hyacinth. Hyacinth somehow fits you.

Under the trees by the river, it was cool. Despite the tenseness in Eragon's shoulders Flynn could see him relaxing a little. He was pleased; it wasn't good for a person to be constantly coiled. He could feel himself relaxing also, although he still felt ridiculously ill from the second encounter with the urgal. I'm not meant to kill things. I'm meant to help lives, not harm them. What had driven him to killing the beast confused him. But, he reminded himself, it was trying to kill me.

They stopped briefly to let the horses drink and fill the waterskins. The fact that they were literal bladders still disturbed him more than he would have liked. He took his mind off it by washing the blood and dirt off his face. The cut had clotted nicely, although it took more effort than he would have liked to get the blood out of his stubble. He took a band off his wrist and threw his hair into a topknot. They continued along the river.

As the light began to fade, Saphira summoned them. Come. I've found a place to stay. An image of a clearing flashed through their minds. They nudged their horses into a trot-something which took Flynn several moments to master, much to Eragon's (hence Saphira's) amusement, and moved in a new direction.

A small fire burned when they entered the clearing. Brom sat beside it doing something with his arm. Saphira lay down, tense. From her intent look at her rider, Flynn could tell she had some things to say to him.

Flynn turned to Brom. "Your arm's hurting again. How are you?"
"It's a large scratch and hurts terribly at the moment, but I reckon it will heal quickly enough."
Flynn hummed. "You need new bandages and I might have something for the pain. I've got a heap of stuff in this bag here." They boiled some fresh water for the wound as he fished for things out of the bag.
"I would use the lavender oil again, but I think that cloves would prove better as a pain reliever. But it could make you bleed for longer, I think. It's your choice- lavender or cloves."
"Umm… I think I'll take the lavender."
"Grit your teeth."

Flynn tied a fresh rag around Brom's arm as Brom said, "I must eat, and you both look hungry as well. Let's have some dinner, then we can talk."

Dinner was not beautiful, but it was warm and they were hungry. The outsider had not realised how hungry he was- he hadn't eaten much all day. Full and relatively warm, Brom lit his pipe.
"You shouldn't smoke you know. It's terrible for your health- absolutely destroys the lungs."
The old man harrumphed. "I've been smoking for years and haven't heard a thing of that. I think I'll take a chance."
"Come see me in a decade when you have lung cancer and you'll see I was right."

He stubbornly stuck the pipe between his teeth. "So, Flynn, it seems that I owe you a debt. How do you know so much about wounds, and smoking? And that the bodies had only been there for an hour?"
Flynn laughed. "I consider it a debt repaid, as you didn't leave me in the middle of a plain. As for how much I know about general health, I'm a doctor."
"Really? You don't look it. For how long?"
"Well, I've only been an actual doctor for one year-" Brom guffawed and Eragon's eyes widened, "but! But, if you want something better, I've studied to be one for the past nine. So I reckon I'm quite skilled enough to treat your 'scratch' and recommend not smoking." A look of smugness crossed his face briefly as the men's faces fell. Saphira rumbled, a sound he figured- hoped- was laughing.
I told you I liked this one.
"Thank-you."

Attention was now directed toward the both of them. "Now, I think it's time for you to tell me what transpired while I was unconscious. I am most curious." Neither of the pair seemed to want to go first, so Flynn bit the bullet.
"There's not much to say: the monster-thing, urgal yeah? came, punched me and Eragon off…the, er, brown horse. Cadoc, yeah? I'm not sure what Eragon did after that, but I ran like hell. An urgal chased me into a corner. I broke through a wall-"
"You broke through a wall!"
"-a straw wall, got onto Hyacinth over there, and galloped like crazy away from the thing."

"So it is still alive, in Yazuac?"
"No, as Eragon and Saphira saw, I managed to injure it later. It popped out whilst I grabbed all this medicine and I managed to stab it- it should be dead by now."
"Ah, good."

The leaders attention now turned to the boy. "And you?"

Eragon clasped his hand nervously and swallowed. He told his tale without pomp. Magic. Of course there's magic here, and now I'm sitting right next to a magician. This place is crazy. Brom's face was inscrutable. For a while there was nothing but pregnant pause and the crackling of the fire.
"Have you used this power before?"
"No. Do you know anything of it?"
"A little. You should be proud; few escape unscathed from slaying their first urgal. But the manner in which you did it was ridiculously dangerous. You could have destroyed yourself and the whole town."
"It wasn't as if I had a choice." Eragon was defensive at the somewhat accusatory tone. "The urgal's were almost upon me. If I had waited, they would have chopped me to pieces!"

Brom gnawed on his pipe vigorously. "You didn't have any idea what you were doing." Eragon took this as a challenge.
"Then tell me: I've been searching for answers to this mystery, but I can't make head or tail of it. What happened? How did I use magic? No-one has ever instructed me to cast a spell."
The elders eyes flashed, and Flynn got the feeling that if this man were angered enough, that he could be extremely dangerous. "This isn't something you should be taught- much less use!"
"Well I have used it and may need it again. But I won't be able to if you don't help me. What's wrong? Is there some secret I'm not supposed to learn until I'm old and wise? Or maybe you don't know anything about magic!"
Flynn shuffled backward a foot. Eragon was obviously frustrated at the mystery behind all of what he could do. And Brom did not seem to be in the mood for disrespect.
"Boy!" Shout any louder and he could have been heard on the moon. "You demand answers with an insolence rarely seen. If you knew what you asked for, you would not be so quick to inquire. Do not try me." He relaxed, spent by yelling. "The knowledge which you seek is more complex than you understand."

Eragon rose to his feet, anger steaming off him. "I feel as though I've been thrust into a world with strange rules that no-one will explain."
Flynn clapped a hand to his shoulder. "I know how you feel dude."
Brom fiddled with a piece of grass, betraying his nervousness. "As do I. It's late and we should sleep, but I will tell you a few things now to halt your badgering. This magic-for it is magic- has rules like the rest of the world. If you break the rules, the penalty is death without exception. Your deeds are limited by your strength, the words you know and your imagination."
"What do you mean words?"
Brom cried. "More questions! For a moment I hoped you were empty. But you are quite right in asking. When you shot the urgal's, did you not say something?"
"Yes, brisingr." The fire flared up and the word sent a shiver down Flynn's spine. A word should not be able to do that.
"I thought so. Brisingr is from an ancient language that all living things used to speak. However, it was forgotten over time and went unspoken for eons in Alagaesia until the elves brought it back from across the sea. They taught it to the other races, who used it for making and doing powerful things. The language has a name for everything, if you can find it."
"But what does it have to do with magic?" Eragon interrupted.
"Everything! It is the basis for all power that is. The language describes things true nature: not superficial aspects that everyone sees. Fire is brisingr." The flames shot up again. " Not only is that a name for fire, it is the name for fire. If you are strong enough, you can use brisingr to direct fire to do whatever you will. And that is what happened today."

The pair continued to talk as Flynn took the blanket off Hyacinth. He wasn't used to the cool night temperatures around him, although it was doing wonders for his burnt face. He checked his watch, but it seemed that it had broken-it read 7am, although it had to be about eight at night. He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket to find, much to his horror, that his screen had cracked: no matter, it had no bars(why hadn't he thought of calling someone before?) and also read 7am. He turned the device off. It held no use.

"As to why the fire did what you wanted, that's a matter of practice. Most beginners have to spell out exactly what they want…"

The two continued to natter as Flynn lay down beside his horse. He didn't know much about horses, but was slightly afraid that she would decide to sleep standing up and step on him. He then decided he had different things to worry about. Such as whether Tran was alive. And what on earth he was meant to do when he needed to crap. Near the warmth of the horse, Flynn soon fell into a deep sleep.