Chapter 4-Magic Really Isn't the Simplest Thing

Flynn woke that morning with sore ribs and an aching back. He wanted to complain, but was afraid that if he did it wouldn't leave the best impression. Although he was none too keen on being stuck on a death race with a peculiar and dangerous company, it was better than being left alone in some town- or worse, in the wilderness. He could survive in it, he was relatively sure- but thrive? Not in the slightest. He would never find out anything if that happened.

Breakfast was meagre. He knew that his presence was straining on their supplies even more than before, but what choice did he have? His conscience wouldn't let him starve just yet.

Once more they were off, Eragon still with his incessant questions. "Why do you think those four urgal's were still in Yazuac? There doesn't seem any reason for them to have stayed behind."
"I expect they deserted the main party to loot the town- as shown by our friend here, things of worth remained there. Anyway, what makes it odd is that as far as I know, urgal's have gathered in force only two or three times in history. It unsettles me that they do so now."
"Do you think the Ra'zac caused the attack?"
"I don't know. The best thing we can do is continue away from Yazuac at the fastest pace we can muster. Besides, this is the direction they went in: south."
Eragon agreed, whilst Flynn tried to remember all he could about the Ra'zac. They're weird bird-creatures in capes that make clicky-noises. They live in a big rock near a city. Drab Lona or something? They end up dead.

Flynn's mouth opened and shut several times as he considered sharing this information. No. A strange voice at the back of his head seemed to command it. It will interfere with what really happened, and what do you have then? A paradox.
"You're right." It took a moment for him to realise he had said this aloud.
"Do you have something to say?"
"What, er, no, no. Just sneezing."

Where did this strange voice seem to be coming from? It seemed real. Far too real to be his own thoughts or conscience. Don't worry about me, I'm just your conscience.
What the bloody heck?

This was confusing. Too confusing. Flynn was grateful for the loud birds and river noises as a distraction.


After a midday stop to drink and relieve themselves, Brom scratched his chin thoughtfully and spoke. "I suppose you're still wondering about magic. The fact that you've discovered it presents a thorny problem; few knew of it, but every rider could use magic, although to differing strengths." Brom caught Flynn's immediate interest.
"And Flynn, if you share a word of this with anyone outside of us, you will be killed, understand? Nothing personal." He grinned. Was this the man's interpretation of a joke? If so, it wasn't particularly good.

"No need to threaten sir, I'm just interested." He muttered under his breath. "It's doubtful anyone would believe me anyway."
Brom shot him a glare and snapped. "I heard that." Flynn blanched, and Brom's face opened and smiled. "Relax a bit, I'm joking."

All the man could do was blink in confusion at the strange man in his presence.

The story teller continued his ramble. "So where was I… the riders kept their ability secret, even at the height of their power, because it gave them an advantage over their enemies. Had everyone known it, dealing with commonfolk would have been difficult. Many think that the kings powers come from him being a wizard or sorcerer: but it is because he is a rider."
"What's the difference? Doesn't the fact that I use magic make me a sorcerer?"
"Not at all! A sorcerer, like a Shade, draws their power from spirits. That is absolutely separate to your power. Nor does this make you a magician, whose powers come without spirits or a dragon. And you're certainly not a witch or wizard, whose powers come from potions and spells.
Which brings me back to my original point: the problem you've presented. Usually young riders were put through a strict regime designed to strengthen their bodies and increase mental control. This regimen continued for long periods of time until the riders were deemed responsible enough to handle magic. Up until then, no student was told of their potential: if one discovered magic by accident they would immediately be taken away for private tutoring."

Flynn interrupted. "How come you know so much about this? Didn't you say something like… 'not being for the commonfolk' or something?"
"That is something that I will keep to myself. Be satisfied that I learnt it long ago, a long way from here." Flynn was satisfied enough with his hosts answer for the time being. He did not want to pry too much, appear overly rude.

"It was rare for someone to discover magic on his own-" he nodded to Eragon, "-although none were put under the same pressure you were." The older man continued to chatter about the history of magic, how riders discovered it, and the ancient language. Flynn's ears once more perked up at this point- it was something that had fascinated him when he had read the series.
Just as they thought the monologue had ceased, Eragon came once more with a question. "I still don't understand quite how this magic works. How exactly do I use it?"

Both Brom and Flynn looked at the boy, then at each other with astonished expressions. Brom's words had been perfectly sound, even to the man who had only been half-listening. This boy is a numbat!

"Haven't I made that clear?"
"No."
He drew a breath. "To work with magic, you must have a certain innate power, which is very rare among people nowadays. You must also be able to summon that power at will. Once this power is called upon, you must use it or let it fade away. Understand?"
The words now in perfectly clear terms, Eragon nodded his head. "Good. Now if your wish is to employ this power, you must utter a word or phrase in the ancient language that describes your intent. For example, if you hadn't said brisingr yesterday, nothing would have happened."
The doctor glanced around, worried some flame would flare up again. None of this magic stuff is natural. It's not bad, but it's… peculiar.

The complicated art of magic and the ancient language continued. The conversation unnerved him. This sounds as if it is word from word by the book.

Saphira's voice reverberated around his skull. Are you alright, tiny healer? You seem pale.
"Will you leave off the height? I already know I'm short."
If a shrug could have been sent mentally, that was what had happened. You are very tiny. And a healer.
"Doctor. And thank-you for asking, but I'm quite alright."

The day continued much the same, Flynn primarily acting as a fourth wheel. Where seeing Eragon's struggle to telekinetically lift a pebble was somewhat amusing at first, he soon tired of the sight.

As dusk fell, they stopped for the night. Flynn did his utmost to see how the pair created a fire from the sticks that he had collected: he didn't want to be superfluous. Eragon's lesson's in the ancient language continued up until they ate. Apparently a stick was vondr, a plant was delois, and the morning star Aiedail.

Aiedail. Sounds like Earandiel from Lord of the Rings. He chipped in on this, pointing at the so called 'star.' "You know, that star you're looking at is actually a planet. Where I come from we call it Venus."
"What's a planet?"
Flynn's eyes widened. Of course they don't know what planets are. Most don't even know the world is round and that we breathe oxygen, not plain air. "Um, how do I explain… each planet is like a massive sphere of matter, right? So here we're mainly earth, on countries, along with the water of the ocean. But there are other ones too: seven others in our system all up, all big balls of…stuff, floating in space."
"You must be joking."
'Not in the slightest. There's Mercury, Venus- which is a lot easier to see than the others, so you call the morning star- and Earth…" this slowed him down. Are we on earth? They have Venus. They have the same plants, animals, atmosphere… and yet this isn't the earth I know.

"Well anyway, Earth is what we live on. And after that there's Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune."

Saphira snorted and spoke to them all. Your religion is a strange one. You say we all live on floating balls in the sky- next you will say people have been on the moon.

The doctor's eyes widened. "You know, funnily enough people have walked on the moon."

The other's roared with laughter as Flynn looked around in shock and disbelief. They don't know anything. Science is a completely foreign concept.

Brom smiled. "I'm not one to disparage others beliefs, but wherever you are from has some crazy ones."
Flynn shook his head. "I would like to say they're just beliefs for conveniences sake, but that's not the case. It's the absolute truth- it's science!" The strange looks continued to abound. He sighed. "Just wait until the day I'm able to prove it too you."

Does there have to be a day that you can prove it too them? He wanted to go home. Real home. Not a New Zealand resort or in the other countries they travelled to for tennis, but snuggled up with Tran on the couch in their tiny apartment. Only three days and he missed everything enough to make his heart ache already.


The following days continued in similar suite. Slowly it was seeming, Flynn's company was warming up to him. They talked much more often now, Flynn exchanging interesting bits of knowledge about his world for parts of Alagaesia and the Empire.

Upon knowing of the existence of magic, Brom now insisted they probe his mind in the case that he brought harm. It was not until then that they truly deemed his trustworthy.

It was now in particular that he had never been more grateful for remembering exceedingly random titbits of information. Somehow- he was not sure why, how or where the power had come from- Flynn was able to erect walls, akin to the ones that he had read of so many years ago, hiding everything irrelevant. Focus on something so that he was impenetrable. No knowledge of the future, knowledge of the workings of his world, or dangerous personal details- such as the fact he had a husband, not a wife, something which he didn't think they'd be too accepting of here- was disclosed. To his highest hopes anyway.

His blocking had been detected however. "Why is it every time I try to get to information such as where you come from, the strangest music plays instead?" Brom asked as the tendril of thought withdrew from his mind.
Flynn held back a gulp. I did not successfully do a magic-thing from just reading a book, only for sheer body language to give me away! "I don't know. I can truthfully say that I am not aware of any strange music in my mind."

He wasn't lying. Coldplay's Viva la Vida was by no means peculiar to him.

The old man harrumphed. "You're hiding something. I can feel another presence in there." The oily feeling inside his head returned with a brush of the mind.

"There's nothing that I want to-" his face screwed up in confusion "wait, what the heck do you mean by another presence?"
"There seems to be another person- or more, half a person- in your head. I think it's what is producing the strange music."
"I honestly haven't a clue what you're going on about." The elder withdrew again, with a conclusion.
"You're telling the truth. But there's something in there, something which I don't think even you know about."
Flynn shrugged. "Maybe the powers of the universe deemed something dangerous. Everything here seems to be dangerous."

Brom looked cynical. "Maybe. But know this: I do not believe that you as yourself would disclose things such as the existence of Saphira, and magical knowledge: but I am not putting it past you to hide things, nor that other things about you may prove dangerous. I like you Flynn, I genuinely do, but understand that Saphira's existence is something that we can't risk. If there is anything you are hiding- anything at all- that may present even the slightest inclination of harm, we will not stand for it."

Flynn gulped. "Understood."

The mood remained tense for many hours after, yet somehow the small group still grew closer to each other. And there was one thing that Flynn could not leave be: what had Brom meant by another?


Time was repetitive, and often mind numbing. When one had nothing to think about, the majority of time was spent in a doze. This at very least, resulted in them being well-rested. Saphira, and on occasion Eragon, caught them meat for their meals, as well as the Ninor provided their nourishment. Flynn's fears of depleting the supplies below a survivable level disappeared. Although he would kill for a cup of tea.

Eragon's magical ability grew slowly, but his control vastened significantly. When he tried to raise a pebble it no longer wobbled, and even grew to shoot it with accuracy. Evening swordplay he also witnessed, showed a good development of skills.

He was perfectly happy to watch and cheer the pair on until they asked him if he fancied a try. "No, no. I've never touched a sword, or any proper weapon in my life."
"I probably won't be able to hold it for much more than a minute."
"I'm er…not sure what the difference between a stab and a parry is."

His excuses lasted to no effect. Brom decided to pit the two younger men against each other: it was needless to say, Flynn being the less experienced, in the wrong time period for the weapon and generally less physically capable of the two got absolutely thrashed.

"I am going to teach you how to use a sword."
Flynn nursed his aches by Hyacinth. "I don't think that'll be necessary, although thanks for the offer."
"You don't have a choice. It's a miracle you survived that urgal, and that you did so much as injure it was pure fluke. If you are to travel with us, there could be danger at any point: you need to know how to defend yourself."

The idea didn't agree with the doctor. He was a healer, not a fighter. He'd never been in a proper fight in his life up until now. But eventually he conceded. "Alright! But only what is necessary- I don't like hurting things."

Saphira snorted. Flynn couldn't help but think how pathetic that sounded in this world, and the others evidently agreed. Toughen up. Missing home isn't going to help you.

The days turned to weeks. The nightmares continued. Each night, in the now familiar pitch black, he sat up in cold sweat with tears running down his cheeks. More than once he had to silence sobs by wrapping his head in his jacket. Their journey south continued.

Yet there was one thing which no-one in particular noticed; it did not seem important, wasn't something that a person would pay much attention too. His hair didn't grow, and his wound healed very slowly.