Free Riders
Author's Note: Eragon is not mine. Char, Blaster, and Saranya are. Comment as you see fit.
Chapter 14: Practice Makes Perfect
"Did you hear something last night?" Eragon asked. Brom shook his head, but Blaster looked a little worried.
Did you shout last night, Blaster? Sara asked.
Yes, I did, Blaster replied. I thought I heard my best friend. I am sorry if I woke you.
"Must have been my imagination," Eragon replied. They were busy packing up, and once they hit the road, Eragon became ignorant city once again. "Why do you think those three Urgals were still in Yazuac? There doesn't seem to be any reason for them to have stayed behind."
"I suspect they deserted the main group to loot the town." Blaster muttered an "I knew it!" but quieted seconds later to let Brom continue. "What makes it odd is that, as far as I know, Urgals have gathered in force only two or three times in history. It's unsettling that they are doing it now."
"Do you think the Ra'zac caused the attack?"
"I don't know," Brom replied. "The best thing we can do is continue away from Yazuac at the fastest pace we can muster. Besides, this is the direction the Ra'zac went: south."
"We're still gonna need provisions," Blaster commented. "Is there another town nearby that hasn't been run over by the bulldozer of war?"
Brom shook his head. "No, but Saphira and Sara can hunt for us if we must survive on meat alone. This swath of trees may look small to you, but there are plenty of animals in it. The river is the only source of water for many miles around, so most of the plains animals come here to drink. We won't starve."
Eragon and Blaster remained quiet, satisfied with the answer. As they rode, loud birds darted around them, and the river rushed by peacefully. It was a noisy place, full of life and energy. Blaster took in the sights and sounds before Eragon spoke up.
"How did that Urgal get you?" Eragon asked. "Things were happing so fast, I didn't see."
"Bad luck, really," Brom grumbled. "I was more than a match for him, so he kicked Snowfire. The idiot of a horse reared and threw me off balance. That was all the Urgal needed to give me this gash." He scratched his chin before continuing. "I suppose you're still wondering about this magic. The fact you've discovered it presents a thorny problem. Few know it, but every Rider could use magic, though with differing strengths. They kept the ability secret, even at the height of their power, because it gave them an advantage over their enemies. Had everyone known about it, dealing with common people would have been difficult. Many think the king's magical powers come from the fact that he is a wizard or sorcerer. That's not true because he's in fact a Rider."
"What's the difference?" Eragon asked. "Does the fact that I used magic make me a sorcerer?"
"Not at all!" Brom replied. "A sorcerer, like a Shade, uses spirits to accomplish his will. That is totally different from your power. Nor does that make you an ordinary, run-of-the-mill magician, whose powers come without the aid of spirits or a dragon. And you're certainly not a witch or wizard, who gets their powers from various potions and spells.
"Which brings me back to my original point: the problem you've presented," Brom continued. "Young Riders like yourself, Eragon, were put through a strict regimen designed to strengthen their bodies and increase their mental control. This regimen continued for many months, occasionally years, until the Riders were deemed responsible enough to handle magic. Up until then, not one student was told of his potential powers. If one of them discovered magic by accident, he or she was immediately taken away for private tutoring. It was rare for anyone to discover magic on his own," he inclined his head toward Eragon, "though they never were put under the same pressure you were."
"How were they finally trained to use magic, then?" Blaster asked. "I mean, I don't see how you could just teach it to anyone. If you had tried to explain it to us a few days ago, it wouldn't have made much sense. Then again, nothing has made much sense recently."
"The students were presented with a series of pointless exercises designed to frustrate them," Brom replied. "For example, they were instructed to move piles of stones using only their feet, fill ever draining tubs full of water, and other impossibilities. After a time, they would get infuriated enough to use magic. Most of the time it succeeded.
"What this means," Brom continued, "is that you will be disadvantaged if you ever meet an enemy who has received this training. There are still some alive who are that old: the king for one, not to mention the elves. Any one of those could tear you apart with ease."
"What can we do, then?" Eragon asked.
"There isn't time for formal instruction, but we can do much while we travel," Brom said. "I know many techniques you can practice that will give you strength and control, but you cannot gain the discipline the Riders had overnight. You," he looked at Eragon, then Blaster humorously, "will have to amass it on the run. It will be hard in the beginning, but the rewards will be great. It may please you to know that no Rider your age ever used magic the way you did yesterday with those two Urgals."
"Thank you," Eragon said, smiling at the praise. "Does this language have a name?"
Brom laughed. "Yes, but no one knows it. I would be a word of incredible power, something by which you could control the entire language and those who use it. People have long searched for it, but no one has ever found it."
"I still don't understand how this magic works," Eragon said. "Exactly how do I use it?"
"Haven't I made that clear?" Brom asked, looking astonished.
"No," Eragon deadpanned.
Brom took a deep breath and said, "To work with magic, you must have a certain innate power, which is very rare among people nowadays. You also have to be able to summon this power at will. Once it is called upon, you have to use it or let it fade away. Understood?" Eragon nodded slightly. "Now, if you wish to employ the power, you must utter the word or phrase of the ancient language that describes your intent. For example, if you hadn't said brisingr yesterday, nothing would have happened."
"So, we'd be limited by our knowledge of the language," Blaster interjected.
"Exactly," Brom crowed. "Also, while speaking it, it's impossible to practice deceit."
Eragon shook his head. "That can't be. People always lie. The sounds of the ancient words can't stop them from doing that."
Brom cocked an eyebrow and said, "Fethrblaka, eka weohnata néiat haina ono. Blaka eom iet lam." A bird suddenly flitted from a branch and landed on his hand. It trilled lightly and looked at them with beady eyes. After a moment he said, "Eitha," and it fluttered away.
"Wow," Blaster said.
"How did you do that?" Eragon asked in wonder.
"I promised not to harm him," Brom replied. "He may not have known exactly what I meant, but in the language of power, the meaning of my words was evident. The bird trusted me because he knows what all animals do, that those who speak in that tongue are bound by their word."
"And the elves speak this language," Eragon asked.
"Yes."
"So, they don't ever lie," Blaster guessed.
"Not quite," Brom admitted. "They maintain that they don't, and in a way it's true, but they have perfected the art of saying one thing and meaning another. You never know exactly what their intent is, or if you have fathomed it correctly. May times they only reveal part of the truth and withhold the rest. It takes a refined and subtle mind to deal with their culture."
Eragon considered that, then asked, "What do personal names mean in this language? Do they give power over people?"
Brom's eyes brightened with approval. "Yes, they do. Those who speak the language have two names. The first is for everyday use and has little authority. But the second is their true name and is shared with only a few trusted people. There was a time when no one concealed their true name, but this age isn't as kind. Whoever knows your true name gains enormous power over you. It's like putting your life into another person's hands. Everyone has a hidden name, but few know what it is."
"And how would one find their true name?" Blaster asked.
"Elves instinctively know theirs," Brom replied. "No one else has that gift. The human Riders usually went on quests to discover it—or found an elf who would tell them, which was rare, for elves don't distribute that knowledge freely."
"I'd like to know mine," Eragon said wistfully.
Brom's brow darkened. "Be careful," he warned. "It can be a terrible knowledge. To know who you are without any delusions or sympathy is a moment of revelation that no one experiences unscathed. Some have been driven to madness by that stark reality. Most try to forget it. But as much as the name will give others power, so you may gain power over yourself, if the truth doesn't break you."
I think you might be strong enough, Sara stated to Blaster.
"I still wish to know," Eragon said, determined.
"I'm not so sure," Blaster said. "Power over a name is touchy. I wouldn't want to be controlled by someone who knows my true name." He paused for a second. "However, I suppose that I will eventually have to take that chance and find out sooner rather than later."
"You are not easily dissuaded," Brom said, a slight smile on his face. "That's good, for only the resolute find their identity, but I cannot help you with this. It is a search that each of you must undertake on your own." He moved his injured arm and grimaced uncomfortably.
"Why can't you or I heal that with magic," Eragon asked.
"No reason," Brom blinked. "I just never considered it because it's beyond my strength. You could possibly do it with the right word, but I don't want you to exhaust yourself."
"I could save you a lot of trouble and pain," Eragon protested.
"But, remember what Brom said about magic?" Blaster asked. "Using magic uses the same energy as it would if you were to use your own limbs. Likewise, the energy required to heal a wound would take just as much energy as it would to heal by itself. You shouldn't attempt it, especially since I'm sure we don't want you exhausted for the next few days."
"Still, if it's possible to fix your arm, could I bring someone back from the dead?"
The question surprised Brom and Blaster. The alien said, "Yeah, about that…"
"Remember what I said about projects that will kill you?" Brom asked. "That is one of them. Riders were forbidden to try to resurrect the dead, for their own safety. There is an abyss beyond life where magic means nothing. If you reach it, your strength will flee and your soul will fade into darkness. Wizards, sorcerers, and Riders—all have failed and died on that threshold. Stick with what's possible—cuts, bruises, maybe some broken bones, but definitely not dead people."
"But what about the spirits that sorcerers and Shades use? Aren't they human souls?" Eragon asked.
"No, and we have precious little idea where they come from," Brom replied.
"Well, I guess magic is a bit more complex and complicated than I first let on," Blaster mused.
"Exactly," Brom said. "And if you don't understand what you're doing, you'll try something too big and die." He twisted in his saddle and swooped down, grabbing a handful of pebbles from the ground. With effort, he righted himself, then discarded all but two of the rocks. "See these pebbles?"
"Yeah," Blaster replied.
"Each of you take one." Eragon did, and he picked up one, dull black, smooth, and about as big as the end of his thumb. Blaster picked one that was grey and barely the size of his pinky. There were countless stones like it on the trail. "This is your training."
Eragon looked at Brom, confused. "I don't understand."
"That's the whole point," Blaster said. "You're not supposed to understand. Hence why we're the students and he's the teacher, not the other way around. Now, Brom, what is the purpose of this exercise?"
"This is to train you in magic," Brom said. "I want you to lift the rock off your palm and hold it in the air for as long as you can. The words you are going to need are stenr reisa. Say them."
"Stenr reisa."
"Good. Go ahead and try."
Blaster focused on his pebble and searched his own mind for the magical power he now had. He found the barrier and easily breached it, but was shaken and had to retreat when Eragon exclaimed, "This is impossible."
"No," Brom said gruffly. "I'll say when it's impossible or not. Fight for it! Don't give up so easily. Try again."
Blaster refocused on the pebble and found the barrier between him and his magical strength quicker and delved head-long into it. The barrier resisted, but he easily breached it a second time. Once he had the power, he muttered "Stenr reisa," and the pebble wobbled in his right hand, then lifted into the air a good six inches above his hand. Before he could breathe a sigh of relief, the power slipped back behind the barrier, and the pebble plopped back into his hand.
"Well, not bad for your first tries," Brom said. Eragon had done the same thing, but he was concerned.
"Why does it do that?" Eragon asked, looking at his hand. "It's like a little lantern."
"No one's sure," Brom admitted. "Riders always preferred to channel their power through whichever hand bore the gedwëy ignasia. You can use your other palm, but it isn't as easy." He looked at Eragon for a moment. "I'll buy you some gloves at the next town, if it isn't gutted. You hide the mark fairly well on your own, but we don't want anyone to see it by accident. Besides, there may be times when you don't want the enemy to be alerted by the glow."
"I guess I'm glad I thought ahead," Blaster said, showing off his fingerless gloves in the process.
"Do you have a mark of your own?" Eragon inquired.
"No. Only Riders have them," Brom said. "Also, you should know that magic is affected by distance, just like an arrow or a spear. If you try to lift or move something a mile away, it'll take more energy than if you were closer. So, if you see enemies racing after you from leagues away, let them approach before using magic. Now, back to work! Try to lift the pebble again."
"Again?" Eragon asked weakly. He was too busy thinking of the effort it had taken to do it just one time.
"Yes!" Brom instructed. "And this time be quicker about it."
They continued with exercises throughout most of the day. When Eragon finally stopped, he was tired and ill-tempered. Blaster, on the other hand, had gotten the hang of it, but he too was beginning to feel the exhaustion kick in. In those hours, they had come to hate their pebbles in varying degrees. Eragon started to throw his away when Brom said, "Don't. Keep it." Eragon reluctantly tucked the stone in one of his pockets, glaring at Brom all the way. Blaster wordlessly used his telekinesis to drop it into one of his jean pockets.
"We're not done yet," Brom warned, "so don't get comfortable yet." He pointed to a small plant and said "This is called delois." From there on, he instructed the two Riders in the ancient language, giving them works to memorize, from vöndr, a thin, straight stick, to the morning star, called Aideail.
That evening, Blaster volunteered to fight in Brom's stead, but the man refused. He and Eragon sparred, though Brom fought with his left hand as opposed to his injured right. It seemed to Blaster that, like himself, Brom was ambidextrous, and his skill with a wooden sword was undiminished.
With this much training, will they snap under the pressure? Will they find a town that hasn't been destroyed? The answers to these and much more next week on Free Riders.
Please R&R. Flamers will taste Brisingr!