Chapter Forty-Eight: Clarity and Confusion

Mariah held her breath, slipping between buildings like a sneak thief. Never in her life did she believe she would have to hide and snake her way through her own home village. In a half crouch, she waited, watching familiar faces running back and forth through the streets, listening to the shouts of voices she knew all too well. Her heart beat harder with every word. She had to find Roran. All in all, she was too embarrassed, too scared to show her face to anyone else. It was her fault this was happening and she felt too guilty to do anything else.

It started growing darker, the sun nearly set when she saw a familiar figure step out of a house nearby. Mariah tensed, putting her weight on the balls of her feet before springing forward with lightning speed, grabbing his arm and half throwing him into an alley before anyone could follow him and interrupt.

She should have expected it, but the punch to her face sent her flying back into the wall. They were all on high alert because of the Ra'zac and the Empire's soldiers, the reflex was natural. Mariah didn't think Roran could punch that hard. He tightened his grip on something sharp in his hand and she choked out a slight yelp.

"Wait-" she panted, rubbing the corner of her mouth, which was fresh with blood. "Roran. Don't."

He paused, squinting a bit. "…Mariah?"

Relieved, she let out a sigh, getting to her feet and stepping closer to him. "Stay quiet, please."

"What are you doing here?"

"It's a long story, I don't have much time."

He put his weapon back through his belt loop – a hammer. She smiled a little, finding it fitting for a blacksmith's apprentice. "Where's Eragon?"

"I… don't know."

"Mark?"

"Hopefully with Eragon."

"What are you doing here?" He asked again, squinting at her through the dusk.

She shivered, "I was captured by the Empire. I was sent here by Galbatorix to bring you to him."

Roran stared at her, his voice dropping, "You're serious. Why? What do you have to do with anything?"

"I'm a Dragon Rider." She said, watching his face, "And so is Eragon."

"You can't be…"

"I'm dead serious Roran. And there's another Rider, just up on the hill outside of town. She's two minutes away from flying in here and torching everything. She sent me to get you. If you come with me, nothing bad will happen."

"How can you be sure?"

"I can't – which is why I want you to run."

"What?"

"You heard me. I need you to take everyone in to the mountains and run, escape as fast as you can. She won't follow. She can't." Mariah insisted, "She's as scared of the Spine as her father. She told me as much while we were flying here."

"Her father?"

"…her father is Galbatorix."

Roran stared at her, leaning against the wall and slipping to the ground. "Mariah… this is all too much to take. You can't be serious."

"I'm dead serious Roran." She said, kneeling next to him and taking his hand, "Look at me." He did so. "You may think I'm crazy. But if you do nothing else in your entire life, believe me right now." Mariah said to him, tearing up slightly, "If you don't take everyone and run, right now, tonight, then everyone you have known since you were born will be dead by morning. Carvahall will be burnt to the ground and everyone will be dead. I can promise you that, on my life."

"Roran-?"

Mariah snapped her head up, looking at a woman standing in the alleyway entrance. Her voice wavered slightly as she spoke, like she was scared.

"Katrina, it's okay." Roran insisted, getting up slowly.

The Rider stood up, "Katrina."

"Mariah? Roran, what's going on?"

"She's here to help," he insisted, walking to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Don't worry."

Mariah watched them, "Roran… you have to believe me. If you don't-"

"I know." He said shortly, kissing Katrina's forehead. "We'll be gone by morning."

"By midnight… she won't wait. Bring only what you can carry while running and go."

Katrina looked between Roran and Mariah, "What's happening?"

She stepped over to them, "Roran will explain everything, don't worry Katrina, everything will be alright." Mariah told her. The older lady just looked at her and Mariah felt her heart tense. Any year prior to this one, she would have been taking advice and reassurance from her, not giving it. "I guess… being a Rider does this to people." She said to herself quietly. Mariah watched the two of them for a moment before realizing how he was holding her. "…you're engaged."

"As of yesterday," Roran confirmed, looking at Mariah again.

Mariah started crying silently. She didn't know why, it just happened. Quickly, she found herself praying that they survived the next few days, months escaping from the Empire. "You're in so much danger Roran… please know that."

He stared at her. "…where's Eragon, Mariah?"

"Safe… he's safe Roran. That much I do know…"

"He should have been with you."

"No. No, he shouldn't have been," she shook her head.

Roran shook his head, letting go of Katrina and walking back to Mariah. "If I know him at all, he would have given anything to protect you."

"He almost died protecting me once, it was my turn to protect him."

"You," he started, pausing. "…what is that other Rider going to do to you when she realizes what you've done?"

"I don't know." Mariah admitted. "She will burn down Carvahall though…" Her tears had dried on her cheeks. "And I'll have to help her. I'll lie to her and pray she doesn't discover the truth. I have to go." She started out of the alley and paused by Katrina, turning to look at her. "It is… an awful time, but I wish for you to be happy and for you to smile on your wedding day, hoping the day isn't too far away. Waíse ilia, Katrina." She touched her cheek with her silver palm and smiled a little. Dropping her hand, she turned and ran as fast as she could out of the village into the darkness.

Satisfied, Gannel led him away from the statues and up a winding staircase. As they climbed, the clan chief dipped a hand into his robe and withdrew a simple necklace, a chain threaded through the pommel of a miniature silver hammer. He gave it to Eragon.

"This is another favor Hrothgar asked of me," Gannel explained. "He worries that Galbatorix may have gleaned an image of you from the minds of Durza, the Ra'zac, or any number of soldiers who saw you throughout the Empire."

"Why should I fear that?"

"Because then Galbatorix could scry you. Perhaps he already has."

A shiver of apprehension wormed down Eragon's side, like an icy snake. I should have thought of that, he berated himself.

"The necklace will prevent anyone from scrying you or your dragon, as long as you wear it. I placed the spell myself, so it should hold before even the strongest mind. But be forewarned, when activated, the necklace will draw upon your strength until you either take it off or the danger has passed."

"What if I'm asleep? Could the necklace consume all my energy before I was aware of it?"

"Nay. It will wake you."

Eragon rolled the hammer between his fingers. It was difficult to avert another's spells, least of all Galbatorix's. If Gannel is so accomplished, what other enchantments might be hidden in his gift? He noticed a line of runes cut along the hammer's haft. They spelled Astim Hefthyn. The stairs ended as he asked, "Why do dwarves write with the same runes as humans?"

For the first time since they met, Gannel laughed, his voice booming through the temple as his large shoulders shook. "It is the other way around; humans write with our runes. When your ancestors landed in Alagaësia, they were as illiterate as rabbits. However, they soon adopted our alphabet and matched it to this language. Some of your words even come from us, like father, which was originally farthen."

"So then Farthen Dûr means…?" Eragon slipped the necklace over his head and tucked it under his tunic.

"Our Father."

Stopping at a door, Gannel ushered Eragon through to a curved gallery located directly below the cupola. The passageway banded Celbedeil, providing a view through the open archways of the mountains behind Tarnag, as well as the terraced city far below.

Eragon barely glanced at the landscape, for the gallery's inner wall was covered with a single continuous painting, a gigantic narrative band that began with a depiction of the dwarves' creation under Helzvog's hand. The figures and objects stood in relief from the surface, giving the panorama a feeling of hyperrealism with its saturated, glowing colors and minute detail.

Captivated, Eragon asked, "How was this made?"

"Each scene is carved out of small places of marble, which are fired with enamel, then fitted into a single piece.

"Wouldn't it be easier to use regular paint?"

"It would," said Gannel, "but not if we wanted it to endure centuries – millennia – without change. Enamel never fades or loses its brilliancy, unlike oil paint. This first section was carved only a decade after the discovery of Farthen Dûr, well before elves set foot on Alagaësia."

The priest took Eragon by the arm and guided him along the tableau. Each step carried them through uncounted years of history.

Eragon saw how the dwarves were once nomads on a seemingly endless plain, until the land grew so hot and desolate they were forced to migrate south to the Beor Mountains. That was how the Hadarac Desert was formed, he realized, amazed.

As they proceeded down the mural, heading toward the back of Celbedeil, Eragon witnessed everything from the domestication of Feldûnost to the carving of Isidar Mithrim, the first meeting between dwarves and elves, and the coronation of each new dwarf king. Dragons frequently appeared, burning and slaughtering. Eragon had difficult restraining comment during those sections.

His steps slowed as the painting shifted to the event he had hoped to find: the war between elves and dragons. Here the dwarves had devoted a vast amount of space to the destruction wreaked upon Alagaësia by the two races. Eragon shuddered with horror at the sight of elves and dragons killing each other. The battles continued for yards, each image more bloody than the last, until the darkness lifted and a young elf was shown kneeling on the edge of a cliff, holding a white dragon egg.

"Is that…?" whispered Eragon.

"Aye, it's Eragon, the First Rider. It's a good likeness too, as he agreed to sit for our artisans.

Drawn forward by his fascination, Eragon studied the face of his namesake. I always imagined him older. The elf had angled eyes that peered down a hooked nose and narrow chin, giving him a fierce appearance. It was an alien face, completely different from his own… and yet the set of his shoulders, high and tense, reminded Eragon of how he had felt upon finding Saphira's egg. We're not so different, you and I, he thought, touching the cool enamel. And once my ears match yours, we shall truly be brothers through time… I wonder, would you approve of my actions? He knew they had made at least one identical choice; they had both kept the egg.

He heard a door open and close and turned to see Arya approaching from the far end of the gallery. She scanned the wall with the same blank expression Eragon had seen her use when confronting the Council of Elders. Whatever her specific emotions, he sensed that she found the situation distasteful.

Arya inclined her head, "Grimstborith."

"Arya."

"You have been educating Eragon in your mythology?"

Gannel smiled flatly. "One should always understand the faith of the society that one belongs to."

"Yet comprehension does not imply belief." She fingered the pillar of an archway. "Nor does it mean that those who purvey such beliefs do so for more than… material gain."

"You would deny the sacrifices my clan makes to bring comfort to our brethren?"

"I deny nothing, only ask what good might be accomplished if your wealth were spread among the needy, the starving, the homeless, or even to buy supplies for the Varden. Instead, you've piled it into a monument to your own wishful thinking."

"Enough!" The dwarf clenched his fists, his face mottled. "Without us, the crops would wither in drought. Rivers and lakes would flood. Our flocks would give birth to one-eyed beasts. The very heavens would shatter under the gods' rage!" Arya smiled. "Only our prayers and service prevent that from happening. If not for Helzvog, where-"

Eragon soon lost track of the argument. He did not understand Arya's vague criticisms of Dûrgrimst Quan, but he gathered from Gannel's responses that, in some indirect way, she had implied that the dwarf gods did not exist, questioned the mental capacity of every dwarf who entered a temple, and pointed out what she took to be flaws in their reasoning – all in a pleasant and polite voice.

After a few minutes, Arya raised her hand, stopping Gannel, and said, "That is the difference between us, Grimstborith. You devote yourself to that which you believe to be true but cannot prove. There, we must agree to disagree." She turned to Eragon then, "Az Sweldn rak Anhûin has inflamed Tarnag's citizens against you. Ûndin believes, as do I, that it would be best for you to remain behind his walls until we leave."

Eragon hesitated. He wanted to see more of Celbedeil, but if there was to be trouble, then his place was by Saphira's side. He bowed to Gannel and begged to be excused. "You need not apologize, Shadeslayer," said the clan chief. He glared at Arya. "Do what you must, and may the blessings of Gûntera be upon you."

"I've said it before Nasuada, I am not taking command of Du Vrangr Gata. Trianna will be fine leading them. They are under your orders, not their own."

"They have a tendency to dismiss my orders though."

"I don't believe that will be a problem any longer," Mark insisted, stopping at the foot of the stairs a moment. "Trianna asked me to take command and I told her I simply couldn't, considering how busy I am. She seemed very eager to listen to what I had to say however, I believe she'll do what you say now. With the Twins in charge before, I think they were more inclined to dismiss your orders."

Nasuada sighed a little, "Very well. If you feel confident with how they've set up their new leadership, I will allow it and leave them be. We're done for the day, you may go. Everyone has been alerted to the move, so the city will probably be very busy."

Mark smiled at her, "I'm not worried about getting lost, if that's what you're thinking."

"Well, no." She said, "It's not that."

"You should rest Nasuada, running yourself into the ground won't do anyone any good."

She nodded, "You're right. Thank you."

"I think you forget sometimes you are only human."

"Perhaps," she admitted, "Good night, Marcus."

"Good night, Lady Nasauda."

He watched her leave to go to her quarters before continuing down the steps to the city. As he wandered about, avoiding people best he could his mind fell back onto the subject of his sister. The eyes he had seen in his scrying orb had been Mariah's – he was sure of it. Not knowing what the damn thing was used for however, he had no way of knowing if that had simply been a reflection of his own thoughts or something more real. More alive. Fiddling with her headband in his pocket, he sighed and tried to get his mind off the topic.

Dwarvish – he had to become more fluent. It was difficult to keep up with them when they spoke so fluidly in their own language. There had to be at least one dwarf in Farthen Dûr willing to teach him how to speak better. The ones he had spoken to all had seemed eager to correct him, finding his failures amusing.

If Mariah was alive somewhere, it must mean she was captured, probably by the Empire – by Galbatorix himself. If that was indeed what had happened to her, what could he do? He wasn't even a Rider; despite everything he couldn't help his little sister.

"Damnit," he stopped and rubbed his face, "I have to stop worrying like this. It's not doing any good you know."

"Worrying always does some good, whether you do something about it or not is usually what matters."

Mark looked over and let out a slight moan. How was it every time he stopped paying attention to where his feet were going, they led him to Angela?

"Did you find my gift useful?"

He blinked, "Yes, but it seems to be causing more of a problem for me than not."

"How do you mean?" She asked, examining a blue feather.

"I mean, I believe I was able to scry my sister with it." Mark told her, leaning on her counter. "But I can't say for certain."

"What good does knowing do you anyhow? Nothing you can do about it now."

"Well… no-"

"So what use is it?"

"I'd like to know if she's alright or not."

"Why? You can't do anything either way."

He huffed, "I could if I wanted to."

"Then why don't you?" She asked, looking over at him.

"Because… I-"

"You can't, that's why." Angela told him, "You're weak and pathetic and there's nothing you can do about it." Mark blinked at her, startled. "I mean you have no dragon. Even on your horse, it would take you weeks to reach Urû'baen. And even if you managed somehow to reach the capital – through the countless hordes of enemies - what's to say she's actually there? You might be wrong."

"I might be right."

"That's a change you aren't willing to take, now isn't it?"

He looked down at the wooden countertop and dragged a finger along the grain line. "No… it's not."

"Not even for your sister?"

"I know she would not want me to risk my own life just to try and save hers."

"And what if she is content with Galbatorix? What if she likes being there? She might not even come back with you, if you were somehow able to find a way."

He hadn't thought of that. "No, she would never. I know my sister, she would do anything to destroy the Empire."

"That was before, can you be sure now? It has been nearly a fortnight since her departure. People can change."

"Not so quickly."

"I think you may be surprised, Marcus." Angela told him. "Have I helped you calm your mind?"

"Not at all," he said, letting out a quiet chortle. "On the contrary – my mind seems to be spinning more. You're coming with us to Surda then?"

"I am. We've already started packing." She said.

He smiled a bit, "I'm glad you're coming along. I enjoy your company and, though very confusing, entertaining conversation."

"As do I," Angela told him, "Now. I believe it was late when you arrived and you have overstayed your welcome. Go now and rest."

Mark pushed off the counter, shaking his head at the woman and started out of her shop, finding the streets nearly empty as everyone turned in for the night.

He glanced back and forth down the hall to make sure no one was coming before crouching on one knee and picking the lock carefully. The man swore a couple times as he nearly had it, then it re-locked. After a few tries Murtagh blinked, realizing it was magically re-locking itself every time he picked it.

"Ma'mor," he said. Nothing happened. Growling a bit to himself he narrowed his eyes at the door. "…Mariah said it helps to calm down first. Easy for her to say." He tapped his fingers against the wood and let out a breath, trying to pull on some sort of magic from inside himself. After a few seconds he rolled his eyes, "This is stupid. I can't use magic."

Turning around, he walked to the next room over and picked the lock. This one wasn't magically shut. Opening it quietly, he stepped inside, closing the door and looking around. Murtagh walked along the wall and ran his fingers over the fine decorated walls, tapping every now and then until he heard a hollow sound. Smirking, he started searching for the hidden panel and soon found a notch in the wall. He pressed it and the concealed door sank back into the wall, spinning out to the magically locked room. Murtagh stepped through and looked around.

The room was exactly how he remembered it, filled with books and pictures of the sea. Kendra had only gotten to see the ocean once and had collected pictures of it ever since. She usually spent as much time as she could at the lake outside of the city, but it was nothing compared to the vast salt-filled waters of the sea. He strode over to her bookshelf, looking over the titles on the spines and observing the amount of dust collected on them. Murtagh paused when he saw one had a lighter coating than the rest, pulling it out and moving to sit down with it. He blinked as a piece of paper fell from it, landing on the floor. Kneeling down to pick it up, he hesitated when he saw his name scrolled at the top in large, elegant, looping letters.

Setting the book down on the nearby table he looked at the paper and unfolded it carefully, biting his lip as he read.

Murtagh,

These words are meant for your eyes only, please keep them safe. If you're reading this, by now you must have realized I've gone – escaped, or hoped to, shortly after you. It also means you're back in Urû'baen – most likely captured by the king's men, despite your best efforts to escape. I'm sorry that it happened, but I am glad you are still alive.

Anything Galbatorix has made you do up until now will be nothing compared to what he has planned for you. I never wanted to see you turn into one of his pawns, but with what he has told me and Kieran, that is what you will become. Don't fight him. Despite every part of your existence that will scream not to let him win, allow it. If you try to fight him, you will lose. Every single time. You have seen what he does to me and my sister. Remember all those times I lay broken and bleeding after he made me train over and over – don't let that happen to you. My hatred toward him for that will never weaken. I am his disappointment, but he still has you and Kieran. If I only knew of a way to tell you how much that frightens me.

I left because I could not stay here and watch as innocent people are slain with no mercy while the country falls to ruin. Your escape gave me the courage to leave. I realize now that I cannot stay here, whether I die running or get killed before I even make it off the grounds, I don't know. Maybe I'll be caught and beaten to death by the king. I can only pray he would not leave me alive, be that the case. I may die, I don't know and it does scare me. Wouldn't it you – to die alone?

I hope to never return here unless it is to not only kill Galbatorix, but to set you and my dear sister free. Until then, I probably won't see you again. I don't know if you'll remember me if we ever do meet again, but I can only hope you will think of me every once in a great while and that they will be happier thoughts.

With Love, Your Sister,

Kendra

"Of course she left a letter," he sighed. "Just like her to do that. Well Kendra, I'm sorry too… because I'm stuck here without you, at least if you were still here it'd make life a little more bearable. Kieran always was the crazy one."

Murtagh quickly folded up the paper and stuffed it into his belt under his shirt, hearing footsteps just outside the door. He ran to the hidden doorway and closed it, stepping out into the hall just as soldiers rounded the corner. The messenger slipped between them all as they stopped a few feet from him. "Galbatorix wishes to see you. Follow me."

He sighed and nodded, trying to ignore the guards as they walked him to one of the lower rooms of the castle. A chill ran up his spine as he recalled walking down this way before, it had not been pleasant the last time when the Twins tortured him and he prayed it wasn't about to turn into something similar today. The guards stopped at the door, the messenger waving him in. Murtagh stepped through as the door closed at his back.

"Ah, there you are," Galbatorix said, motioning for him to step closer.

Hesitating a moment, Murtagh looked around the room. It was damp, cold and dark. The torch light flickered, allowing only the smallest bit of light and heat into the stone walls and floor. He caught something sparkle out of the corner of his eye and flicked his gaze to it fully. Large smooth gemstones say atop pedestals in the center of the room.

"Come here boy." His voice came out in an impatient drawl.

Stepping closer, he saw exactly what he expected – dragon eggs. There were eight in all; closest to him was a glittering green one the same color as an emerald. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you want me here for."

Galbatorix walked around the eggs circular path, eyeing them with pleasure. "It's simple Murtagh. You did not believe I trained you and treated you as a son out of the kindness of my heart, did you?"

He stayed silent, watching the king carefully.

"You must realize I need Riders… no I want them. I want to restore the world to its proper state, recreate the Riders and bring them back to their full glory. You have heard the stories about ancient times – they are no myth. The Riders were every bit as glorious as stories tell, and then some. Imagine it – dragons in the sky all the time, dozens of them – hundreds even. Alagaësia has been out of balance since the fall and needs to be resurrected. I wish to restore what is right – Alagaësia is supposed to have Dragon Riders, it has been that way for much of history. These most recent decades have been barren and dire, but by returning the Riders to their proper station everything will become as it once was. I need my Forsworn back in order to start the Rise of the Riders and I wish for you to take your father's place at my side."

With every word his heart had started beating faster, he knew it had been coming. Kendra had known for a long time – Kieran too. "I am not my father."

"No, you are not Morzan. You far outreach him. Your skills are beyond anything he could have dreamed of. At your age, he was not nearly as accomplished as you are. You have a gift, Murtagh, a natural fighting spirit. Use it. Become one of my new Forsworn." Galbatorix said, "You know you cannot refuse."

He was right about that. The oaths he had forced him to pledge when he'd first arrived stated he must do everything Galbatorix commanded him to. He never imagined this would be one of them. "What if none of them hatch for me?"

"I have been practicing, just for that very reason. If none of them want to hatch for you – I shall simply have to force one to."

"What if you kill it?"

"Nasreen is nearly old enough to breed, she will lay another clutch of eggs soon enough."

"You'll destroy them all then?"

Galabtorix looked at him, "If that is what must be done, yes. Now, find a dragon willing to hatch for you or I shall force one out."

He shivered slightly, the hair on the back of his neck sticking up as he stepped forward, keeping the king in his sights. Murtagh brushed his fingers over the smooth surface of the emerald dragon egg and sighed lightly. How was he supposed to know which one would hatch for him – if any? Moving on, he touched a pale egg, in the lighting he couldn't tell what color it was – it simply looked white any tint was soaked up by the flickering firelight. Slowly he wound his way across the circle. "I don't think any of them want to hatch for me."

"Keep going," Galbatorix commanded.

He winced a bit and looked back down, placing his hand on a burnished ruby red dragon egg. Please, hatch. He's going to force you to and I would rather you hatched now by your own will than dying at his hand. Murtagh went rigid as he felt a tap against his hand. The sound echoed around the room and he felt the king smirk.

"Red. Just like your father..."

Murtagh watched the egg spider web with white cracks. He stepped back and stared as a snake-like head popped through the hole. The egg shattered, leaving a tiny red dragon sitting on the pedestal in front of him. His heart sank as it turned its head toward him, realizing what had just happened. "Anything Galbatorix has made you do up until now will be nothing compared to what he has planned for you." Kendra hadn't been joking.

Well wasn't that just peachy?

Mariah's just having oodles of fun, now isn't she? I've never mentioned it before, but considering their ages, I've always thought Mariah and Katrina would have been friends in Carvahall. And no, her Elvish was not a full blessing, before you ask – she put no magic behind her words.

More with Eragon and Co. – their traveling is keeping my timeline a little more consistent. When it gets a little less lecture-driven, I'm planning on changing some things up.

Bits with Mark and Nasuada – nothing much to do with them right now. I have to try and figure something out though… it'll pick up once I can place them in Surda though. Angela's always fun to write with, she can say whatever she wants and get away with it.

Yes. Thorn did hatch for Murtagh. I'm so glad I can officially say that. Murtagh still gets Thorn. Galbatorix now has three Riders. Everyone can stop worrying about it now, even me. I did for a while consider not having this happen, but there's my final decision.

Thank you for reviewing as per usual – I truly wouldn't be doing this without you.

Every chapter has a title and I choose them all with great care. Somehow they are reflective as to what the chapter is about, and I try to make them catchy or familiar in some way. I don't really know why I'm telling you this, but I think it's because I just wrote the title in last for this chapter and it was on my mind.

Sorry I'm so chatty today. I hope everyone has a fun and safe Forth of July tomorrow! Enjoy the fireworks. If you live outside the USA, then just have a great day.

With Love, As Always,

Mariah