Chapter Fifty-Nine: Augury in the Night-Time
After Eragon and Saphira had said their farewells, they flew back to their tree house with Saphira's new saddle dangling between her front claws. Without acknowledging the fact, they gradually opened their minds and allowed their connections to widen and deepen, though neither of them consciously reached for the other. Eragon's tumultuous emotions must have been strong enough for Saphira to sense anyway, though, she asked, What happened, then?
A throbbing pain built up behind his eyes as he explained the terrible crime he had committed in Farthen Dur. Saphira was as appalled by it as he was. He said, Your gift may help that girl, but what I did is inexcusable and will only hurt her.
The blame isn't all yours. I share your knowledge of the ancient language, and I didn't spot the error any more than you did. When Eragon remained silent, she added, At least your back didn't cause you any trouble today. Be grateful for that.
He grunted, unwilling to be tempted out of his black mood. And what did you learn this fine day?
How to identify and avoid dangerous weather patterns. She paused, apparently ready to share the memories with him, but he was too busy worrying about his distorted blessing to inquire further. Nor could he bear the thought to being so intimate right then. Whenhe did not pursue the matter, Saphira withdrew into a taciturn silence.
Back in their bedroom, he found a tray of food by the screen door, as he had the previous night. Carrying the tray to his bed – which had been remade with fresh linens – he settled down to eat, cursing the lack of meat. Already sore from the Rimgar, he propped himself up with pillows and was about to take his first bite when there came a gentle rapping at the opening to his chamber. "Enter," he growled. He took a drink of water.
Eragon nearly choked as Arya stepped through the doorway. She had abandoned the leather clothes usually wore in favor of a soft green tunic cinched at the waist with a girdle adorned with moonstones. She had also removed her customary headband, allowing her hair to tumble around her face and over her shoulders. The biggest change, however, was not so much in her dress but her bearing; the brittle tension that had permeated her demeanor ever since Eragon first met her was now gone.
She seemed to have finally relaxed.
He scrambled to his feet, noticing that her own were bare. "Arya! Why are you here?"
Touching her first two fingers to her lips, she said, "Do you plan on spending another evening inside?"
"I-"
"You have been in Ellesméra for three days now, if and yet you have seen nothing of our city. I know that you always wished to explore it. Set aside you weariness this once and accompany me." Gliding toward him, she took Zar'roc from where it lay by his side and beckoned to him.
He rose from the bed and followed her into the vestibule, Where they descended through the trap door and down the precipitous staircase that wound around the rough tree trunk. Overhead, the gathering clouds glowed with the sun's last rays before it was extinguished by the edge of the world.
A piece of bark fell on Eragon's head and he looked up to see Saphira leaning out of their bedroom, gripping the wood with her claws. Without opening her wings, she sprang into the air and dropped the hundred or so feet to the ground, landing in a thunderous cloud of dirt. I'm coming.
"Of course," said Arya, as if she expected nothing less. Eragon scowled; he had wanted to be alone with her, but he knew better than to complain.
They walked under the trees, where dusk already extended its tendrils from inside hollow logs, dark crevices in boulders, in the underside of knobby eaves. Here and there, a gemlike lantern twinkled within the side of a tree or at the end of a branch, casting gentle pools of light on either side of the path.
Elves worked on various projects in and around the lanterns' radius, solitary except for a few, rare couples. Several elves set high in the trees, playing mellifluous tunes on their reed pipes, while others stared at the sky with peaceful expressions – neither awake nor asleep. One elf sat cross-legged before a pottery wheel that whirled around and round with a steady rhythm while a delicate urn took form beneath his hands. The werecat, Maud, crouched beside him in the shadows watching his progress. Her eyes flared silver as she looked at Eragon and Saphira. The elf followed her gaze and nodded to them without halting his work.
Through the trees, Eragon glimpsed an elf – man or woman, he could not tell – squatting on a rock in the middle of a stream, muttering a spell over the orb of glass clutched in its hands. He twisted his neck in an attempt to get an unobstructed view, but the spectacle had already vanished into the dark.
"What," asked Eragon, keeping his voice low so as to not disturb anyone, "do most elves do for a living or profession?"
Arya answered just as quietly. "Our strength with magic grants us as much leisure as we desire. We neither hunt nor farm, and, as a result, we spend our days working to master our interests, whatever they might be. Very little exists that we must strive for."
Through a tunnel of dogwood draped with creepers, they entered the enclosed atrium of a house grown out of a ring of trees. An open-walled hut occupied the center of the atrium, which sheltered a forge and an assortment of tools that Eragon knew even Horst would covet.
An elf woman held a pair of small tongs in a nest of molten coals, working bellows with her right hand. With uncanny speed, she pulled the tongs from the fire – revealing a ring of white-hot steel clamped in the pincers' jaws – looped the ring through the edge of an incomplete mail corselet hung over the anvil, grasped a hammer, and welded shut the open ends of the ring with a blow and a burst of sparks.
Only then did Arya approach. "Atra esterní ono thelduin."
The elf faced them, her neck and cheek lit from underneath by the coals' bloody light. Like taut wires embedded in her skin, her face was scribed with a delicate pattern of lines – the greatest display of age Eragon had seen in an elf. She gave no response to Arya, which he knew was offensive and discourteous, especially since the queen's daughter had honored her by speaking first.
"Rhunön-elda, I have brought you the newest Rider, Eragon Shadeslayer."
"I heard you were dead," said Rhunön to Arya. Rhunön's voice guttered and rasped unlike any other elf's. It reminded Eragon of the old men of Carvahall who sat on the porches outside of their houses, smoking pipes and telling stories.
Arya smiled. "When did you last leave your house, Rhunön?"
"You should know. It was that Midsummer's Feast you forced me to attend."
"That was three years ago."
"Was it?" Rhunön frowned as she banked the coals and covered them with a grated lid. "Well, what of it? I find company trying. A gaggle of meaningless chatter that…" She glared at Arya. "Why are we speaking this foul language? I suppose you want me to forge a sword for him? You know I swore to never create instruments of death again, not after that traitor of a Rider and the destruction he wreaked with my blade."
"Eragon already has a sword," said Arya. She raised her arm and presented Zar'roc to the smith."
Rhunön took Zar'roc with a look of wonder. She caressed the wine-red sheath, lingered on the black symbol etched into it, rubbed a bit of dirt from the hilt, then wrapped her fingers around the handle and drew the sword with all the authority of a warrior. She sighted down each of Zar'roc's edges and flexed the blade between her hands until Eragon feared it might break. Then, in a single movement, Rhunön swung Zar'roc over her head and brought it down on the tongs on her anvil, riving them in half with a resounding ring.
"Zar'roc," said Rhunön. "I remember thee." She cradled the weapon like a mother would her firstborn. "As perfect as the day you were finished." Turning her back, she looked up at the knotted branches while she traced the curves of the pommel. "My entire life I spent hammering these swords out of ore. Then he came and destroyed them. Centuries of effort obliterated in an instant. So far as I knew, only four examples of my art still existed. His sword, Oromis's, and two others guarded by families who managed to rescue them from the Wyrdfell."
Wyrdfell? Eragon dared ask Arya with his mind.
Another name for the Forsworn.
Rhunön turned on Eragon. "Now Zar'roc has returned to me. Of call my creations, this I least expected to hold again, save for his. How came you to possess Morzan's sword?"
"It was given to me by Brom."
"Brom?" She hefted Zar'roc. "Brom… I remember Brom. He begged me to replace the sword he had lost. Truly, I wished to help him, but I had already taken my oath. My refusal angered him beyond reason. Oromis had to knock him unconscious before he would leave."
Eragon seized on the information with interest. "Your handiwork has served me well, Rhunön-elda. I would be long dead were it not for Zar'roc. I killed the Shade Durza with it."
"Did you now? Then some good has come of it." Sheathing Zar'roc, Rhunön returned it to him, though not without reluctance, then looked past him to Saphira. "Ah. Well met, Skulblaka."
Well met, Rhunön-elda.
Without bothering to ask permission, Rhunön went up to Saphira's shoulder and tapped on a scale with one of her blunt fingernails, twisting her head from side to side in an attempt to peer into the translucent pebble. "Good color. Not like those brown dragons, all muddy and dark. Properly speaking, a Rider's sword should match the hue of his dragon, and this blue would have made a gorgeous blade…" The thought seemed to drain the energy from her. She returned to the anvil and stared at the wrecked tongs, as if the will to replace them had deserted her.
Eragon felt that it would be wrong to end the conversation on such a depressing note, but he could not think of a tactful way to change the subject. The glimmering corselet caught his attention and, as he studied it, he was astonished to see that every ring with welded shut. Because the tiny links cooled so quickly, they usually had to be welded before being attached to the main piece of mail, which meant that the finest mail – such as Eragon's hauberk – was composed of links that were alternately welded and riveted closed. Unless, it seemed, the smith possessed an elf's speed and precision.
Eragon said, "I've never seen the equal of your mail, not even among the dwarves. How do you have the patience to weld every link? Why don't you just use magic and save yourself the work?"
He hardy expected the burst of passion that animated Rhunön. She tossed her short-cropped hair and said, "And rob myself of all pleasure in this task? Aye, every other elf and I could use magic to satisfy our desires – and some do – but then what meaning is there in life? How would you fill your time? Tell me."
"I don't know," he confessed.
"By pursuing that which you love the most. When you can have anything you want by uttering a few words, the goal matters not, only the journey to it. A lesson for you. You'll face the same dilemma one day, if you live long enough… Now begone! I am weary of this talk." With that Rhunön plucked the lid off the forge, retrieved a new pair of tongs, and immersed a ring in the coals while she worked the bellows with single-minded intensity.
"Rhunön-elda," said Arya, "remember, I will return for you on the eve of the Agaetí Blödhren." A grunt was her only reply.
The rhythmic peal of steel on steel, as lonely as the cry of a death bird in the night, accompanied them back through the dogwood tunnel and onto the path. Behind them, Rhunön was no more than a black figure bowed over the sullen glow of her forge.
"She made all the Riders' swords?" asked Eragon. "Every last one?"
"That and more. She's the greatest smith who has ever lived. I thought that you should meet her, for her sake and yours."
"Thank you."
Is she always so bruque? asked Saphira
Arya laughed. "Always. For her, nothing matters expect her craft, and she's famously impatient with anything – or anyone – that interferes with it. Her eccentricities are well tolerated, though, because of her incredible skill and accomplishments."
While she spoke, Eragon tried to work out the meaning of Agaetí Blödhren. He was fairly sure that blödh stood for blood and, as a result, that blödhren was blood-oath, but he and never heard of agateí.
"Celebration," explained Arya when he asked. "We hold the Blood-oath Celebration once every century to honor our pact with the dragons. Both of you are fortunate to be here now, for it is nigh upon us…" Her slanted eyebrows met as she frowned. "Fate has indeed arranged a most auspicious coincidence."
"There you are," he smiled at her, sitting back on his heels. "I was getting a little worried; you've been out for quite some time…"
Mariah sat up gingerly, looking around, "Where's Kieran?"
"Hunting something down for dinner last I knew," he admitted, brushing her hair back. "You're feeling better?"
"Yes, I'm fine, thank you," she said.
"Well good. Andrar was insisting that you were fine, but I was waiting to see for myself." He helped her to her feet and watched as she dusted off her pants.
She looked around for a moment, "Did we fly back?" Mariah asked as he tended to the fire.
He swore under his breath as a hot spark hit his finger, "Yes. Kieran thought it best, considering our timeline. We're due back tomorrow morning."
"Of course," she said, trying her best to keep the bitter tone out of her voice. Andrar snorted at her, tucking his nose under his forepaw to avoid chuckling. "Are we going to be on time?"
"As long as that storm doesn't get any closer, yes."
She turned her gaze upward and narrowed toward the east, where dark storm clouds were looming. Behind her the bushes rustled and Kieran stepped out of the forest, dropping a small wild boar onto the ground next to Murtagh. He exchanged glances with the princess, who sniffed a bit and walked over to Nasreen, leaving him to prep their food.
Mariah shook her head a bit and went to sit next to him, keeping him company while they waited. Her eyes lingered on the storm clouds as she leaned against Andrar's scales, twisting the fabric of her torn tunic between her fingers. When offered food, she refocused her attention and smiled slightly, eating quietly while the other two talked about how tomorrow would likely end up going. Finally, the darkness settled in, leaving them only with the option of sleeping.
As her senses succumbed to the night, she felt herself slipping into an uneasy sleep. It started out black, like every other night, and gradually progressed into something darker. Her first flicker of a thought was to wake herself back up, but she'd already placed a silencing ward upon herself, and the dream wouldn't end until she started it.
The sky was black with an oncoming storm and the grim drizzle was frigid on her skin. This time, she was in the castle courtyard. She was alone and walking with her arms folded across her chest in a pathetic attempt to keep herself warm. The blood red skirts she wore were dragging the ground behind her, collecting mud as the rain splattered up her boots.
Her breathing hitched a few times, but stayed asleep, able to hear thunderclaps in the distance as the storm rolled by.
A horse whinnied from ahead and, when she lifted her gaze, saw a white mare stamping in the puddles. Aluora. She hurried over and brushed her fingers over her nose. She scrambled onto her back and turned her around, rushing the gate to leave. With no guards around to stop them, they surged away from the castle with all the speed the horse could muster. As soon as the castle was out of sight, digging her hooves into the muddy road the mare reared up onto her hind legs, whinnying loudly as another thunderclap sounded overhead. Mariah gripped a handful of her mane, but soon found herself thrown off the she-horse, and coated with mire.
The jolt woke her for a moment before she twisted and curled back up against Andrar's warm stomach, hoping to relieve some of the fright.
She looked up to see what had startled the bold mare and saw a group of dragons blocking the road with Riders atop their backs. Though their faces were shadowed, she could have named them all without difficulty. Camille drew her rapier, stepping down from the dragon she was saddled in, walking over to her without hesitation. Her brother, Cederic, jumped off his mount and followed her, the blade in his hand already dripping with blood. The rapier tapped against Mariah's neck, forcing her to lift her face up.
She sat straight up this time; her lips parted with a scream, and would have woken the other two, if not for the ward upon herself. Mariah blinked, rubbing her eyes and tried to collect her thoughts, when her eyes wouldn't stay open any longer however, she was forced to lie back down and resubmit herself to her nightmares.
Camille's brown eyes met her own for a fleeting moment before a flash of silver blocked her view. The woman stepped back to retrieve her rapier, glaring toward Kieran as she stepped in front of Mariah. With a loud thud, Thorn dropped to the ground beside Nasreen, Murtagh rushing to Kieran's side with his own hand-and-a-half sword drawn, staring down Cederic. The rain slid down their profiles, dripping from the tip of Kieran's nose, and gliding down Murtagh's jawline as they stood in front of her, shielding her from the others. She sat on the ground, covered with mud, watching as they gazed at one another, waiting for the fight to start.
Mariah woke up to prodding from a boot at her back. She blinked her eyes a few times, the sun rising up behind Kieran blinding her for a moment, before staring blearily up at the princess.
"Glad to see you're finally awake. Let's get going, before we're late." Kieran said, climbing atop Nasreen.
"Well, if you ask me they should have been back by now." She insisted, looking over her nails.
"Don't get your panties in a bunch Camille," Cederic said. "I'm sure they'll be back soon enough."
"I don't really want them to. I hope they fail their little quest to be honest. Pathetic really, I mean, why send all three of them out together? Surely one would have been enough. I probably could have found it on my own."
The main room for the southeastern wing of the castle was spacious enough for all six of them to sit comfortably. It was vastly over decorated, with heavy drapes surrounding the multitude of windows overlooking the courtyards. Normally, the area was reserved for guests visiting the castle on business of some sort, since their arrival however, they had each been given residency of a room adjacent to one another. When not training or sleeping, they spent most of their time waiting in the main room.
The open fireplace was crackling with a magic-infused fire that Innes had started before going to the large table against the wall where several books were sprawled out on top of maps, quills and other bits of parchment. He was leaning over to read out of a leather-bound journal while scribbling with his left hand, half listening to the rest of them bickering. Innes didn't bother sparing her a glance, "Oh yes, we all know Camille. You would have been there and back in just half an hour, because you're so much better than Kieran at everything you set your mind to."
"Thank you Innes," she smiled brilliantly. He paused, blinked, and rolled his eyes, turning the page in the book he was reading. Camille's fur-cuffed coattails were dripping off the sides of the chair she was sitting in, one leg crossed perfectly over the other, balanced on the edge of her seat. The heel of her boots tapered down into a point that made it appear like they would likely break if she stood too hard on them. Tossing back her long brown hair she looked over towards Odette sitting idly in the windowsill, staring outside.
"Let's hope they do come back Camille, otherwise you'll be forced to train with us rather than Kieran. It would be a shame to let all your talent go to waste sparring with us day in and day out, wouldn't it?" Hal asked running his finger over his knife, watching his blood pool to the surface of his skin. He flipped the knife in his hand once before shooting it across the room into a wooden shield Cederic had hung on the wall. He smirked at the other boy as the knife landed nearly dead center.
She turned her gaze back towards him, paused a moment to think, and then nodded, "You do have a good point there." Her eyes watched Cederic throw another dagger deep into the wooden shield and clapped for him gingerly.
"You don't have to wonder about them any longer, they're back now." Odette said as she gazed out the window. Picking up her skirts to stand, she headed toward the door to meet them. Camille blinked and stood as well, striding after the girl with the three boys on her heel.
"Back on time I see."
"Yes father," Kieran said, bowing to him quickly before retrieving the second Rider's sword at her waist and offering it to him.
Galbatorix took the blade, looking over the hilt and tapping into its power for a few moments, looking solemn for a moment. He turned his gaze back to Kieran and nodded, pleased. "Good, and you had no trouble I see."
"None," she insisted. "There is, however the matter of the necromancy I found that I am eager to share with you." Her eyes flickered to the other riders walking into the throne room. "In private, if possible."
He nodded again and beckoned her to follow, proceeding into his study. The riders standing in the doorway turned their gaze to Murtagh and Mariah questioningly.
"Well, stop gawking like a bunch of dumb ducklings," she said, shaking her head at them. "
"We just wanted to know how your trip went," Camilla said, heading the pack. She tossed her hair over her shoulder as she walked over to Mariah. "Seems to me like you had a rough time of it, considering the state you're in."
Mariah paused and looked down at herself briefly, realizing how tattered and torn her clothes were. She huffed a little at the older girl and turned towards the staircase, heading up to her room, leaving Camilla with the satisfaction of having run her off. She ran her fingers along the wall as she walked to her room, pausing only momentarily when she heard someone behind her. She sighed and turned slightly, "I'll be fine, just let me go change, alright?"
"You don't look fine." His gray eyes stared at her through his blond bangs.
She blinked at Pearce and watched him warily for a moment. He hadn't been in the throne room a few minutes ago. "Are you following me?"
"Not really," he said. "I can only take so much of Camilla's voice before I have to leave the room. I was on my way back from the kitchen when I saw you'd returned."
"Just a moment ago actually."
He nodded. "As I said before, you don't look fine."
"I will be. It was a difficult trip."
"I see, well," he reached into the pocket of his worn leather jacket and tossed an apple to her. "You're probably hungry."
She caught the apple and blinked at him, "Thank you."
Pearce nodded again and continued down the hall to his room. Mariah waited a minute for him to leave before continuing down the hall. She reached her room, locking the door behind her. Once safely inside, she quickly stripped her clothes, checking over her wounds to make sure they were all healing properly before changing into more suitable attire. Mariah glanced in the mirror and ran her fingers over her face, rubbing under her eyes where dark circles had formed from her lack of sleep the night prior.
"Why do I always look so tired now?" She muttered, glancing at the apple on her dresser, snatching it up and going to her bookshelf. Tracing a finger over the spines for a few moments she finally pulled a thick volume down and returned to her bed, opening it to the middle and reading as she chomped down on the red piece of fruit.
"Kendra!"
She flicked her gaze through the trees, honing in on where the voice was coming from. "Damn them. They know better than to come after us like this." Nyx growled a little from beside her. She turned, stepping through the shallow river and to the other side, taking off at a brisk trot, hoping to lose them. "They'll get tired of looking eventually, huh?" She looked down at the wolf and smiled.
With her bow strapped to her back, she slipped through the woods, startling a small herd of deer and scattering them like leaves on a windy autumn morning. Her gaze turned forwards as she heard the water rushing louder. She smirked and stopped on the edge of the cliff, sitting with her legs dangling over the edge. Nyx slipped over and sat beside her, lying down after a moment and setting his head on her lap.
Overlooking the landscape below as the sun reached its highest point for the day, she hummed quietly to herself, finding the rushing waterfall beside her calming. Her fingers stroked through Nyx's fur slowly, feeling his heart beating through his chest. Surda's view was a thousand times more beautiful than Urû'baen ever had been. If it had been before the war, she wasn't sure, but she could hardly imagine something as open and awe-inspiring as this spot was at the moment.
"I guess I don't need to call in the search party." Her eyes closed slowly as she heard his voice, turning her head a bit as Mark walked over to her. "We've been looking for you all morning."
"Did the thought ever occur to you that I don't want to be found?" She asked. Nyx growled up at them.
He smiled, "Of course. I told them to leave it well enough alone, but they were insistent." Mark stretched a bit, "Took me long enough though, you must be a great hunter. You barely left any trail to follow."
"Your compliments are useless, I'll have you know." Kendra told him. "I know I'm a good hunter, probably one of the best. I'll track anything you want and find it in half as much time as anyone else you can think of."
Mark folded his arms, "Well then Huntress, would you mind finding the way to Rowan? We've been separated and I don't believe I can find him in this forest."
She stood and turned to look at him, "You should have just used magic, or have you forgotten you possess such talents?"
"My priority was finding you, not him. Now, if you please." He motioned for her to start ahead of him.
Shaking her head, Kendra walked past him, Nyx growling towards Mark as he followed. "He shouldn't be that difficult to find… where did you last see him?"
"In that split in the path, by that large boulder before you come to the stream," he said. "He suggested we part and look for you separately and I agreed."
She said nothing and turned north, trotting through the forest briskly and quickly coming upon the small path curving through the trees. Ahead, she could hear Rowan calling out for her. Rolling her eyes, she led them towards his voice. "He should know better than to go shouting for people who don't want to be found. I'm over here Rowan."
He twisted around and waved toward them, hustling over. "The others were getting worried about you."
"I'm sure they were, now let's head back, yes boys?" She rolled her eyes slightly and headed back towards Surda.
She surprised Eragon by leading them deeper into Du Weldenvarden, down paths tangled with nettles and currant bushes, until the lights around them vanished and they entered the restless wilderness. In the darkness, Eragon had to rely on Saphira's keen night vision so as to not lose his way. The craggy trees increased in width, crowding closer and closer together and threatening to form and impenetrable barrio. Just when it appeared that they could go no farther, the forest ended and they entered a clearing washed with moonlight form the bright sickle low in the eastern sky.
A lone pine tree stood in the middle of the clearing. No taller than the rest of its brethren, it was thicker than a hundred regular trees combined; in comparison, they looked as puny as windblown saplings. A blanket of roots radiated from the tree's massive trunk, covering the ground with bark-sheathed veins that made it seem as if the entire forest flowed out from the tree, as if it were the heart of Du Weldenvarden itself. The tree presided over the woods like a benevolent matriarch, protecting its inhabitants under the shelter of her branches.
"Behold the Menoa tree," whispered Arya. "We observe the Agaetí Blödhren in her shade."
A cold tingle crawled down Eragon's side as he recognized the name. After Angela told his fortune in Teirm, Solembum had come up to him and said, When the time comes and you need a weapon, look under the roots of the Menoa tree. Then, when all seems lost and your power is insufficient, go to the rock of Kuthian and speak your name to open the Vault of Souls. Eragon could not imagine what kind of weapon might be buried under the tree, nor how he would go about finding it.
Do you see anything? He asked Saphira.
No, but then I doubt that Solembum's words will make sense until our need is clear.
Eragon told Arya about both parts of the werecat's counsel, although – as he had with Ajihad and Islanzadí – he kept Angela's prophecy a secret because of its personal nature.
When he finished, Arya said, "Werecats rarely offer help, and when they do, it's not to be ignored. So far as I know, no weapon is hidden here, not even in song or legend. As for the Rock of Kuthian… the name echoes in my head like a voice from a half-forgotten dream, familiar yet strange. I've heard it before, though I cannot recall where."
As they approached the Menoa tree, Eragon's attention was caught by the multitude of ants crawling over the roots. Faint black smudges were all he could see of the insects, but Oromis's assignment had sensitized him to the currents of life around him, and he could feel the ants' primitive consciousness with his mind. He lowered his defenses and allowed his awareness to flood outward, lightly touching Saphira and Arya and then expanding beyond them to see what else lived in the clearing.
With unexpected suddenness, he encountered an immense entity, a sentient being of such a colossal nature, he could not grasp the limits of its psyche. Even Oromis's vast intellect, which Eragon had been in contact with in the Farthen Dûr, was dwarfed in comparison to this presence. The very air seemed to thrum with the energy and strength that emanated from… the tree?
The source was unmistakable.
Deliberate and inexorable, the tree's thoughts moved at a measured pace as slow as the creep of ice over granite. It took no notice of Eragon nor, he was sure, of any single individual. It was entirely concerned with the affairs of things that grow and flourish in the bright sunlight, with the dogbane and the lily, the evening primrose and the silky foxglove and the yellow mustard tall beside the crabapple with its purple blossoms.
"It's awake!" exclaimed Eragon, shocked into speaking. "I mean… it's intelligent." He knew that Saphira felt it too; she cocked her head toward the Menoa tree, as if listening, then flew to one of its branches, which were as thick as the road from Carvahall to Therinsford. There she perched with her tail hanging free, waving the tip of it back and forth, ever so gracefully. It was such an odd sight, a dragon in a tree, that Eragon almost laughed.
"Of course she's awake," said Arya. Her voice was low and mellow in the night air. "Shall I tell you the story of the Menoa tree?"
"It'd like that."
A flash of white streaked across the sky, like a banished specter, and resolved itself beside Saphira in the form of Blagden. The raven's narrow shoulder and crooked neck gave him the appearance of a miser basking in the radiance of a pure of gold. The raven lifted his pallid head and uttered his ominous cry, Wyrda!"
"This is what happened. Once there lived a woman, Linnëa, in the years of spice and wine before our war with the dragons and before we became as immortal as any beings still composed of vulnerable flesh can be. Linnëa had grown old without the comfort of a mate or children, nor did she feel the need to seek them out, preferring to occupy herself with the art of singing to plants, of which she was a master. That is, she did until a young man came to her door and beguiled her with words of love. His affections woke a part of Linnëa that she had never suspected existed, a craving to experience the things that she had unknowingly sacrificed. The offer of a second chance was too great an opportunity for her to ignore. She deserted her work and devoted herself to the young man and, for a time, they were happy
"But the young man was young, and he began to long for a mate closer to his own age. His eyes fell upon a young woman, and he wooed and won her. And for a time, they too were happy.
"When Linnëa discovered that she had been spurned, scorned, and abandoned, she went mad with grief. The young man had done the worst possible thing; he had given her a taste of the fullness of life, then torn it away with no more thought than a rooster flitting from one hen to the next. She found him with the woman and, in her fury, she stabbed him to death.
"Linnëa knew that what she had done was evil. She also knew that even if she was exonerated of the murder, she could not return to her previous existence. Life had lost all joy for her. So she went to the oldest tree in Du Weldenvarden, pressed herself against it, and sang herself into the tree, abandoning all allegiance to her own race. For three days and three nights she sang, and when she finished, she had become one with her beloved plants. And through all the millennia since she has kept watch over the forest… Thus was the Menoa tree created."
At the conclusion of her tale, Arya and Eragon sat side by side on the crest of a huge root, twelve feet off the ground. Eragon bounced his heels against the tree and wondered if Arya had intended the story as a warning to him or if it was merely an innocent piece of history.
His doubt hardened into certainty when she asked, "Do you think that the young man was to blame for the tragedy?"
"I think," he said, knowing that a clumsy reply could turn her against him, "that what he did was cruel … and that Linnëa overreacted. They were both at fault.
Arya stared at him until he was forced to avert his gaze. "They weren't suited for each other."
Eragon began to deny it but then stopped himself. She was right. And she had maneuvered him so that he had to say it out loud, so that he had to say it to her. "Perhaps," he admitted.
Silence accumulated between them like sand piling into a wall that neither of them was willing to breach. The high-pitched hum of cicadas echoed from the edge of the clearing. At last he said, "Being home seems to agree with you."
"It does." With unconscious ease, she leaned over and picked up a thin branch that had fallen from the Menoa tree and began to weave the clips of needles into a small basket.
Hot blood rushed to Eragon's face as he watched her. He hoped that the moon was not bright enough to reveal that his cheeks hat turned mottled red. "Where… where do you live? Do you and Islanzadí have a palace or castle…?"
"We live in Tialdarí Hall, our family's ancestral buildings, in the western part of Ellesméra. I would enjoy showing our home to you."
"Ah." A practical question suddenly intruded in Eragon's muddled thoughts, driving away his embarrassment. "Arya, do you have any siblings?" She shook her head. "Then you are the sole heir to the elven throne?'
"Of course. Why do you ask?" She sounded bemused by his curiosity.
"I don't understand why you were allowed to become an ambassador to the Varden and dwarves, as well as ferry Saphira's egg from here to Tronjheim. It's too dangerous an errand for a princess, much less the queen-in-waiting."
"You mean it's too dangerous for a human woman. I told you before that I am not one of your helpless females. What you fail to realize is that we view our monarchs differently than you or the dwarves. TO us, a king or queen's highest responsibility is to serve their people however and wherever possible. If that means forfeiting our lives in the process, we welcome the opportunity to prove our devotion to – as the dwarves say – hearth, hall, and honor. If I had died in the course of my duty, then a replacement successor would have been chosen from among our various Houses. Even now I would not be required to become queen if I found the prospect distasteful. We do not choose leaders who are unwilling to devote themselves wholeheartedly to their obligation." She hesitated, then hugged her knees against her chest and propped her chin on them. "I had many years to perfect those arguments with my mother." For a minute, the wheet-wheet of the cicadas went undisturbed in the clearing. Then she asked, "How go your studies with Oromis?"
Eragon grunted as his foul temper returned on a wave of unpleasant memories, souring his pleasure at being with Arya. All he had wanted to do was crawl into bed, go to sleep, and forget the day. "Oromis-elda," he said, working each word around his mouth before letting it escape, "is quite thorough."
He winced as she gripped his upper arm with bruising strength. "What has gone amiss?'
He tried to shrug her hand off. "Nothing."
"I've traveled with you long enough to know when you're happy, angry… or in pain. Did something happen between you and Oromis? If so, you have to tell me so that it can be rectified as soon as possible. Or was it your back? We could-"
"It's not my training!" Despite his pique, Eragon noted that she seemed genuinely concerned, which pleased him. "Ask Saphira. She can tell you."
"I want to hear it from you," she said quietly.
The muscles in his jaw spasmed as he clenched his teeth. In a low voice, no more than a whisper, he first described how he had failed at his meditation in the glade, then the incident that poisoned his heart like a viper coiled in his chest: his blessing.
Arya released his arm and clutched at the root of the Menoa tree, as if to steady herself. "Barzul." The dwarf curse alarmed him; he had never heard her use profanity before, and this one was particularly apt, for it meant ill fate. "I knew of your act in Farthen Dûr, for sure, but I never thoughts… I never suspected that such a thing could occur. I cry your pardon, Eragon, for forcing you to leave your rooms tonight. I did not comprehend your discomfort. You must want to be alone."
"No," he said. "No, I appreciate the company and the things you've shown me." He smiled at her, and after a moment, she smiled back. Together they sat small and still at the base of the ancient tree and watched the moon arch high over the peaceful forest before it hid behind the gathering clouds. "I only wonder what will become of the child."
High above their heads, Blagden ruffled his bone-white feathers and shrieked, "Wyrda!"
"I really should be getting back to the castle." They had arrived back at the underground city and were going over a few battle plans with the other members of Black Lightning. The table was scattered with maps and books as they pointed and spoke about where their newest information had come from and was about.
They all looked up at him quickly, their faces expressing nothing other than confusion. "Why are you so eager to leave?"
He blinked, "It's not that I'm eager to leave, it's that I need to rejoin Nasuada. I have a duty to assist her whenever she needs it of me. Today, she's holding several meetings I had already planned on attending with her."
"What exactly do you do for her?" Trevin asked, narrowing his eyes a bit at Mark.
"I am her council – one whom she trusts very much. I do my best not to let her down."
"You two seem rather close, to just be council," he said.
Mark blinked, "Whatever you're insinuating, I can assure you that you're mistaken. I simply owe her a debt and am repaying it with my assistance." He looked between them and landed on Kendra last.
She sighed a little under her breath, "He's just doing it so he knows as much as he can without looking suspicious. She trusts him and gives him valuable information; leave him alone about it now will you? It's no worse than Rowan pretending to be the son of a lord."
"Only that he is," Trevin pointed out, smirking. "Just fails miserably at being one."
"At least I can pass for noble," he said, glancing at him a moment. "Fine. Your remember how to get back in? You won't be shown again if you leave without telling anyone."
Mark nodded, "I think I can find my way."
"Let me walk you out," Kendra insisted, standing straight and walking across the black stone floor. Nyx trotted after her quietly, leaving the others behind. She paused half a moment to let him catch her stride, walking shoulder to shoulder with him.
He glanced over at her, waiting for her to speak or continue on in silence.
"I don't like Nasuada." She said after they had entered the stairwell, where no one else would hear them speak.
"That was made clear after your last visit with her."
"And I don't like that you spend so much time with her. It distracts you from focusing on our goals." She said to him.
Ignoring the jealousy in her tone, he said, "I have to play both sides in order to win. I'm not doing this for anyone except myself."
"Why would you openly tell me such a thing?"
"It's the truth. You know better than anyone how difficult lying about something can be. You have difficulty hiding your identity every day. If you tell the wrong person you'll be killed and you know that, but you're so compelled to sharing with someone what you are and how your blood doesn't matter that you don't care and throw caution to the wind. I don't tell just anyone the truth, but you've earned it more than once."
She nodded and opened the door, stepping outside into the evening air. "You should probably get back to her before she sends someone out to look for you."
"If I leave, can I be assured I won't be pulled back to come searching through the woods for you tomorrow morning?"
"Of course." She nodded, "I don't plan on leaving again like that any time soon. It's on rare occasion that I do so."
Mark turned to leave and paused, "Why did you name your horse Lynette?"
"All the questions in the world and you choose to ask me that?" Kendra shot him a glare and then broke into a small smile, "I didn't name her; my sister did." She turned and walked back into the hidden doorway, vanishing from sight.
He blinked and turned around; walking down the street, remembering the day Aluora received her name. Mariah had named her.
"Kieran told me all about your endeavors, especially about this necromancer…" Galbatorix said over breakfast.
Mariah blinked and looked up, staring at the princess.
"I'm afraid the magic is too complex to be performed without significant risks, despite all the research Kieran managed to collect, however I believe a similar effect can be achieved and utilized in battle. Wouldn't you agree Kieran?"
"Yes," she nodded. "A rapid healing effect of some sort would be valuable on a battlefield. Necromancy is difficult if not properly set up."
Looking down at her plate, Mariah pushed her food away slightly, feeling ill. Murtagh spared her a glance and nudged her foot with his own to reassure her. She sat quietly until they were all allowed to leave, with the promise of training the remainder of the day.
"You look like you didn't sleep at all last night," Murtagh said once they were out of earshot of theothers.
"I didn't," she admitted to him. "I kept myself busy reading and thinking, before I knew it, it was morning."
"You can't keep doing that to yourself you know; it's going to take a toll on your performance."
Mariah looked up at Murtagh and blinked, "You sound like Kieran."
"I'm sorry, but it's true. You really do need rest, at least some times Mariah."
She huffed, frustrated. "I can't. I try and then I wake up screaming in the middle of the night. I'm better off not sleeping than living through the nightmares that show up in my head. It's like hell, Murtagh, only worse. I don't know if you could understand. I've been trying to tame them, and it helped, when we were gone, they weren't so severe. But here, in these walls I go mad when I'm incapable of controlling my thoughts. If you knew how many times I've seen my own brother decapitated – either by myself or someone I know – you'd probably wake up screaming too.
"These aren't a pathetic child's nightmares…" she looked up at him coldly. "I know you think they are and that I need to get over them but it's harder than you think it is. Each time it's more vivid than the last and if I don't figure out how to stop it from happening, each night it just gets worse. Thank you for your concern, but don't tell me things I already know and believe that it's so easily controlled." Mariah pulled at her vambraces and pushed past him toward the courtyard where she could take her rage out on Hal.
It's a very long chapter, I know. It's late - I know. But better to be late than not show up at all! Nearly halfway through Eldest though. I keep getting caught up in the end of this book's details, I have so much I want to add, but I have to hold back a little while longer, which is why I'm having difficulty doing this part, I keep getting ahead of myself. So I took a break, and realized I can't get to the end until I finish the middle. Doesn't that smart?
Mark's been accepted into the group... sort of. He's still the awkward odd-man-out as per usual. At least Kendra tries to help him fit in.
Eragon can't seem to get over his mistake in Farthen Dur after Oromis said something about it, even Arya can't pull him out of his little reverie...
Mariah's stuck in a perpetual state of frustration because of her nightmares and now she's taking it out on Murtagh. But Pearce is being nice... right?
Anyone you want to see more of that you think I'm being unfair to? Kieran, Kendra or any of the new riders? (who may or may not be getting their dragons very possibly far away soon)
Complain a little. If anything, you people don't complain enough.
Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Being single means freedom so I'm gonna go pal around with Mark before one of the girls snatch him up.
With Love, As Always,
Mariah