11. Forbidden Bond
Walking down an ornate staircase, she approached the pedestals upon which stood rows of identical statues of stone.
It was silent in the peculiar cathedral. Everyone else had left.
She was about to as well when–
"Oh, I thought they'd never leave."
She started, looking around but finding nothing. The voice sounded feminine and seemed to come from everywhere around her, like a whisper.
"You and I are inseparable now. Through your actions, we have forged an age-old bond; between my kind and yours."
Frowning, she said out loud, "And what would that be?" She was responded to with playful laughter.
"One wish granted deserves another, O Murderer Mine."
When dawn came, Serafyna woke to find the dragon sitting atop her bedpost, looking out of the window, like an ancient sentinel welcoming the new day.
Sunlight streamed over its scales. Serafyna marveled at its color. She had never seen such a deep, hard red. Its scales were like hundreds of small ruby gemstones that reflected the light.
She held up her left hand, properly inspecting it, and noticed that the white oval on her palm, where she had touched the dragon, had a silvery sheen. It both awed and worried her. This may pose a problem. She hoped she could hide it by keeping her hands dirty. If people saw, they'd ask questions.
The dragon launched off the post and glided to the floor. She got up and quickly got dressed for the cold weather, then gingerly picked up the dragon and left the quiet house, pausing to grab meat, several leather strips, and as many rags as she could carry.
She had come up with an idea last night before drifting off to sleep.
The crisp morning was beautiful; a fresh layer of snow covered the farm. She smiled as the small creature looked around with interest from the safety of her arms but did not dare waste time. Hurrying across the fields, she walked silently into the dark forest, searching for telltale marks she had left along a rough trail; scratch marks on tree trunks, pieces of cloth tied to branches, and more of a similar sort.
Eventually, she managed to pick her way through the forest to a secluded clearing; the refuge, as she often referred to it. The last time she was here was right after the confrontation with Sloan.
The inactive campfire in the center was buried under a layer of snow, like everything else after the recent days of snowstorms. Branches of surrounding trees were snow-tipped gray fingers that reached toward the sky.
Serafyna figured this was the best place to keep the dragon away from prying eyes, as she often used this place as a refuge from her troubles, people included.
She set the dragon down on the trunk of a fallen tree and placed the various items she'd brought onto the ground, getting to work.
Gathering an armful of sticks, Serafyna climbed the largest tree on the edge of the clearing and built a crude hut high in the branches, layering the inside with rags to make it comfortable and stashing the meat inside. Cutting the leather into strips, she tied them around the branches to function as harnesses to hold the entire structure in place. In the end, she hung more rags over the front of the shelter to keep heat inside.
She surveyed her work with a critical eye as snow fell on her face, the tree swaying.
Satisfied, she reached down and lifted the dragon into the branches. "Time to show you your new home." It wriggled, trying to get free, then clambered into the hut, where it ate a piece of meat, curled up, and blinked coyly at her.
"You'll be fine as long as you stay in there," she instructed.
The dragon blinked again. Not certain whether it had not understood her, Serafyna grimaced, preparing herself before reaching out with her mind until she felt the dragon's consciousness. Again she had the terrible feeling of openness—of a space so large it pressed down on her like a heavy blanket.
Summoning her mental fortitude, she focused on the dragon in her mind and tried to impress on it one idea: Stay here. The dragon stopped moving and cocked its head at her. She pushed harder: Stay. Here.
A dim acknowledgment came tentatively through the link, but Serafyna wondered if it really understood. After all, it's only an animal, right? Looking into its crimson eyes, she sensed intelligence within.
She retreated from the contact with relief and felt the safety of her own mind envelop her.
Serafyna left the tree and began to trek back towards home, casting glances backward into the refuge. The dragon stuck its head out of the shelter and watched with large eyes as she left.
After a hurried walk home, she planned to sneak back into her room to dispose of the egg fragments. Except, when she got there, she found Eragon in her room, inspecting the shell pieces.
Silently, she cursed herself for not cleaning it up before leaving.
Noticing movement, Eragon looked up to see her by the doorway. A mixture of relief and confusion passed over his face.
Before he could do or say anything, Serafyna quickly closed the door behind her and strode forward, moving to quickly collect all the pieces and wrapping them in a rag.
Bewildered, he asked, "Uh, Sera? Where is the stone? And what's this?" He pointed at the fragments she scooped up.
"Well, long story short," she glanced at him, "the stone was, in fact, a dragon egg and it hatched in the middle of the night."
Eragon blinked, then frowned, uncertain if his sister was messing with him. Looking at his expression, she shook her head. "I'm being serious."
"I could use some more context if you don't mind."
"Give me a moment first." She straightened up after making sure she'd gotten it all, then made for the door. "Stay right here."
Serafyna left and went outside, finding an unremarkable patch of ground and burying the fragments, then returning to her room several moments later.
In a low voice, she recounted everything that had happened to Eragon, from the dragon hatching in the middle of the night to her taking it away and building its shelter within the clearing, of the strange white mark on her left palm and the mental link she seemed to share with the dragon.
At the end, Eragon let out a low whistle and then exclaimed, "I want to see the dragon!"
She whacked him on the shoulder and hissed, "Keep it down. The last thing I want is to announce its existence to everyone."
He sheepishly muttered an apology. "What's the plan then?"
"I'm just making this up as I go," Serafyna shook her head. "Hopefully it'll stay safe at the refuge. I had the idea to check up on it at the end of the day."
"I'll come with you then."
"Alright, but Eragon, no one else can know about this, including Roran and Garrow. They won't take this easy."
She was sure Garrow and Roran would not notice the egg's absence—it had faded from their thoughts after they learned it could not be sold, but it would be best to not give accidental reminders.
After a little more discussion, Eragon left and Serafyna tried to catch up on lost sleep.
When her family got up and had breakfast in the kitchen, Roran mentioned that he had heard some noises during the night but, to Serafyna's relief, did not pursue the issue.
Despite Serafyna's worries, her enthusiasm grew and made the day go by quickly. The mark on her hand proved easy to hide, so she soon stopped worrying about it.
Before long she headed back to the refuge, accompanied by Eragon, carrying sausages she had pilfered from the cellar.
With apprehension, she approached the tree. Was the dragon able to survive outside in winter? Her fears proved to be groundless. The dragon was perched on a branch, gnawing on something between its front legs. It started squeaking excitedly when it saw her.
She was relieved to see that it had remained in the tree, above the reach of large predators. As soon as she dropped the sausages at the base of the trunk, the dragon surprised her by extending its wings and gliding down.
While it voraciously tore apart the food, Eragon inched closer to it, curious and excited. Carefully, he reached out a hand and laid it on the dragon's spine, stroking it gently. He grinned widely. "This is amazing. An actual dragon."
Serafyna couldn't help but share in his excitement.
While Eragon fawned over the dragon, she climbed the tree and examined the shelter. All the meat she had left was gone, but the hut was intact, and tufts of feathers littered the floor. Good, so it can get its own food.
It struck her that she did not know if the dragon was a he or a she.
Jumping down from the tree, she walked over and lifted the dragon in her arms. Turning it over, ignoring its squeals of displeasure while Eragon looked on incredulously, she was unable to find any distinguishing marks. It seems like it won't give up any secrets without a struggle.
She and Eragon then continued to spend a long time with the dragon, the day growing late.
Setting it on her shoulder, the three of them went to explore the woods. The snow-laden trees watched over them like solemn pillars of a great cathedral. In that isolation, Serafyna showed the dragon what she knew about the forest, not caring if it understood her meaning.
It was the simple act of sharing that mattered to her.
At first, she merely talked to it continuously while the dragon gazed back at her with bright eyes, drinking in her words. Then, Eragon played around with it, spending a considerable chunk of time running around the undergrowth with Serafyna occasionally joining in.
They eventually returned to the refuge and stayed there for a while, reminiscing. Serafyna sat with the dragon resting in her arms, watching it with wonder, still stunned by recent events.
At sunset, they started for home. Serafyna was painfully conscious of two hard red eyes drilling into her back, indignant at being left behind once again.
That night she brooded about all the things that could happen to a small and unprotected animal.
Thoughts of ice storms and vicious animals tormented her. It took hours for her to find sleep. Her dreams were of foxes and black wolves tearing at the dragon with bloody teeth.
In the sunrise glow, Serafyna ran from the house, alone, with food and scraps of cloth—extra insulation for the shelter. To her relief, she found the dragon awake and safe, watching the sunrise from high in the tree.
The dragon eagerly came down to the ground as she approached and leaped into her arms, huddling close to her chest. The cold had not harmed it, but it seemed frightened. A puff of dark smoke blew out of its nostrils.
She stroked it comfortingly and sat with her back to the tree that held the shelter, murmuring soft reassurances and holding it in a protective embrace out of sheer instinct. She kept still as the dragon buried its head in her coat.
After a while, it crawled out of her embrace and onto her shoulder. She fed it, then wrapped the new rags around the hut. They played together for a time, but Serafyna had to return to the house before long.
A smooth routine was quickly established. Every morning Serafyna, sometimes accompanied by Eragon, went out to the refuge and gave the dragon breakfast before hurrying back.
During the day she attacked her chores until they were finished and she could visit the dragon again. Both Garrow and Roran noted her behavior and asked why she spent so much time outside. Serafyna just shrugged and started checking to make sure she was not followed to the tree.
After the first few days, she stopped worrying that a mishap would befall the dragon.
Its growth was explosive; it would soon be safe from most dangers. The dragon doubled in size in the first week. Four days later it was higher than her knee. It no longer fit inside the hut in the refuge, so Serafyna was forced to build a hidden shelter on the ground. The task took her three days, even with Eragon's help.
When the dragon was a fortnight old, Serafyna was compelled to let it roam free because it needed so much food.
The first time she untied it, only the force of her will kept it from following her back to the farm. Every time it tried, she pushed it away with her mind until it learned to avoid the house and its other inhabitants. And she impressed on the dragon the importance of hunting only in the Spine, where there was less chance of being seen. Farmers would notice if the game started disappearing from Palancar Valley.
It made her feel both safer and uneasy when the dragon was so far away. The mental contact she shared with the dragon waxed stronger each day. She found that although it did not comprehend words, she could communicate with it through images or emotions. It was an imprecise method, however, and she was often misunderstood.
The range at which they could touch each other's thoughts expanded rapidly. Soon Serafyna could contact the dragon anywhere within three leagues. She often did so, and the dragon, in turn, would lightly brush against her mind. These mute conversations filled her working hours.
There was always a small part of her connected to the dragon, ignored at times, but never forgotten. When she talked with people, the contact was distracting, like a fly buzzing in her ear.
As the dragon matured, its squeaks deepened to a roar and the humming became a low rumble, yet the dragon did not breathe fire, which both concerned and relieved her. She had seen it blow smoke when it was upset, but there was never a hint of flame.
When the month ended, Serafyna's elbow was level with the dragon's shoulder. In that brief span, it had transformed from a small, weak animal into a powerful beast. Its hard scales were as tough as chain-mail armor, its teeth like daggers.
Serafyna took long walks in the evening with the dragon padding beside her. Back in the refuge, she would settle against a tree and watch the dragon soar through the air. She loved to see it fly and regretted that it was not yet big enough to ride, feeling a growing longing within her.
She often sat beside the dragon and rubbed its neck, feeling sinews and corded muscles flex under her hands.
Throughout these days, Eragon would sometimes accompany her, or even go to the refuge in her stead when she was busy with her tasks, but they had decided to keep his interactions with the dragon to a minimum compared to her, seeing as only she could communicate with the dragon; otherwise, it would be even more suspicious to Garrow with both of them running off for unknown reasons.
Despite Serafyna's efforts, the forest around the farm filled with signs of the dragon's existence.
It was impossible to erase all the huge four-clawed footprints sunk deep in the snow, and she refused even to try to hide the giant dung heaps that were becoming far too common. The dragon had rubbed against trees, stripping off the bark, and had sharpened its claws on dead logs, leaving gashes inches deep.
If Garrow or Roran went too far beyond the farm's boundaries, they would discover the dragon. Serafyna could imagine no worse way for the truth to come out, so after days' worth of deliberation, she decided to preempt it by explaining everything to them.
She wanted to do two things first, though: give the dragon a suitable name and learn more about dragons in general.
To that end, she needed to talk with Brom, master of epics and legends—the only places where dragonlore survived.
So when Roran went to get a chisel repaired in Carvahall, Serafyna volunteered to go with him.
The evening before they left, Serafyna returned to the refuge and called the dragon with her mind. After a moment, she saw a fast-moving speck in the dusky sky. The dragon dived toward her, pulled up sharply, and then leveled off above the trees.
She heard a low-pitched whistle as air rushed over its wings. It banked slowly to her left and spiraled gently down to the ground. The dragon back-flapped for balance with a deep, muffled thwump as it landed.
Serafyna opened her mind, still uncomfortable with the strange sensation, and told the dragon that she was leaving. It snorted with unease. She attempted to soothe it with a calming mental picture, but the dragon whipped its tail, unsatisfied.
She rested her hand on its shoulder and tried to radiate a sense of peace and serenity towards it. Scales bumped under her fingers as she patted it gently.
Then something happened. A single word, not her own, rang in her head, deep and clear.
Serafyna.
It was solemn and sad, as if an unbreakable pact were being sealed.
She stared at the dragon and a cold tingle ran down her arm. Serafyna. It repeated. A hard knot formed in her stomach as unfathomable crimson eyes gazed back at her.
For the first time, she did not think of the dragon as an animal. It was something else, something... different.
She raced home, trying to escape the dragon. My dragon.
Serafyna.