6. Traders
She stood before a massive window that stretched from the floor to the ceiling.
Beyond it was water, and nothing else.
At her side were three people, wearing odd-looking armor. They all waited in silence.
There was a loud rumble that reverberated through her very being. Outside, a shadow shifted, impossibly large.
There was something out there, moving within the watery darkness.
"What is–" One of the others, a man of pale blue skin, began when something from below swam up, covering the entire window and plunging them all into shadow.
A great eye opened on the other side, dwarfing her entirely, startlingly green and beautiful.
So achingly familiar, yet so alien.
Serafyna's eyes flickered open.
The sun's rays streamed through the window, warming her face.
Rubbing her eyes, she sat up on the edge of the bed. The pine floor was cold under her feet. She stretched her sore legs, yawning.
She briefly thought about the odd dream but didn't think much of it. Already, she forgot most of the details, left with only vague impressions.
Probably the result of not getting enough sleep lately.
Beside the bed was a row of shelves covered with objects she had collected. There were carved pieces of wood, an odd collection of shells, rocks that had broken to reveal shiny interiors and strips of dry grass tied into knots.
Her favorite and most precious item was a tiny stone that floated half an inch off the ground, no matter where it was put down. While pointless, it was the only piece of magic she owned. She had bought it, long ago, from a trader using all her savings.
The rest of the room was bare, except for a small dresser and nightstand.
She pulled on her boots and stared at the floor, thinking. This was a special day. It was near this very hour, sixteen years ago, that her mother, Selena, had come home to Carvahall alone and pregnant.
She had been gone for six years, living in the cities. When she returned, she wore expensive clothes, and her hair was bound by a net of pearls. She had sought out her brother, Garrow, and asked to stay with him until the baby arrived. Within five months, she gave birth to twins.
Everyone was shocked when Selena tearfully begged Garrow and Marian to raise them.
When they asked why, she only wept and said, "I must." Her pleas had grown increasingly desperate until they finally agreed. She named her daughter Serafyna and her son Eragon, then departed early the next morning and never returned.
Serafyna still remembered how she had felt when Marian told them both the story before she died. The realization that Garrow and Marian were not her real parents had disturbed her greatly.
Things that had been permanent and unquestionable were suddenly thrown into doubt.
Eventually, she had learned to live with it, but she always had a nagging suspicion that, somehow, for whatever reason, she had not been good enough for her mother.
I'm sure there was a good reason for what she did; I only wish I knew what it was.
One other thing bothered her: Who was her father? Selena had told no one, and whoever it might be had never come looking for her or Eragon. She wished that she knew who it was, if only to have a name. It would be nice to know her heritage.
Serafyna sighed and went to the nightstand, where she splashed her face from a stone basin that held water, shivering as the freezing water ran down her neck. Refreshed, she took a brush and spent several minutes straightening out her hair, wrestling out knots and bits of twigs. Eventually, she halted her efforts and let her open hair fall unbound.
On an impulse, she then moved to retrieve the stone from under the bed and set it on a shelf.
The morning light caressed it, throwing a warm shadow on the wall. She touched it one more time, curious but found nothing new. Then she hurried to the kitchen, eager to see her family.
Garrow, Eragon, and Roran, her cousin, were already there, eating chicken. As Serafyna murmured a greeting, Roran stood with a grin. Roran was two years older than Serafyna, muscular, sturdy, and careful with his movements. They could not have been closer even if they had been real siblings.
Roran smiled. "I'm glad you're back. How was the trip?"
"Didn't Eragon tell you already?" asked Serafyna.
"Oh, he did." Roran grinned. "Had to squeeze every detail out of him."
Behind him, Eragon rolled his eyes.
"But I want to hear it again– specifically, whatever happened with Sloan. Oh, and this weird stone too."
Serafyna helped herself to a piece of chicken, which she devoured hungrily. "Okay, fine," she grumbled, and the story was quickly told.
At Roran's insistence, Serafyna left her food to show him the stone. This elicited a satisfactory amount of awe. "That's pretty neat! How does something like this end up in the middle of the Spine?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Serafyna responded, then a teasing grin split her face. "So, did Eragon deliver your 'secret' message to Katrina?"
Her cousin softly swore under his breath. "How did you know about that?"
She shrugged modestly. "I have my methods. Besides, you two talk really loud. So, what happened?"
Roran sighed, shaking his head as he plopped down on her bed. "Not much, Eragon said that there wasn't an opportunity after the argument with Sloan. But he was able to pass on the message to Horst."
"Poor Horst."
"Oh, shut up," he muttered, then continued, "I don't know if that was a good idea– but if there's anyone we can trust in the village, it's him. If not, I might as well have built a bonfire and used smoke signals to communicate. If Sloan finds out, he won't let me see her again."
"Horst will be discreet," assured Serafyna. "He won't let anyone fall prey to Sloan, least of all you." Roran seemed unconvinced but argued no more. They returned to their meals in the taciturn presence of Garrow. Eragon was already done eating.
When the last bites were finished, all four of them went to work in the fields outside.
The sun was cold and pale, providing little comfort.
Under its watchful eye, the last of the barley was stored in the barn. Next, they gathered prickly vined squash, then the rutabagas, beets, peas, turnips, and beans, which they packed into the root cellar. After hours of labor, they stretched their cramped muscles, pleased that the harvest was finished.
The following days were spent pickling, salting, shelling, and preparing the food for winter.
Nine days after returning from the Spine, a vicious blizzard blew out of the mountains and settled over the valley. The snow came down in great sheets, blanketing the countryside in white.
They only dared leave the house for firewood and to feed the animals, for they feared getting lost in the howling wind and featureless landscape. They spent their time huddled over the stove as gusts rattled the heavy window shutters.
Days later the storm finally passed, revealing an alien world of soft white drifts.
"I'm afraid the traders may not come this year, with conditions this bad," said Garrow. "They're late as it is. We'll give them a chance and wait before going to Carvahall. But if they don't show soon, we'll have to buy any spare supplies from the townspeople." His countenance was resigned.
They grew anxious as the days crept by without a sign of the traders. Talk was sparse, and depression hung over the house like a suffocating grey cloud.
On the eighth morning, Roran walked to the road and confirmed that the traders had not yet passed. The day was spent preparing for the trip into Carvahall, scrounging with grim expressions for saleable items.
That evening, out of desperation, Serafyna checked the road again. She found deep ruts cut into the snow, with numerous hoofprints between them. Elated, she ran back to the house and broke the news, bringing new life to their preparations.
They packed their surplus produce into the wagon before sunrise. Garrow put the year's money in a leather pouch that he carefully fastened to his belt. Serafyna set the wrapped stone between bags of grain so it would not roll when the wagon hit bumps.
After a hasty breakfast, they harnessed the horses and cleared a path to the road. The traders' wagons had already broken the drifts, which sped their progress.
By noon they could see Carvahall. In daylight, it was a small earthy village filled with shouts and laughter.
The traders had made camp in an empty field on the outskirts of town. Groups of wagons, tents, and fires were randomly spread across it, spots of color against the snow. The troubadours' four tents were garishly decorated.
A steady stream of people linked the camp to the village. Crowds churned around a line of bright tents and booths clogging the main street. Horses whinnied at the noise. The snow had been pounded flat, giving it a glassy surface; elsewhere, bonfires had melted it.
Roasted hazelnuts added a rich aroma to the smells wafting around them.
Garrow parked the wagon and picketed the horses, then drew coins from his pouch. "Get yourselves some treats. Roran, Eragon, do what you want, only be at Horst's in time for supper. Serafyna, bring that stone and come with me."
Eragon and Roran exchanged grins and pocketed the money, already planning how to spend it. The two boys departed immediately with a determined expression on their faces.
Garrow led Serafyna into the throng, shouldering his way through the bustle. Women were buying cloth, while nearby their husbands examined a new latch, hook, or tool. Children ran up and down the road, shrieking with excitement.
Knives were displayed here, spices there, and pots were laid out in shiny rows next to leather harnesses.
Serafyna stared at the traders curiously. They seemed less prosperous than last year. Their children had a frightened, wary look, and their clothes were patched. The gaunt men carried swords and daggers with a new familiarity, and even the women had poniards belted at their waists.
What could have happened to make them like this? And why are they so late? Serafyna wondered. She remembered the traders as being full of good cheer, but there was none of that now.
Garrow pushed down the street, searching for Merlock, a trader who specialized in odd trinkets and pieces of jewelry.
They found him behind a booth, displaying brooches to a group of women. As each new piece was revealed, exclamations of admiration followed. Serafyna had to suppress an eye roll, guessing that more than a few purses would soon be depleted.
Merlock seemed to flourish and grow every time his wares were complimented. He wore a goatee, held himself with ease, and seemed to regard the rest of the world with slight contempt.
The excited group prevented Garrow and Serafyna from getting near the trader, so they settled on a step and waited. As soon as Merlock was unoccupied, they hurried over.
"And what might you sir want to look at?" Merlock asked Garrow, then his gaze shifted to Serafyna. "An amulet or trinket for the lady?" With a twirl, he pulled out a delicately carved silver rose of excellent workmanship.
The polished metal caught Serafyna's attention, and while she wasn't thrilled to be assumed to have the same interests as the group of women that just left, she still appreciated the craftsmanship.
The trader continued, "Not even three crowns, though it has come all the way from the famed craftsmen of Belatona."
Garrow spoke in a quiet voice. "We aren't looking to buy, but to sell."
Merlock immediately covered the rose and looked at them with new interest. "I see. Maybe, if this item is of any value, you would like to trade it for one or two of these exquisite pieces."
He paused for a moment while Serafyna and her uncle stood uncomfortably, then continued, "You did bring the object of consideration, yes?"
"We have it, but we would rather show it to you elsewhere," said Garrow in a firm voice.
Merlock raised an eyebrow but spoke smoothly. "In that case, let me invite you to my tent."
He gathered up his wares and gently laid them in an iron-bound chest, which he locked. Then he ushered them up the street and into the temporary camp. They wound between the wagons to a tent removed from the rest of the traders.
It was crimson at the top and sable at the bottom, with thin triangles of colors stabbing into each other. Merlock untied the opening and swung the flap to one side.
Small trinkets and strange pieces of furniture, such as a round bed and three seats carved from tree stumps, filled the tent. A gnarled dagger with a ruby in the pommel rested on a white cushion, which caught Serafyna's attention.
Merlock closed the flap and turned to them. "Please, seat yourselves."
When they had, he said, "Now show me why we are meeting in private."
Serafyna unwrapped the crimson stone and set it between the two men. Merlock reached for it with a gleam in his eye, then stopped and asked, "May I?"
When Garrow indicated his approval, Merlock picked it up. He put the stone in his lap and reached to one side for a thin box. Opened, it revealed a large set of copper scales, which he set on the ground.
After weighing the stone, he scrutinized its surface under a jeweler's glass, tapped it gently with a wooden mallet, and drew the point of a tiny clear stone over it. He measured its length and diameter, then recorded the figures on a slate. He considered the results for a while. "Do you know what this is worth?"
"No," admitted Garrow. His cheek twitched, and he shifted uncomfortably on the seat.
Merlock grimaced. "Unfortunately, neither do I. But I can tell you this much: the black veins are the same material as the red that surrounds them, only a different color. What that material might be, though, I haven't a clue. It's harder than any rock I have seen, harder even than diamond. Whoever shaped it used tools I have never seen—or magic. Also, it's hollow."
"What?" exclaimed Garrow.
An irritated edge crept into Merlock's voice. "Have you ever heard a rock sound like this?"
He grabbed the dagger from the cushion and slapped the stone with the flat of the blade.
A pure note filled the air, then faded away smoothly. Serafyna was alarmed, afraid that the stone had been damaged. Merlock tilted the stone toward them.
"You will find no scratches or blemishes where the dagger struck. I doubt I could do anything to harm this stone, even if I took a hammer to it."
Garrow crossed his arms with a reserved expression. A wall of silence surrounded him.
Serafyna was puzzled. She knew that the stone appeared in the Spine through magic, but– Made by magic? What for and why?
"But what is it worth?" She asked, frowning.
"I can't tell you that," said Merlock in a pained voice. "I am sure there are people who would pay dearly to have it, but none of them are in Carvahall. You would have to go to the southern cities to find a buyer. This is a curiosity for most people—not an item to spend money on when practical things are needed."
Garrow stared at the tent ceiling like a gambler calculating the odds. "Will you buy it?"
The trader answered instantly, "It's not worth the risk. I might be able to find a wealthy buyer during my spring travels, but I can't be certain. Even if I did, you wouldn't be paid until I returned next year. No, you will have to find someone else to trade with. I am curious, however... Why did you insist on talking to me in private?"
Serafyna put the stone away before answering. "Because," she glanced at the man, briefly wondering if he would explode like Sloan, "I found this in the Spine, and folks around here don't like that."
Merlock gave her a startled look. "Do you know why my fellow merchants and I were late this year?"
Serafyna shook her head, her curiosity piqued.
"Our wanderings have been dogged with misfortune. Chaos seems to rule Alagaësia. We could not avoid illness, attacks, and the most cursed black luck. Because the Varden's attacks have increased, Galbatorix has forced cities to send more soldiers to the borders, men who are needed to combat the Urgals. The brutes have been migrating southeast, toward the Hadarac Desert. No one knows why and it wouldn't concern us, except that they're passing through populated areas. They've been spotted on roads and near cities."
The trader then leaned forward conspiratorially. "Worst of all are reports of a Shade, though the stories are unconfirmed. Not many people survive such an encounter."
"Why haven't we heard of this?" Serafyna asked, frown deepening, also leaning forward subconsciously.
"Because," said Merlock grimly, "it only began a few months ago. Whole villages have been forced to move because Urgals destroyed their fields and starvation threatens."
"Nonsense," growled Garrow. "We haven't seen any Urgals; the only one around here has his horns mounted in Morn's tavern."
Merlock arched an eyebrow. "Maybe so, but this is a small village hidden by mountains. It's not surprising that you've escaped notice. However, I wouldn't expect that to last. I only mentioned this because strange things are happening here as well if you found such a stone in the Spine."
With that sobering statement, he bid them farewell with a bow and a slight–if grim–smile.
