12. Questions
Upon reaching the outskirts of Carvahall, Roran and Serafyna parted ways. Roran inquired about her business and she simply told him the truth; that she was going to visit Brom and ask him a couple of questions.
He shrugged, thinking nothing of it. To him, it made sense, as she often visited the old man and badgered him with ceaseless questions. He headed down to Horst's while Serafyna made her way over to the storyteller's house, mulling over what had happened with the dragon.
It said my name, directly in my head. Of all the stories she'd heard from Brom, none of them mentioned that dragons could communicate, talk,through thoughts.
She halted before the door, about to knock before pausing as a shadow fell over her. Whirling around, she found herself face-to-face with Brom. She blinked.
"What do you want, girl?" He grunted, leaning on a twisted staff embellished with strange carvings.
"I had some questions I wanted to ask you," Serafyna responded.
Brom grunted again, waving Serafyna out of his way as he reached for the door. As he did so, Serafyna noticed a gold ring on his right hand. Embedded in it was a sapphire with a strange symbol carved on its surface.
"Is that so?" He muttered as he fished out a key from a pocket and unlocked the door. He walked inside and beckoned her. "Might as well come inside; your questions never seem to end."
It was dark inside, the light from the open door insufficient in providing enough illumination to see by.
"Now, for a light." Brom walked in farther. A moment passed, then something crashed to the floor, followed by him cursing. A white spark flashed in the darkness and then a flame flickered into existence.
"There, that does it." Brom stood before a stone fireplace with a lit candle in his hand. He bent down and lit the fireplace, bathing the entire interior in orange light.
Serafyna looked around the place.
Stacks of books surrounded a high-backed, deeply carved wooden chair that faced the mantel; the four legs were shaped like eagle claws, and the seat and back were padded with leather embossed with a swirling rose pattern. A cluster of lesser chairs held piles of scrolls. Ink pots and pens were scattered across a writing desk.
"Make room for yourself, but by the lost kings, be careful. This stuff is valuable."
The entire place was a chaotic mess but it looked well lived in, even cozy. The books in particular intrigued her, despite the fact she probably wasn't literate enough to be able to read them.
Serafyna stepped over pages of parchment that haphazardly littered the floor, covered with angular runes. She carefully lifted a pile of old, musty scrolls off a chair and placed them on the floor to the side. A cloud of dust flew into the air as she sat down. She sneezed, several times.
"Good! Nothing like sitting by a fire for conversation." He threw back his hood to reveal hair that was not white, but silver, then hung a kettle over the flames and settled into the high-backed chair.
Illuminated by the fireplace, she could see Brom wore a brown hooded robe, like a friar. A pouch hung from the worn leather belt clasped around his waist. Above his white beard, a proud eagle nose hooked over his mouth and dominated his face. He peered at Serafyna with deep-set eyes shadowed by a gnarled brow.
"Now, what do you want?" He addressed Serafyna roughly, but not unkindly. "I'm surprised to see you here without your brother. Usually, it's both of you hounding me."
"Well, Eragon is busy with his chores at home. Roran had business in the village and I tagged along," said Serafyna. Mentally, she went over her plan and method to ask her specific questions, without hopefully drawing too much suspicion from the storyteller.
She continued, "Often, you've recounted tales of the Dragon Riders and their deeds, yet it was never clear to me how they came to be in the first place. Moreover, what was it that made the Riders truly unique, aside from their dragons?"
"A vast subject to talk about," grumbled Brom.
Serafyna shrugged nonchalantly, "I've got nothing else to do."
"You may not, but I do, girl." He peered at Serafyna, his expression impossible to discern. "If I told you their whole story, we would still be sitting here when winter comes again. Instead, I will give you a shorter summary. But before we start properly, I need my pipe."
Serafyna waited, silently impatient but respectful, as Brom tamped down the tobacco. She liked the old man, one of the few people in the village she genuinely respected. While the old man was irascible at times, he never seemed to mind taking time for Serafyna and Eragon.
She had once asked him where he came from, and Brom had laughed, saying, "A village much like Carvahall, only not quite as interesting." Curiosity aroused, Serafyna asked her uncle. But Garrow could only tell her that Brom had bought a house in Carvahall nearly fifteen years ago and had lived there quietly ever since.
Brom used a tinderbox to light the pipe. He puffed a few times, then satisfied, said, "There... now we won't have to stop, except for the tea. Now, about the Riders, or the Shur'tugal, as they are called by the elves."
He hummed lightly to himself, thinking. "Where to start? They spanned countless years and, at the height of their power, held sway over twice the Empire's lands. Numerous stories have been told about them–most nonsense though, mind you. If you believed everything said, you would expect them to have the powers of a lesser god. Scholars have devoted entire lives to separating these fictions from fact, but it's doubtful any of them will succeed."
"However, it isn't nearly as impossible of a task if we confine ourselves to the thing you asked: how the Riders began. To truly understand, though, we first have to know where the dragons came from."
Serafyna settled back into the dusty chair and listened to the man's mesmerizing voice.
"The Dragons themselves have no beginning, unless you talk about the creation of Alagaësia itself. They are inherently bound to the land and its fate. They, the dwarves, and a few others are the true inhabitants of this land. They lived here before all others, strong and proud in their elemental glory. Their world was unchanging until the first elves sailed over the sea on their silvery ships."
"Now," he took a deep pull from his pipe and sighed, exhaling smoke, "the elves were a proud race then, and strong in magic. At first, they regarded dragons as mere animals, and from that belief rose a deadly mistake–"
"Mere animals?" Serafyna interrupted, her curiosity piqued, "If that were a mistake, does it mean that dragons are intelligent? And how much?"
Brom scowled. "Do you want your original questions answered or not? They won't be if you want to explore every obscure piece of knowledge."
"Sorry," she muttered, pursing her lips.
"No, you're not," said Brom with some amusement, a wry smile on his face. He knew her well enough. He shifted his gaze to the fire and watched it lick the underside of the kettle.
"If you must know, yes, the dragons were wild but as intelligent as you or I, with more natural cunning and wisdom than even the most learned scholar could hope for."
Brom shook his head, before continuing, "As I said, the elves made a mistake, assuming the dragons were simple-minded brutes. A brash elven youth hunted down a dragon, as he would a stag, and killed it. Outraged, the dragons ambushed and slaughtered the elf."
"Unfortunately, the spilling of blood did not stop there. The dragons massed together and attacked the entire elven nation. The elves tried to end the hostilities, but couldn't find a way to communicate with the dragons."
"Thus, began a very long and very bloody war, which both sides regretted immensely. It lasted for five years and would have continued for much longer if an elf called Eragon hadn't found a dragon egg."
Serafyna blinked in surprise.
"Ah, I see you didn't know of you or your brother's namesake," said Brom.
"Mine?" Serafyna asked, intrigued.
"Indeed. Listen closely, you will find this all the more interesting."
He took the kettle out of the fire and poured boiling water into two cups before him. He handed one cup to Serafyna and she took it, watching the leaves float on its surface. She tried a sip and got a burnt tongue for her efforts.
Brom continued smoking the pipe. "No one knows why that egg was abandoned. Some say the parents were killed in an elven attack. Others believe the dragons purposefully left it there. Either way, Eragon saw the value of raising a friendly dragon. He cared for it secretly and, in the custom of the ancient language, named her Sera'Feana."
Her eyes widened. "So me and my brother were named after the first Rider and dragon?"
"Yes, though I'm guessing your name was slightly changed to make it fit in better with our naming traditions."
Brom continued, "When Séra'Feana had grown to a good size, they traveled together among the dragons and the elves and convinced them to live in peace. Treaties were formed between the two races. To ensure that such a war would never break out again, they decided that it was necessary to establish the Riders."
"At first the Riders were merely intended as a means of communication between the elves and dragons. However, as time passed, their worth as the best of both races was recognized and they were given more authority. Eventually, they took the island Vroengard for their home and built a city on it—Dorú Areaba. Before Galbatorix overthrew them, the Riders held more power than all the kings in Alagaësia." Brom took a deep breath as he finished. "Now I believe I have answered one of your questions."
"Yes," Serafyna responded, distracted. It seemed like an odd coincidence that she and her brother had been named after the first Rider and dragon. For some reason, her name did not feel the same anymore. She made a mental note to tell this to Eragon.
"What do our names mean?"
"I don't know," said Brom. "It's very old, as you can imagine. I doubt anyone remembers except the elves. Yours is a good name to have, though; you should be proud of it. Not everyone has one so honorable."
Eragon brushed the matter from his mind and focused on what she had learned–and still needed to learn–from Brom.
A question floated into her mind. "Where were humans when the Riders were created?"
Brom laughed. "We are no more native to this land than the elves. It took our ancestors another three centuries to arrive here and join the Riders."
That gave Serafyna pause as she tried to wrap her head around it. It was odd to think that humans hadn't always existed in Alagaësia, in Palancar Valley. That a certain number of years ago, there was nothing but trees and rocks where has Carvahall stood so stubbornly, old and worn as the village is.
Serafyna frowned and gulped at the tea. It was still hot enough to burn her throat. "What happened to the various races after the Riders were destroyed?"
Brom took a puff of his pipe. "That's another question that will keep us here for a long time, so I will keep it short."
"Starting with the elves, they fiercely fought alongside the Riders against Galbatorix, but when the Riders eventually fell, they retreated to their forests far up north and to the west, lest they were destroyed also."
"The dwarves too fought with the Riders at first, but when it became clear to them the outcome of the war, they sealed themselves away in their tunnels and great cities within the mountains in the south."
He sighed, his expression somber. "As far as I know, not one of either race has been seen since."
"And the dragons?" Serafyna asked. "Were all of them killed?"
Brom answered sorrowfully, "That is the greatest mystery in Alagaësia nowadays: How many dragons survived Galbatorix's murderous slaughter? He spared those who agreed to serve him, but only the twisted dragons of the Forsworn would assist his madness. If any dragons aside from Galbatorix's great dragon, Shruikan, are still alive, they have hidden themselves so they will never be found by the Empire."
That begs the question, where did my dragon come from? Serafyna wondered.
"Were the Urgals here when the elves came to Alagaësia?" she asked.
"No, they followed the elves across the sea, like ticks seeking blood. They were one of the reasons the Riders became valued for their battle prowess and ability to keep the peace," said Brom.
Serafyna nodded. She then decided to turn her questions towards the intricacies of dragons. "How big could the dragons get?"
Brom took another puff from his pipe before setting it down and took his cup of tea in hand, taking a sip. "Very big. The thing about dragons is, they never stop growing. So some of the oldest were truly massive, rivaling entire villages and hills in sheer size."
Dismay swept through Serafyna. Hiding the dragon will be a challenge in later months and years, if I even get that far. She kept her voice steady. "How fast did they mature?"
Brom scratched his chin in thought. "They grew extremely fast for the first couple of weeks, becoming several times their size in that short timeframe. If my memory serves right, they were typically able to breathe fire at five to six years old, which is also around the time they could mate."
For a moment, there was silence as Serafyna pondered on the information. As Brom sipped his tea, she did too, no longer scalding hot.
Despite all the knowledge, the memory of the dragon speaking her name constantly played in her head, making her impatient in her need to know. Before she could articulate a proper question, she instead blurted out, "I heard that a Rider could hear their dragon's thoughts."
She cringed internally as Brom's eyes narrowed suspiciously, frowning. His tangled eyebrows met in a thick white line; the wrinkles deepened on his forehead. Unnoticed, the pipe smoldered out. "Where did you hear that?"
Serafyna shrugged. "From a trader," she lied.
"What was the trader's name?" Brom pressed.
"I don't know, I just overheard him talking in Morn's tavern."
Still frowning, he set aside his teacup and reached for his pipe and tinderbox. With practiced movement, he relit the pipe and took a long pull from it, exhaling slowly. "Well, he was wrong," he said in a flat voice. "That isn't in any of the stories, and I know them all. Did this trader say anything else?"
"Not that I know of, no," Serafyna responded casually, though secretly she was tense, certain that Brom would see through her lie, despite how irrational that possibility seemed.
Thankfully, Brom didn't question her further. Silence reigned before the flickering fireplace once more. She stared into the flames absentmindedly, thinking of how to proceed with her questioning. Brom too seemed like he was in deep thought, his intense gaze not lingering on anything in particular as he tapped his pipe thoughtfully.
Eventually, it was Brom who spoke up, taking a deep breath. "Forgive me, my mind had wandered elsewhere. I believe I never answered the second of your original questions: what made the Riders so unique?"
Serafyna nodded, so the old man continued, "What indeed, hm? For one thing, dragons–similar to elves–don't die of old age. They'll live forever unless killed."
"What is interesting, is that a dragon's Rider also inherits this trait, making them immune to the passage of time." Noting the look on Serafyna's face, he added, "Don't forget, dragons are creatures of magic; everything around them was affected in strange ways, and the closest to them were their own Riders. This is how the Riders lived for hundreds of years in the tales I have often talked about."
Oddly, that knowledge troubled Serafyna. She did not want to outlive her family. "How could the Riders live with that, watching everyone they care about die and wither away?"
Brom chuckled lightly. "It was one of the many sacrifices the Riders made, for the greater good. Another thing that happened to the Riders was that, due to their closeness with dragons, they were as a result stronger of body, keener of mind, and truer of sight than normal men. Along with this, a human Rider would slowly acquire pointed ears, though they were never as prominent as an elf's."
Serafyna had to fight back the urge to touch the tip of her ears. In just how many ways would this dragon change my body, my life, my very being?
She forced herself to nod, then asked him, "You know a lot about dragons. Have you ever seen one?"
"Nay," said Brom, "they were far before my time."
His response disappointed her, but that was expected.
Now, she had everything she needed. All that was left was to come up with a name for her dragon. She didn't know many dragon names to begin with.
"I've been wanting to know more about the Rider's dragons, more specifically, the names given to them."
Brom peered at her over his pipe. "Why?"
"Why not?" She shrugged. "No reason, just curious. Even more so, now, seeing I am named after a dragon."
"Fair enough, I suppose." Brom then began to list a series of names, one by one. "There was Jura, Hírador, and Fundor—who fought the giant sea snake. Galzra, Briam, Ohen the Strong, Gretiem, Beroan, Roslarb..." He added many others. At the very end, he uttered so softly that Serafyna almost did not hear, "... and Saphira."
Serafyna made an effort to memorize them all. Even if she didn't use any of them, she'd have an idea of how she could name her dragon.
Now, she had everything she needed. Brom had given her plenty to think about.
Deciding that it was time she excused herself, Serafyna got up from the chair and dusted off her clothes. "I think I should get going, Roran is probably done with his work and waiting for me."
Brom raised an eyebrow, rather surprised. "Already? I expected to keep answering your questions until Roran came marching inside and dragging you off."
"For now," Serafyna grinned, "I'll return though, with another set of questions, so don't worry!"
"Very well then." Brom got up, setting aside his pipe and leading her to the door, seeing her off. "Goodbye, and take care of yourself, Serafyna."
"I will." She nodded, "Thank you for your time."
Serafyna stepped outside and the door closed behind her. She looked around in the muted winter sunlight and took a deep breath. Turning away, she began walking, pondering on what Brom had shared.