Chapter 22: The Tongue is Mightier than the Wand
Eragon exited his room in modern clothes Harry had conjured to fill his guests' wardrobes. His dark hair was mussed and he blinked blearily. Brom emerged simultaneously. They looked at each other awkwardly, then silently retreated to the kitchen. Arya's door hung ajar, showing her absence. Harry found her reading quietly in the library in a contemplative mood. Her green eyes were fixed to the page unmoving.
Harry padded down the stairs to a heavenly smell. He was surprised, after all Brom had never cooked for him before. It wasn't a chore he minded now that he had access to ultra fresh ingredients and the freedom to cook whatever he wanted. The old man was standing at the counter in a flurry of chopping, dicing, and slicing. A pan sat on the stove, sizzling shrrg meat cooking upon it. There was a pot filled with broth next to the pan. Brom lifted the cutting board and scraped the chopped vegetables into the broth, stirring it with a wooden ladle. He deftly scraped the meat into the stew before grinding and adding herbs and spices. "Thank you," he said quietly. The volume betrayed the depth of the old man's gratitude. Had Harry known elves and riders had not believed in the afterlife, he might have better understood the emotions roiling in their minds.
Harry sat quietly at the table. Eragon was outside saying good morning to Saphira. Brom quickly slid him a bowl full of the stew and a set of cutlery. He accepted them gratefully and dug in. Arya emerged silently from behind his shoulder, evidently having silently made her way downstairs. She withdrew a loaf of sliced and bagged bread, toasting it before spreading butter and berry preserves over it. Withdrawing a bowl of salad from the fridge, she too sat down.
They ate in silence. The events of last night were still fresh in their minds, and no one dared to break the silence. Harry felt less impacted than the others (he regularly visited Heaven, after all,) but kept quiet in deference to them. After finishing the stew, he silently summoned the bread and spreads from Arya, making himself his own toast.
They all finished eating and Brom made to clean up, but Harry beat him to it. With a flick of his wand and a mental incantation ('Pack!') all the dirtied dishes scoured themselves clean and slotted themselves into various cabinets, cupboards, and drawers. The wizard ladled a large helping of the stew for Eragon before heaving the pot into the fridge, covered with plastic wrap.
He exited the tent to brisk morning air, conjuring a small table and setting the food out for the man. "Good morning," he greeted.
Eragon looked up from his spot and moved to take a seat. "Hello," he said.
"How do you feel about everything?" Harry asked curiously. "When I first met my parents I was on a bit of a high for the next- well, I'll tell you when it ends."
The rider relaxed into the chair and rubbed Saphira's nose absently. "Good, I think. I don't agree with Brom's reasons for lying to me, but I accept them. I'm just glad to have more family after Garrow." He crossed his arms. "Did you know that Roran left Carvahall before everything?" he asked.
Harry shook his head silently. "He wants to marry Katrina, Sloan's daughter," Eragon said quietly. "He chose to take a job with Dempton, the miller in Therinsford. It's the closest village, but the journey is still difficult since it's through the Spine. We wouldn't have seen each other for months, even before all of this-" he made an encompassing gesture, "-happened. I miss him. We left without leaving any explanation. The farm burned down, Garrow is dead, and the villagers probably don't know what to think. If the Empire learns where I come from, surely they will return to Carvahall and raze it to the ground searching for me."
Harry hesitated. "I think Roran will be okay. He's made of stern stuff, you know. He reminds me of myself, actually." Eragon looked curious. "Roran's stubborn and crafty. He will do anything to get the job done. He may be angry with you for leaving him a mess, but I have no doubt he still loves you and will miss you until you return." He elbowed the young man, trying to cheer him up. "'Sides, I left Horst with an assload of steel and a veritable armory. The village will be fine, I'm sure of it."
Birds chirped in the brisk morning air. The sky was grey and overcast. The wind was cool, yet neither seemed to mind. It was peaceful. Harry sat back in his chair and rubbed the back of his silver hand idly. Eragon merely snuggled closer to Saphira.
The three of them sat in silence. Harry figured Eragon was probably talking to Saphira, but he couldn't tell. Blinky joined them, slithering up and coiling in Harry's lap. He enjoyed the atmosphere of tranquility. In Surrey or Hogwarts, there was scarcely time to relax. The closest he had gotten was the summer after fourth year. He fondly remembered listening to the telly from the rose bushes beneath the open kitchen window.
Harry was somewhat oblivious to the shellshocked emotional turmoil his companions were experiencing.
Peaceful it may have been, but the dark thunderclouds of upcoming conflict, uncertainty of the Ministry's response to Harry's claims, the stress hung over him that summer like a leaden blanket, denying him the true relaxation he so needed.
The sound of the river rushing past was a dull roar in the background. Saphira's eyes were closed, basking in the sun on her scales. Harry let some tension out of his muscles, loosening his grip and sinking bonelessly into the lawn chair. The relentless training, learning, and practicing kept him so busy, today was a nice break. Aches in his fingers from holding a bowstring faded slowly. He hardly even noticed the subtle stress in his body normally. Even his magic gave him the sense of gratefulness for the chance at recovery. He'd not truly taken a break since apparating the whole group from Carvahall to the Spine, a taxing experience he was just now recovering from. Harry sighed deeply in contentment, breathing the fresh air back in through his nose. He closed his eyes and prepared for a nap.
Brom gently shook him awake an hour later and he reluctantly helped break camp. Harry was infinitely grateful he'd had the foresight to weave the pitching/collapsing tent into keywords instead of simply using a spell on the thing. "Deconvenire," he murmured, gently catching the roll as it flew through the air at him. They piled into the boat in silence, enjoying the tranquility of the cloudy day.
Saphira opted to wet her scales swimming behind the skiff instead of on it. Harry watched the clear water surge over her back with unfocused eyes. Brom withdrew his pipe and lit it, toying with his new wand like a firstie who just got their first wand. Eragon was less enamoured with his wand, but Arya was doing something similar to Brom, playing her fingers across the surface.
The enchanted oars kept the boat on track during the day, and Harry felt no need to correct its course throughout. The grey clouds brightened only slightly when the sun crested behind them. The dreary grey carpet threatened rain, but withheld it for some reason.
It took several hours, but Harry finally succumbed to boredom and got up. He pitched the tent where Saphira would sit on the boat and entered. The lab had sort of become a common area, since it was larger than the sitting room upstairs. Harry idly made a note to add a bigger sort of rec room to the cabin. He didn't mind having people around while he worked, but he'd gotten tired of repairing the stairwell everytime Saphira shoved her way down it.
Harry found a scrivener's journal and laid it out near the leatherworking area. He wanted to make real parchment. He could conjure reams of the stuff all the live long day, but if he wanted to make something like the famed Marauder's Map, Harry wanted the best. And the best was hand made.
Eagerly, he picked up Gedric's tannery tools and summoned his magic, carefully extending it beyond his fingers. His magic sunk into the old wood and steel, feeling carefully. Echoes of the tools' use rang faintly in the implements. He felt the scrape of leather, the weight of a wet hide, the smoothness of the final product. It took a bit of practice, but Harry soon was able to draw the memories up to the surface of the tool, letting it guide his hand carefully.
Gedric might have thought he got the better of him in their deal, but Harry knew better. How many tanners would eagerly hand over their tools to someone if they knew it was akin to taking them on as an apprentice. A basilisk spear was no great price when it took him all of a day to make. Harry shrugged and selected a pelt to use.
The shrrgs and Urzhad were so damn big it scarcely made a dent in the square meters of fur he had piled up. Harry's mind wandered while he scraped at the skin with a curved knife. It was mindless work, scraping, wetting, stretching, drying. He resolved to automate the process in the future. Once the first sheet was finished, he dyed it and hung it to dry and began the process anew. Scrape, stretch, wash, stretch, scrape. It was a good sort of work, almost meditative in its simplicity.
When he finished with three large sheets, Harry withdrew the first one and withdrew his holly wand. "Geminio" he murmured, relaxing into the warmth the wand stirred in his heart. Harry's magic responded lazily, a thick stack of duplicated sheets shimmered into existence. Using various measuring charms, Harry found the largest rectangle the sheet could be cut into and temporarily marked it with color change charms. He lined the markings up with the blade on his paper guillotine cutting board, enjoying the satisfying feel and noise of the blade sliding through the crisp dry parchment. Thrice more he cut the sheet. Shaking the sheet and holding it up to the light, Harry smiled. It was incredibly smooth, white, and of similar or greater quality to the stuff he used for homework at Hogwarts. He doubted Scrivenshaft's sold handmade parchment for disposable assignments. They probably duplicated the hell out of a few sheets. Harry did it too, but he now had both crafter's affinity and the original working for him.
He duplicated the rectangular sheet again, making a separate pile. Harry's next little project was ink. He flipped through 'Household brewing for Pleasure and Profit,' dog earring interesting recipes to try as he went. The smooth parchment felt good under his running finger. Harry scanned the pages until he found a recipe for a sort of shimmering reflective black-blue ink. The ingredients weren't hard to procure, mostly being common mundane things.
Harry set up a cauldron over a phoenix flame before treading outside. The lazy strategy he employed for ingredient sourcing might cause a miniscule dip in final quality, but he hardly thought Brom would be thrilled to make long searching detours for ink ingredients when Harry could just conjure the lower quality stuff anyways. "Accio squid, crude oil, gallnuts…" Harry rattled off quietly from the entrance to the tent. His travel companions watched curiously, but he paid them no mind.
He felt the tendrils of magic from the summoning spell connect with their targets. Reaching along, Harry reinforced the connections and fed them magic, tugging. The gallnuts arrived nearly instantly, likely torn from a nearby tree. It took no longer than ten minutes of idly holding his holly wand aloft before the last ingredient flew in. Arya tried to look at the squid in his grasp reproachfully, but her glare lacked any heat. She was too thankful Harry gave her the opportunity to speak to her departed father. The thing was flopping around in Harry's hand weakly, looking for water.
Rather than kill it, Harry constructed an aquarium for the squid. He enjoyed stretching his transfiguration skills, forming corals, kelp, and seaweed with his magic and mind. Harry carefully extracted some ink from the creature, then released it back into the water where it swam about happily.
He set about with mortars and pestles, knives, and stirring rods, preparing the ingredients. Potions were so much more enjoyable when there was no pressure. If he failed the admittedly very easy brew, Harry could simply start over with none the wiser. Sliding the cauldron stand off the flame, he went back outside to summon companions for the squid. Eragon looked baffled when a female squid and a school of fish pairs came flying in.
The aquarium wound up looking like a window into a room inset in the wall. The space expansion charms worked well and Harry now had a miniature aquatic ecosystem set up. By the time he'd finished, the ink was done brewing. He bottled the stuff in glass containers rather than inkwells, sending all but one vial zipping off through the air to his 'completed projects vault.' Harry tried to enchant the conjured bottle to be everfull, but the mirage-like nature of the conjured container foiled his plans.
Harry simply shrugged and moved on. He had plenty more bottles, and he could try his hand at glassblowing tomorrow anyways. Upon collecting one of Hedwig's shed feathers, Harry began making a proper feathered fountain pen. He hoped the magical nature of a phoenix feather allowed everfull ink enchantments to work.
The metal stamping machine turned out a few hundred brass fountain pen nibs in one thin sheet stamp. Rather than waste the rest, Harry boxed the remaining hundreds of stamped pieces and retrieved only one. The scrap sheet was tossed into the smelter to be poured back into an ingot. He'd roll another sheet out of it later.
Harry carefully lathed a hollow ebony grip, smoothing and polishing it to a mirror sheen. Under a magnifying glass he was able to insert the brass fountain pen nib and mechanism. The final step was to glue the handle to the phoenix feather. He grinned at the final project. The everfull enchantment eagerly took to the pen. It had a slot for ink cartridges in case Harry wished to switch ink or color or whatnot, but the everfull enchantment ensured the pen would never draw any of the ink itself. He idly added other convenient magics like anti-smear, quick-dry, and such. Harry only realized afterwards that he only actually knew the everfull charm.
Arya approached Harry in his lab later. "I wish to apologize, Harry Potter," she said formally.
Harry frowned. "Whatever for?" he asked curiously.
"We have treated you with nothing but suspicion despite your repeated assurances in the ancient language of truth," she admitted shamefully. "You have done more for the cause against Galbatorix than anyone other than myself and the leaders of the free nations, and you do not deserve the scrutiny we have placed upon you, nor do you deserve the advantage we have taken of your incredible generosity."
Harry didn't know what to say. "Thank you for your apology," he accepted.
"No, thank you," Arya corrected. "You have been more generous than anyone had a right to expect, investing your own steel and sweat into crafting weapons for the Varden, setting up production for food and investing your own gold in the cause. Granting us access to the library of your ancestors, allowing us use of your ancestors' wands." She twisted her hand over her breast in a gesture of respect. "Thank you."
Brom retrieved Harry hours later to begin the night's training. The wizard left his new pen on a table and made to take up the wooden mock swords, but Brom stopped him. "We're starting with steel tonight. Grab a sword and I'll show you how to dull it."
Harry wanted to use the silver greatsword but was worried how the fluid nature of his arm would interact with the dulling spell. Instead, he perused the vault for a greatsword of his ancestors. He settled on a five foot blade of dull steel with an unadorned hilt. He did not want to get attached to someone else's sword when he fully intended to forge his own. Brom watched him browse appraisingly, and seemed to approve when he selected an unadorned weapon. Harry had no idea what the balance for greatswords was supposed to be, and voiced as much.
"There's a lot more variation in greatswords," Brom said gruffly. "I'd not be surprised if you could locate swords balanced anywhere from the hilt to three feet out," he snorted. "With elvish strength in the mix, you see the strangest things. Tinker with it a bit using those lead discs of yours," he advised. "You'll find out soon enough what works for you."
They exited the flap together. Arya regarded them briefly, then returned to tending the fire. The lawn chairs were set up and it looked like they'd already eaten. Eragon stood waiting nervously with Zar'roc in his hands gleaming a malevolent red.
The three grouped together. "Tonight we'll be using steel, so ground rules," Brom laid out gruffly. "One; no flailing about. I'm about to show you how to keep the sharp edge from cutting you, but these heavy weapons can still snap bones, something we can't afford to be dealing with right now. Two- well actually, that's it. The spell is 'Geuloth du knifr.'"
Brom seemed to wait expectantly for them to apply the magic before realizing neither knew how. He crankily seized each weapon in turn, casting the spell which resulted in a dull spark between his fingers which he ran along the length of each blade.
It was immediately apparent during the lesson that night that steel was a completely different beast to wooden sparring. Harry didn't know what kind of success Eragon found in Yazuac with his sword, but Harry was quickly learning how unbelievably lucky they were to survive at all using swords so unfamiliar to them. Every move and swing required a much larger commitment since it was so much harder to overcome the inertia of a good swing. Eragon struggled and got bruised up by Brom, but Harry was absolutely destroyed. The extra length and mass scarcely helped when he was unaccustomed to lifting the sword, a weapon nearly as long as he was tall.
"Are you sure the greatsword is for you?" Brom asked in genuine doubt.
Harry nodded determinedly. "I already prefer archery, if that fails I want the ideal weapon for dealing with close combat in large numbers. I'm hoping some of this will transfer to shorter blades in case I don't have room to work with, but I'll deal if not."
Respect shone in Brom's expression. He took some more practice swings before the frantic melee resumed. The greatsword, while often unwieldy and cumbersome, provided far superior cover for blocking. In addition, Harry could put some incredible force behind a swing. Splitting that Urgal's shield was no fluke.
By the time practice ended, Harry and Eragon both had a myriad of bruises. They both collapsed near the fire, intent on going to bed momentarily, when they were stopped.
"Arya and I were discussing magic lessons this morning and we've come to the conclusion it would be prudent to teach both of you," Brom said. "Your lessons begin now."
Harry made to withdraw his wand but was stopped. "Magicians in Alagaesia have not used wands since the dawn of time. You need to learn how to discard that crutch if need be."
He scowled but obeyed and sat near the fire. Arya simply observed the lesson intently. "We will start small," Brom instructed, seizing two pebbles from the ground and tossing one each to them. "Your goal is to levitate the stone. The words are 'Stenr risa.'"
Harry, feeling foolish, instructed the stone to rise. Nothing happened, so he connected with his magic and levitated the stone. The act was trivial and the result rather underwhelming. The pebble wobbled in the air unsteadily.
Unlike nearly every spell Harry had ever cast, without the benefit of his wand, he was acutely aware of some nebulous magical strength being actively drained by the task. A gasp broke his concentration and the rock toppled. Glancing over, Harry saw Eragon's brow beaded with sweat and his pebble in his hand. Brom nodded approvingly. "Very good, both of you. Nearly always it takes hours for riders to manage consciously accessing their magic. Describe what you felt," he commanded.
"I searched my mind until I found something…extra? It was part of me, but not of me? I don't have the words," Eragon explained. Brom simply nodded understandingly. "I drove my mind into it until the barrier shattered and magic flooded out."
"And you?" he asked.
Harry shrugged. "I connected with my magic and guided it into the task with my mind and spoke the word." Brom shook his head.
"Try again, Harry. This time, consciously avoid using the concepts of gravity or levitation in your magic. Let the words fuel the intent, instead only feed it power," he instructed.
Harry tried again. He connected to his magic, but did not guide it. He simply spoke, "Stone, rise." Nothing happened. "Stone, rise," Harry repeated with a bit more force. It mocked him with its stupid stationary-ness.
"You heard Eragon's description," Brom coached. "Do not simply connect with your magic, drive your mind into the barrier which separates you from your magic and let it flood your very being, then speak the words."
Harry closed his eyes and looked inwards. He searched his mindscape, instantly locating his magic. When he reached out, his magic eagerly leapt to serve, but Harry valiantly ignored it. He examined the source of his magic closely. At a mental command, the magic stopped being fed to him and he could carefully look without distraction or disruption.
It did not feel like an external or unnatural source, it was merely part of him. Each time he tried to pierce some invisible barrier, nothing happened except his magic extending a tendril of access. Frustrated, Harry drove his mind straight into the source and gasped.
Magic flooded every fiber of his being. The eldritch power was like a potent mixture of adrenaline, caffeine, and distilled meth. He felt energized beyond belief. "Stone, rise!" he commanded authoritatively. Harry grinned. A supersonic crack sounded as the pebble vanished from his palm, leaving naught but a vapor trail. Brom, Arya, and Eragon all looked surprised.
"What was that noise?" Brom asked quizzically.
Harry gave a shark-like grin. "A supersonic boom," he smiled elatedly. "What a high!" Suddenly, the wizard collapsed. Brom scrambled over to Harry urgently. He peeled his eyelids open and peeked at his pupils. Arya however, gave out a peal of laughter and pointed.
Next to Harry's head was a pebble, one side blackened and charred, the other icy.