CHAPTER THREE
Preparations
Life in Carvahall had become something I cherished deeply. Horst and Elain welcomed me into their family with open arms, treating me as one of their own. Baldor and Albriech, once wary, now treated me like a younger brother, teasing and protecting me in equal measure. It was a warmth I had never known, a balm to the wounds of my past.
One day, I decided to visit Eragon at his family farm. The state of the place struck me immediately. The roof sagged in places, the fences were barely holding together, and the fields bore signs of hard work but little return. Despite its disrepair, there was a quiet resilience about the farm, an echo of the people who lived there.
Roran greeted me first. I hadn't expected to get along with him as easily as I did. His straightforwardness and quiet determination resonated with me. We talked about the struggles of farm life, and though I could never fully relate, he appreciated that I listened without judgment.
Garrow was more reserved but kind, his weathered face and calloused hands speaking of a life of toil. He welcomed me with a polite nod and few words but smiled when he saw me bonding with Eragon and Roran.
Eragon and I spent time together whenever I was free from Brom's lessons or Horst's forge. Our friendship grew naturally, built on shared curiosity and mutual respect. I found a kindred spirit in him, someone willing to dream beyond the borders of Carvahall.
My life wasn't just filled with work and relationships; it was brimming with ideas. Using magic, I had crafted a small leather-bound book where I could sketch my plans for inventions—wild, ambitious concepts I dreamed of bringing to life. The book became a constant companion, filled with diagrams and notes about things from my old world and innovations inspired by this one.
One afternoon, during one of my training sessions with Brom, I decided to show him my little project. We had moved beyond lessons in the ancient language to sparring with straight branches, which, to my chagrin, revealed how woefully outmatched I was. I had thought my rudimentary fencing skills from Earth would give me an edge, but Brom dismantled me with ease. He moved with such precision and experience that I could barely keep up.
"Your footwork is sloppy," he muttered as he helped me up for the fourth time. "Stand like this." He demonstrated a balanced stance, one hand gripping his branch lightly, the other raised slightly for balance.
I mimicked him, feeling clumsy but determined.
"Better," Brom said, nodding. "Now, again."
When we paused for a break, I handed him my book, its pages filled with meticulous sketches and notes. Brom raised an eyebrow but took it, flipping through with an unreadable expression. As he turned the pages, his eyes widened, and a low whistle escaped his lips.
"These are designs from your world?" he asked, his gaze still fixed on the intricate drawings.
"Yes," I said, standing a little taller. "Some of them are pure fantasy, but others could work here with a little help from magic. Like this." I pointed to a sketch of an airship—a wooden ship suspended beneath a massive oval balloon.
Brom studied the design for a long moment before flipping to another section. His face grew more serious as he reached the pages filled with weapons—crossbows, rudimentary firearms, even cannons.
"Are you planning to make these?" he asked, his voice quiet but firm.
"Not for sale," I said quickly. "Most of these are one-of-a-kind ideas. Personal use only. The last thing we need is to draw the king's attention."
Brom's expression softened, and he nodded. "You're right. Galbatorix would see these as a threat—or worse, a tool. You're wise to keep them close."
We returned to sparring, but my mind buzzed with ideas. One thing had become clear to me: the heavy reliance on magic had stunted technological innovation in this world. If I'd had more time on Earth, I could have revolutionized Alagaësia entirely. But here and now, I was content with mastering the basics.
Some of my smaller ideas had already taken shape. Horst had been thrilled with a design I called the All-Terrain Carriage, or ATC. It was a simple concept: a carriage fitted with suspension to ensure steady movement over rough terrain. After a week of tinkering and testing, I managed to adapt the design to a cart, much to Horst's delight. The improved ride comfort and durability made it a success.
In another book, I had started drafting more detailed blueprints. This one I planned to give Horst when the time came for me to leave with Eragon and Brom. The pages contained plans for a simple but efficient crossbow, instructions for making gunpowder, and designs for cannons. There were even notes on crafting lightweight armor and basic explosives.
These were not idle plans—they were safeguards. I knew what was coming: the Ra'zac, their attack on the farm, and the chaos they would bring. I refused to let it happen as it had in the books. This time, Garrow would live. Brom would survive. Katrina would never be taken.
The seasons had changed, and with them, so had I. A year had passed since I first arrived in Carvahall, a lost boy trying to find his place. Now I stood at fourteen, taller and broader than before. My height was almost a match for Albriech, and I had already surpassed Baldor, much to his begrudging amusement. The forge work, constant training, and a proper diet had carved my body into something formidable—a young man with the strength and physique of someone far beyond his years.
Horst never missed an opportunity to rib me about it. "You're going to be a giant by the time you're done growing," he said one evening at dinner, his eyes crinkling with humor.
Elain chimed in, her tone warm and affectionate. "And with that hair and those shoulders, it's no wonder everyone in town thinks you're one of ours."
Horst laughed, setting his fork down. "I'm not going to tell them otherwise. The boy is as good as ours."
Elain nodded, her smile softening as she glanced at me. "True, husband."
Their words struck something deep inside me. For so long, I had been searching for belonging, and now I had found it. My heart swelled with a quiet joy that I struggled to put into words. Instead, I simply smiled, the warmth of their acceptance wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.
Over the past year, my circle of connections had grown. Among the villagers, I had befriended Quimby and his wife, Birgit. They were kind, lively people who brought light to even the dreariest winter days. As I spent time with them, the shadow of Quimby's future—his untimely death in the books—loomed in my mind. I silently vowed to save him and his family from that terrible fate. No one in Carvahall was going to suffer needlessly if I could help it.
Planning their survival, alongside everyone else's, consumed my thoughts at night. I poured over the details, constructing and deconstructing scenarios in my mind. Garrow was relatively straightforward; with me around, I could intervene when the Ra'zac came. But Brom was a different matter. His knowledge as a Dragon Rider was immense, but the loss of his dragon had left him a shadow of what he could have been. He needed power, something to complement his skill and keep him on equal footing with the enemies we would face.
The solution had taken shape in my mind: flawless gems, enchanted and embedded into a vest or armor, designed to store vast reserves of energy. It would give Brom the strength and speed of an elf, possibly even more. However, my knowledge of gem-crafting was limited. I needed Brom's expertise for the spell work.
One evening, I approached him as we sat by his fireplace after a grueling sparring session. The flickering flames painted his weathered face in shades of orange and gold as he sipped his tea.
"Brom," I began cautiously, "I've been working on an idea, but I need your help."
His sharp eyes turned to me; curiosity piqued. "What kind of idea?"
I explained my plan, laying out the details as clearly as I could. He listened in silence, his expression unreadable, until I finished.
"And you think I'm the one to pull this gem from the ground?" he finally asked, raising an eyebrow. "I know the words, yes, but the power required… it's not something I possess anymore."
I leaned forward, resolute. "That's where I come in. I'll provide the energy."
Brom frowned, skepticism etched into every line of his face. "Mark, such spells are draining. Even for someone like you, it could be dangerous."
"I can handle it," I insisted. "Please, just trust me."
After a long moment, he relented with a sigh. "Very well. But if at any point you feel yourself weakening too much, we stop. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
The next morning, we ventured to a secluded clearing beyond the village, a place where Brom assured me we could work without interruption. The air was crisp, the faint scent of pine lingering as we stood on the frosted ground. Brom began the incantation, his voice steady and commanding as the ancient words filled the air.
As he chanted, I felt the spell reach out to me, and the power began to drain from my reserves. At first, it was subtle, like a gentle pull on the edge of my consciousness. I nodded at Brom, signaling for him to continue.
The spell deepened, the pull becoming a steady drain. Brom glanced at me, concern flashing in his eyes. "The gem is deep," he said, his voice tinged with worry.
I forced a grin. "I've got this. Keep going."
Minutes passed, the drain growing stronger with each syllable Brom spoke. My breathing became heavier, but I refused to falter. Then, with a sudden, earth-shaking tremor, the ground split open. From its depths emerged a flawless diamond, the size of my fist, glowing faintly in the sunlight.
Brom stooped to pick it up, his hands trembling slightly as he inspected it. "It's perfect," he murmured, awe in his voice. Then he turned to me, his brow furrowed with concern. "Are you alright? Do you need to sit down?"
I shook my head, though my legs wavered slightly. "I'm fine. Just a bit tired, but nothing serious."
He stared at me for a long moment, his expression softening. "You are remarkable, Mark. Truly."
His words made me chuckle, though my voice was weaker than I intended. "Thanks, Brom. Let's get back to town."
As we made our way back, the diamond clutched securely in Brom's hands, I felt a flicker of satisfaction. It wasn't just about the gem or the power it would bring; it was about the steps we were taking to shape a better future, one where no one had to suffer the losses I had once read about. And for the first time in a long while, I felt hope blooming in my chest.
The flawless diamond we had unearthed rested in the center of Brom's sturdy wooden table, its surface gleaming with an ethereal clarity that caught the dim light of the room. Brom, seated across from me, leaned forward, his expression thoughtful as he studied the gem. His eyes, sharp and full of a wisdom born of years of hardship, flicked to me.
"So," he began, his voice steady but curious, "what exactly do you plan to do with it?"
I hesitated for a moment, carefully choosing my words. "I need to store energy," I replied evenly, leaning back in my chair.
Brom's brows furrowed, the question unspoken but evident in his gaze. Finally, he asked, "Why do you need to store so much energy?"
I knew the truth might draw more questions than I was ready to answer, so I lied, keeping my tone casual. "Most spells don't drain me entirely, but I figure if I keep pushing myself, I can grow stronger. If I drain myself and then recover repeatedly, I'll get used to handling more power. And," I added with a shrug, "if someone ever needs a boost, this gem could be a way to provide it."
Brom nodded slowly, the lie apparently convincing. "Fair enough," he said. He reached for his hand and removed the silver ring from his finger. He held it up for me to see, its stone glinting faintly. "This is Aren. It serves a similar purpose, storing power for when I need it."
I nodded, pretending surprise, though I already knew about Aren. In fact, it, along with the Belt of Beloth the Wise that Eragon would one day possess, had inspired my idea.
"Here," Brom said, pulling out a scrap of parchment and a quill. He scribbled down the words of a spell and handed it to me. "This will help you cut the diamond into the pieces you need. But be careful—it requires precision."
Back in my small room, I closed the door, my heart racing slightly as I turned to face the diamond resting on my bed. The enormity of what I was about to do settled over me, but I shook it off and focused. I held the parchment in my hand, carefully pronouncing the words in the ancient language. The air seemed to vibrate with power as the spell took effect.
The diamond glowed faintly, then began to fracture with a soft, crystalline sound. Lines of light traced its surface before the gem split into eighteen perfect fragments, each twice the size of the stone in Brom's ring. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and carefully gathered the pieces, marveling at their clarity and brilliance.
Next came the armor. I retrieved the leather vest I had crafted from Gedric's finest material, its supple surface smooth beneath my fingers. Using magic and the ancient language, I sang to the leather, shaping it into the form I had envisioned. It now resembled a modern bulletproof vest, sleek and functional but with an edge of artistry.
I embossed a blue dragon across the chest, the diamonds forming a radiant outline around its powerful frame. When the light caught it just right, the dragon seemed to come alive, shimmering with an otherworldly beauty. It was, as I thought to myself with a grin, completely badass.
Still, it was far from complete. It needed wards and enchantments to reach its full potential. For now, I focused on pouring my energy into the diamonds. Day by day, I fed them power, repeating the process until exhaustion. Over the months, I filled the gems with reserves vast enough to rival the storied strength of elves.
During this time, Brom took our training in a new direction. He began teaching me how to duel with my mind. It was a grueling process, and though I quickly realized I had the raw power to overwhelm him, Brom's cunning and experience allowed him to outmaneuver me time and time again.
"Strength isn't everything," he said after yet another defeat, his voice firm but not unkind. "You need to think, to anticipate your opponent's moves. Power without strategy is wasted."
I took his lessons to heart, honing not only my abilities but my mind. Bit by bit, I began to close the gap between us.
Outside of training, I turned my attention to Eragon. I knew he would need to read and write soon, so I offered to teach him in secret. He agreed eagerly, though he was puzzled by my insistence on keeping it hidden. In return, he taught me how to use a bow.
The first lessons were humbling. My initial attempts were disastrous, with arrows flying wide of their targets or thudding into the ground mere feet away. Eragon laughed so hard he had to sit down, tears streaming from his eyes.
"I don't get it," I muttered, frustrated. "."
"The first time you picked up a bow, you hit a bullseye, and now you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn!" he teased, grinning ear to ear.
Despite his jokes, Eragon was a patient teacher, and over time, my aim improved. He also taught me how to navigate the Spine, sharing tips and tricks that came from years of experience.
As the traders arrived in Carvahall, I seized the opportunity to sell my inventions: irrigation systems powered by windmills and other small innovations that drew interest from merchants. The gold I earned was more than I expected, and I gladly shared it with Horst and Elain.
The two years had nearly passed, and I could feel the weight of destiny pressing closer. My preparations felt insufficient, but I knew I had done everything I could. My mastery of the ancient language was not yet at Brom's level, but I could hold my own in a conversation. My swordsmanship had surpassed Brom's, though I wondered how I would fare against him while wearing the power vest.
The vest itself was a masterpiece. Powered by five of the embedded gems, it granted the wearer strength, speed, healing, and protection. The remaining five gems served as a source of energy for spells. My personal vest bore an embossed emblem of an eagle carrying an anchor and trident, a nod to my biological father's naval insignia.
With Horst's help, I had forged a longsword, its pommel embedded with one of the remaining gems. It was a weapon of simple elegance, sturdy and sharp, protected by wards that would keep it from breaking under any strain.
Brom and I continued to share ideas, though I sensed he was still holding back. He was a man full of secrets, and though I respected his privacy, I couldn't help but wonder when those secrets would come to light.
The days had begun to blur into each other. Each evening, I found myself staring out of the window of my small room, the faint light of the stars twinkling above the shadowed Spine. The anticipation clawed at me. The egg would arrive any day now—I could feel it in my bones. It wasn't a matter ofif, butwhen. And yet, the waiting was agony, each night stretching out into an eternity of what-ifs and unspoken questions.
In the meantime, life in Carvahall carried on, as mundane and cyclical as ever. I had found solace in Elain's company. Over the months, she had become a maternal figure to me, someone who offered kindness and a quiet sense of understanding. She was pregnant now, and though she insisted she didn't need help, I had taken it upon myself to assist her with the household chores.
"Elain, sit down. Rest," I urged her one morning as she tried to scrub the floor.
She straightened, brushing a strand of hair from her flushed face. "This isn't men's work," she protested softly, though her tone lacked its usual firmness.
I waved her off, grabbing the rag from her hands. "Maybe not. But it's my work now. Go rest."
For a moment, she hesitated, her gaze flicking to the kitchen where the scent of baking bread wafted through the air. Then she sighed, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "You're as stubborn as Horst, you know."
Horst had, in fact, been delighted at my interference. "If it keeps her off her feet, you can stay out of the forge as long as you like," he'd grumbled, though there was unmistakable gratitude in his eyes.
Roran had been spending more time in town lately, his visits to the butcher's shop becoming increasingly frequent. It didn't take a genius to figure out why. Katrina was the reason.
I'd spoken to her a few times—she was polite, charming even. But her father, Sloan, grated on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. At first, I'd tried to convince myself that my disdain stemmed from my knowledge of his character in the books. But no, it was more than that. The man was insufferable: snide, dismissive, and entirely too full of himself. Thankfully, his interactions with me were minimal, likely because of Horst's imposing presence in town.
Winter's icy breath was beginning to creep through the village. Preparations for the cold season were in full swing. Firewood was stacked high, homes were reinforced, and the air carried the faint tang of snow waiting to fall.
One afternoon, as I wandered back toward Horst's house, Eragon intercepted me. His face was alight with excitement, and his bow was slung over his shoulder.
"I'm heading into the Spine to hunt," he announced, the enthusiasm in his voice contagious. "Want to come?"
I paused, considering. For a brief moment, I was tempted. The Spine was a place of raw, untamed beauty, and Eragon's company had a way of making even the most tedious tasks enjoyable. But I couldn't risk it. The egg had to find him, and I wouldn't let my presence jeopardize that.
"Can't," I said with a small shrug, feigning regret. "Got chores to finish. Elain's been keeping me busy."
He laughed. "suit yourself. I'll bring back something for you In a few days."
"Good luck," I called after him, watching as he disappeared down the path, his stride confident and eager.
After two days, in the evening, the house was warm and lively. Horst regaled us with stories from his youth, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. Baldor and Albriech laughed, their faces lit with the easy joy of young men at home. Elain smiled quietly, her hands resting on the small swell of her belly.
After dinner, I retreated to my room. The house grew still as the others settled in for the night, but sleep eluded me. I returned to my post at the window, my gaze fixed on the Spine. The forest loomed in the distance; its dark silhouette jagged against the night sky.
For hours, nothing happened. The stars twinkled indifferently, the wind whispered through the trees, and the world remained achingly still. And then—it came.
A streak of light, brighter than anything I had ever seen, tore across the heavens. For a brief moment, it lit up the world in a cascade of silver and gold, casting long shadows across the village. My breath caught as the light arced toward the Spine, disappearing into its depths like a shooting star descending to earth.
I exhaled slowly, a mixture of relief and trepidation washing over me. My lips curled into a wry smile as I leaned against the windowsill. "Let the games begin," I murmured to the empty room.
Somewhere out there, Eragon was about to stumble upon his destiny. And with it, the story that would change everything was about to unfold.