Christopher Paolini 20 страница

“Morzan was my greatest failure. Brom idolized him. He never left his side, never contradicted him, and never believed that he could best Morzan in any venture. Morzan, I’m ashamed to admit — for it was within my power to stop — was aware of this and took advantage of Brom’s devotion in a hundred different ways. He grew so proud and cruel that I considered separating him from Brom. But before I could, Morzan helped Galbatorix to steal a dragon hatchling, Shruikan, to replace the one Galbatorix had lost, killing the dragon’s original Rider in the process. Morzan and Galbatorix then fled together, sealing our doom.

“You cannot begin to fathom the effect Morzan’s betrayal had on Brom until you understand the depth of Brom’s affection for him. And when Galbatorix at last revealed himself and the Forsworn killed Brom’s dragon, Brom focused all of his anger and pain on the one who he felt was responsible for the destruction of his world: Morzan. ”

Oromis paused, his face grave. “Do you know why losing your dragon, or vice versa, usually kills the survivor? ”

“I can imagine, ” said Eragon. He quailed at the thought.

“The pain is shock enough — although it isn’t always a factor — but what really causes the damage is feeling part of your mind, part of your identity, die. When it happened to Brom, I fear that he went mad for a time. After I was captured and escaped, I brought him to Ellesm& #233; ra for safety, but he refused to stay, instead marching with our army to the plains of Ilirea, where King Evandar was slain.

“The confusion then was indescribable. Galbatorix was busy consolidating his power, the dwarves were in retreat, the southwest was a mass of war as the humans rebelled and fought to create Surda, and we had just lost our king. Driven by his desire for vengeance, Brom sought to use the turmoil to his advantage. He gathered together many of those who had been exiled, freed some who had been imprisoned, and with them he formed the Varden. He led them for a few years, then surrendered the position to another so that he was free to pursue his true passion, which was Morzan’s downfall. Brom personally killed three of the Forsworn, including Morzan, and he was responsible for the deaths of five others. He was rarely happy during his life, but he was a good Rider and a good man, and I am honored to have known him. ”

“I never heard his name mentioned in connection to the Forsworn’s deaths, ” objected Eragon.

“Galbatorix did not want to publicize the fact that any still existed who could defeat his servants. Much of his power resides in the appearance of invulnerability. ”

Once again, Eragon was forced to revise his conception of Brom, from the village storyteller that Eragon had first taken him to be, to the warrior and magician he had traveled with, to the Rider he was at last revealed as, and now firebrand, revolutionary leader, and assassin. It was hard to reconcile all of those roles. I feel as if I barely knew him. I wish that we had had a chance to talk about all of this at least once. “He was a good man, ” agreed Eragon.

He looked out one of the round windows that faced the edge of the cliff and allowed the afternoon warmth to suffuse the room. He watched Saphira, noting how she acted with Glaedr, seeming both shy and coy. One moment she would twist around to examine some feature of the clearing, the next she would shuffle her wings and make small advances on the larger dragon, weaving her head from side to side, the tip of her tail twitching as if she were about to pounce on a deer. She reminded Eragon of a kitten trying to bait an old tomcat into playing with her, only Glaedr remained impassive throughout her machinations.

Saphira, he said. She responded with a distracted flicker of her thoughts, barely acknowledging him. Saphira, answer me.

What?

I know you’re excited, but don’t make a fool of yourself.

You’ve made a fool of yourself plenty of times, she snapped.

Her reply was so unexpected, it stunned him. It was the sort of casually cruel remark that humans often make, but that he had never thought to hear from her. He finally managed to say, That doesn’t make it any better. She grunted and closed her mind to his, although he could still feel the thread of her emotions connecting them.

Eragon returned to himself to find Oromis’s gray eyes heavy upon him. The elf’s gaze was so perceptive, Eragon was sure that Oromis understood what had transpired. Eragon forced a smile and motioned toward Saphira. “Even though we’re linked, I can never predict what she’s going to do. The more I learn about her, the more I realize how different we are. ”

Then Oromis made his first statement that Eragon thought was truly wise: “Those whom we love are often the most alien to us. ” The elf paused. “She is very young, as are you. It took Glaedr and I decades before we fully understood each other. A Rider’s bond with his dragon is like any relationship — that is, a work in progress. Do you trust her? ”

“With my life. ”

“And does she trust you? ”

“Yes. ”

“Then humor her. You were brought up as an orphan. She was brought up to believe that she was the last sane individual of her entire race. And now she has been proved wrong. Don’t be surprised if it takes some months before she stops pestering Glaedr and returns her attention to you. ”

Eragon rolled a blueberry between his thumb and forefinger; his appetite had vanished. “Why don’t elves eat meat? ”

“Why should we? ” Oromis held up a strawberry and rotated it so that the light reflected off its dimpled skin and illuminated the tiny hairs that bearded the fruit. “Everything that we need or want we sing from the plants, including our food. It would be barbaric to make animals suffer that we might have additional courses on the table. . Our choice will make greater sense to you before long. ”

Eragon frowned. He had always eaten meat and did not look forward to living solely on fruit and vegetables while in Ellesm& #233; ra. “Don’t you miss the taste? ”

“You cannot miss that which you have never had. ”

“What about Glaedr, though? He can’t live off grass. ”

“No, but neither does he needlessly inflict pain. We each do the best we can with what we are given. You cannot help who or what you are born as. ”

“And Islanzad& #237;? Her cape was made of swan feathers. ”

“Loose feathers gathered over the course of many years. No birds were killed to make her garment. ”

They finished the meal, and Eragon helped Oromis to scour the dishes clean with sand. As the elf stacked them in the cupboard, he asked, “Did you bathe this morning? ” The question startled Eragon, but he answered that no, he had not. “Please do so tomorrow then, and every day following. ”

“Every day! The water’s too cold for that. I’ll catch the ague. ”

Oromis eyed him oddly. “Then make it warmer. ”

Now it was Eragon’s turn to look askance. “I’m not strong enough to heat an entire stream with magic, ” he protested.

The house echoed as Oromis laughed. Outside, Glaedr swung his head toward the window and inspected the elf, then returned to his earlier position. “I assume that you explored your quarters last night. ” Eragon nodded. “And you saw a small room with a depression in the floor? ”

“I thought that it might be for washing clothes or linens. ”

“It is for washingyou. Two nozzles are concealed in the side of the wall above the hollow. Open them and you can bathe in water of any temperature. Also, ” he gestured at Eragon’s chin, “while you are my student, I expect you to keep yourself clean-shaven until you can grow a full beard — if you so choose — and not look like a tree with half its leaves blown off. Elves do not shave, but I will have a razor and mirror found and sent to you. ”

Wincing at the blow to his pride, Eragon agreed. They returned outside, whereupon Oromis looked at Glaedr and the dragon said, We have decided upon a curriculum for Saphira and you.

The elf said, “You will start—”

—an hour after sunrise tomorrow, in the time of the Red Lily. Return here then.

“And bring the saddle that Brom made for you, Saphira, ” continued Oromis. “Do what you wish in the meantime; Ellesm& #233; ra holds many wonders for a foreigner, if you care to see them. ”

“I’ll keep that in mind, ” said Eragon, bowing his head. “Before I go, Master, I want to thank you for helping me in Tronjheim after I killed Durza. I doubt that I would have survived without your assistance. I am in your debt. ”

We are both in your debt, added Saphira.

Oromis smiled slightly and inclined his head.

THESECRETLIVES OFANTS

The moment that Oromis and Glaedr were out of sight, Saphira said, Eragon, another dragon! Can you believe it?

He patted her shoulder. It’s wonderful. High above Du Weldenvarden, the only sign of habitation in the forest was an occasional ghostly plume of smoke that rose from the crown of a tree and soon faded into clear air.

I never expected to encounter another dragon, except for Shruikan. Maybe rescue the eggs from Galbatorix, yes, but that was the extent of my hopes. And now this! She wriggled underneath him with joy. Glaedr is incredible, isn’t he? He’s so old and strong and his scales are so bright. He must be two, no, three times bigger than me. Did you see his claws? They. .

She continued on in that manner for several minutes, waxing eloquent about Glaedr’s attributes. But stronger than her words were the emotions Eragon sensed roiling within her: eagerness and enthusiasm, twined over what he could only identify as a longing adoration.

Eragon tried to tell Saphira what he had learned from Oromis — since he knew that she had not paid attention — but he found it impossible to change the subject of conversation. He sat silently on her back, the world an emerald ocean below, and felt himself the loneliest man in existence.

Back at their quarters, Eragon decided against any sightseeing; he was far too tired from the day’s events and the weeks of traveling. And Saphira was more than content to sit on her bed and chatter about Glaedr while he examined the mysteries of the elves’ wash closet.

Morning came, and with it a package wrapped in onionskin paper containing the razor and mirror that Oromis had promised. The blade was of elvish make, so it needed no sharpening or stropping. Grimacing, Eragon first bathed in steaming hot water, then held up the mirror and confronted his visage.

I look older. Older and worn. Not only that, but his features had become far more angled, giving him an ascetic, hawklike appearance. He was no elf, but neither would anyone take him to be a purebred human if they inspected him closely. Pulling back his hair, he bared his ears, which now tapered to slight points, more evidence of how his bond with Saphira had changed him. He touched one ear, letting his fingers wander over the unfamiliar shape.

It was difficult for him to accept the transformation of his flesh. Even though he had known it would occur — and occasionally welcomed the prospect as the last confirmation that he was a Rider — the reality of it filled him with confusion. He resented the fact that he had no say in how his body was being altered, yet at the same time he was curious where the process would take him. Also, he was aware that he was still in the midst of his own, human adolescence, and its attendant realm of mysteries and difficulties.

When will I finally know who and what I am?

He placed the edge of the razor against his cheek, as he had seen Garrow do, and dragged it across his skin. The hairs came free, but they were cut long and ragged. He altered the angle of the blade and tried again with a bit more success.

When he reached his chin, though, the razor slipped in his hand and cut him from the corner of his mouth to the underside of his jaw. He howled and dropped the razor, clapping his hand over the incision, which poured blood down his neck. Spitting the words past bared teeth, he said, “Wa& #237; se heill. ” The pain quickly receded as magic knitted his flesh back together, though his heart still pounded from the shock.

Eragon! cried Saphira. She forced her head and shoulders into the vestibule and nosed open the door to the closet, flaring her nostrils at the scent of blood.

I’ll live, he assured her.

She eyed the sanguine water. Be more careful. I’d rather you were as ragged as a molting deer than have you decapitate yourself for the sake of a close shave.

So would I. Go on, I’m fine.

Saphira grunted and reluctantly withdrew.

Eragon sat, glaring at the razor. Finally, he muttered, “Forget this. ” Composing himself, he reviewed his store of words from the ancient language, selected those that he needed, and then allowed his invented spell to roll off his tongue. A faint stream of black powder fell from his face as his stubble crumbled into dust, leaving his cheeks perfectly smooth.

Satisfied, Eragon went and saddled Saphira, who immediately took to the air, aiming their course toward the Crags of Tel’nae& #237; r. They landed before the hut and were met by Oromis and Glaedr.

Oromis examined Saphira’s saddle. He traced each strap with his fingers, pausing on the stitching and buckles, and then pronounced it passable handiwork considering how and when it had been constructed. “Brom was always clever with his hands. Use this saddle when you must travel with great speed. But when comfort is allowed—” He stepped into his hut for a moment and reappeared carrying a thick, molded saddle decorated with gilt designs along the seat and leg pieces. “—use this. It was crafted in Vroengard and imbued with many spells so that it will never fail you in time of need. ”

Eragon staggered under the weight of the saddle as he received it from Oromis. It had the same general shape as Brom’s, with a row of buckles — intended to immobilize his legs — hanging from each side. The deep seat was sculpted out of the leather in such a way that he could fly for hours with ease, both sitting upright and lying flat against Saphira’s neck. Also, the straps encircling Saphira’s chest were rigged with slips and knots so that they could extend to accommodate years of growth. A series of broad ties on either side of the head of the saddle caught Eragon’s attention. He asked their purpose.

Glaedr rumbled, Those secure your wrists and arms so that you are not killed like a rat shaken to death when Saphira performs a complex maneuver.

Oromis helped Eragon relieve Saphira of her current saddle. “Saphira, you will go with Glaedr today, and I will work with Eragon here. ”

As you wish, she said, and crowed with excitement. Heaving his golden bulk off the ground, Glaedr soared off to the north, Saphira close behind.

Oromis did not give Eragon long to ponder Saphira’s departure; the elf marched him to a square of hard-packed dirt beneath a willow tree at the far side of the clearing. Standing opposite him in the square, Oromis said, “What I am about to show you is called the Rimgar, or the Dance of Snake and Crane. It is a series of poses that we developed to prepare our warriors for combat, although all elves use it now to maintain their health and fitness. The Rimgar consists of four levels, each more difficult than the last. We will start with the first. ”

Apprehension for the coming ordeal sickened Eragon to the point where he could barely move. He clenched his fists and hunched his shoulders, his scar tugging at the skin of his back as he glared between his feet.

“Relax, ” advised Oromis. Eragon jerked open his hands and let them hang limply at the end of his rigid arms. “I asked you to relax, Eragon. You can’t do the Rimgar if you are as stiff as a piece of rawhide. ”

“Yes, Master. ” Eragon grimaced and reluctantly loosened his muscles and joints, although a knot of tension remained coiled in his belly.

“Place your feet together and your arms at your sides. Look straight ahead. Now take a deep breath and lift your arms over your head so that your palms meet. . Yes, like that. Exhale and bend down as far as you can, put your palms on the ground, take another breath. . and jump back. Good. Breathe in and bend up, looking toward the sky. . and exhale, lifting your hips until you form a triangle. Breathe in through the back of your throat. . and out. In. . and out. In. . ”

To Eragon’s utter relief, the stances proved gentle enough to hold without igniting the pain in his back, yet challenging enough that sweat beaded his forehead and he panted for breath. He found himself grinning with joy at his reprieve. His wariness evaporated and he flowed through the postures — most of which far exceeded his flexibility — with more energy and confidence than he had possessed since before the battle in Farthen D& #251; r. Maybe I’ve healed!

Oromis performed the Rimgar with him, displaying a level of strength and flexibility that astounded Eragon, especially for one so old. The elf could touch his forehead to his toes. Throughout the exercise, Oromis remained impeccably composed, as if he were doing no more than strolling down a garden path. His instruction was calmer and more patient than Brom’s, yet completely unyielding. No deviation was allowed from the correct path.

“Let us wash the sweat from our limbs, ” said Oromis when they finished.

Going to the stream by the house, they quickly disrobed. Eragon surreptitiously watched the elf, curious as to what he looked like without his clothes. Oromis was very thin, yet his muscles were perfectly defined, etched under his skin with the hard lines of a woodcut. No hair grew upon his chest or legs, not even around his groin. His body seemed almost freakish to Eragon, compared to the men he was used to seeing in Carvahall — although it had a certain refined elegance to it, like that of a wildcat.

When they were clean, Oromis took Eragon deep into Du Weldenvarden to a hollow where the dark trees leaned inward, obscuring the sky behind branches and veils of snarled lichen. Their feet sank into the moss above their ankles. All was silent about them.

Pointing to a white stump with a flat, polished top three yards across that rested in the center of the hollow, Oromis said, “Sit here. ” Eragon did as he was told. “Cross your legs and close your eyes. ” The world went dark around him. From his right, he heard Oromis whisper, “Open your mind, Eragon. Open your mind and listen to the world around you, to the thoughts of every being in this glade, from the ants in the trees to the worms in the ground. Listen until you can hear them all and you understand their purpose and nature. Listen, and when you hear no more, come tell me what you have learned. ”

Then the forest was quiet.

Unsure if Oromis had left, Eragon tentatively lowered the barriers around his mind and reached out with his consciousness, like he did when trying to contact Saphira at a great distance. Initially only a void surrounded him, but then pricks of light and warmth began to appear in the darkness, strengthening until he sat in the midst of a galaxy of swirling constellations, each bright point representing a life. Whenever he had contacted other beings with his mind, like Cadoc, Snowfire, or Solembum, the focus had always been on the one he wanted to communicate with. But this. . this was as if he had been standing deaf in the midst of a crowd and now he could hear the rivers of conversation whirling around him.

He felt suddenly vulnerable; he was completely exposed to the world. Anyone or anything that might want to leap into his mind and control him could now do so. He tensed unconsciously, withdrawing back into himself, and his awareness of the hollow vanished. Remembering one of Oromis’s lessons, Eragon slowed his breathing and monitored the sweep of his lungs until he had relaxed enough to reopen his mind.

Of all the lives he could sense, the majority were, by far, insects. Their sheer number astounded him. Tens of thousands dwelled in a square foot of moss, teeming millions throughout the rest of the small hollow, and uncounted masses beyond. Their abundance actually frightened Eragon. He had always known that humans were scarce and beleaguered in Alaga& #235; sia, but he had never imagined that they were so outnumbered by evenbeetles.

Since they were one of the few insects that he was familiar with, and Oromis had mentioned them, Eragon concentrated his attention on the columns of red ants marching across the ground and up the stems of a wild rosebush. What he gleaned from them were not so much thoughts — their brains were too primitive — but urges: the urge to find food and avoid injury, the urge to defend one’s territory, the urge to mate. By examining the ants’ instincts, he could begin to puzzle out their behavior.

It fascinated him to discover that — except for the few individuals exploring outside the borders of their province — the ants knew exactly where they were going. He was unable to ascertain what mechanism guided them, but they followed clearly defined paths from their nest to food and back. Their source of food was another surprise. As he had expected, the ants killed and scavenged other insects, but most of their efforts were directed toward the cultivation of. . ofsomething that dotted the rosebush. Whatever the life-form was, it was barely large enough for him to sense. He focused all of his strength on it in an attempt to identify it and satisfy his curiosity.

The answer was so simple, he laughed out loud when he comprehended it: aphids. The ants were acting as shepherds for aphids, driving and protecting them, as well as extracting sustenance from them by massaging the aphids’ bellies with the tips of their antennae. Eragon could hardly believe it, but the longer he watched, the more he became convinced that he was correct.

He traced the ants underground into their complex matrix of warrens and studied how they cared for a certain member of their species that was several times bigger than a normal ant. However, he was unable to determine the insect’s purpose; all he could see were servants swarming around it, rotating it, and removing the specks of matter it produced at regular intervals.

After a time, Eragon decided that he had gleaned all the information from the ants that he could — unless he was willing to sit there for the rest of the day — and was about to return to his body when a squirrel jumped into the glade. Its appearance was like a blast of light to him, attuned as he was to the insects. Stunned, he was overwhelmed by a rush of sensations and feelings from the animal. He smelled the forest with its nose, felt the bark give under his hooked claws and the air swish through his upraised plume of a tail. Compared to an ant, the squirrel burned with energy and possessed unquestionable intelligence.

Then it leaped to another branch and faded from his awareness.

The forest seemed much darker and quieter than before when Eragon opened his eyes. He took a deep breath and looked about, appreciating for the first time how much life existed in the world. Unfolding his cramped legs, he walked over to the rosebush.

He bent down and examined the branches and twigs. Sure enough, aphids and their crimson guardians clung to them. And near the base of the plant was the mound of pine needles that marked the entrance to the ants’ lair. It was strange to see with his own eyes; none of it betrayed the numerous and subtle interactions that he was now aware of.

Engrossed in his thoughts, Eragon returned to the clearing, wondering what he might be crushing under his feet with every step. When he emerged from under the trees’ shelter, he was startled by how far the sun had fallen. I must have been sitting there for at least three hours.

He found Oromis in his hut, writing with a goose-feather quill. The elf finished his line, then wiped the nib of the quill clean, stoppered his ink, and asked, “And what did you hear, Eragon? ”

Eragon was eager to share. As he described his experience, he heard his voice rise with enthusiasm over the details of the ants’ society. He recounted everything that he could recall, down to the minutest and most inconsequential observation, proud of the information that he had gathered.

When he finished, Oromis raised an eyebrow. “Is that all? ”

“I. . ” Dismay gripped Eragon as he understood that he had somehow missed the point of the exercise. “Yes, Ebrithil. ”

“And what about the other organisms in the earth and the air? Can you tell me what they were doing while your ants tended their droves? ”

“No, Ebrithil. ”

“Therein lies your mistake. You must become aware of all things equally and not blinker yourself in order to concentrate on a particular subject. This is an essential lesson, and until you master it, you will meditate on the stump for an hour each day. ”

“How will I know when I have mastered it? ”

“When you can watch one and know all. ”

Oromis motioned for Eragon to join him at the table, then set a fresh sheet of paper before him, along with a quill and a bottle of ink. “So far you have made do with an incomplete knowledge of the ancient language. Not that any of us knows all the words in the language, but you must be familiar with its grammar and structure so that you do not kill yourself through an incorrectly placed verb or similar mistake. I do not expect you to speak our language like an elf — that would take a lifetime — but I do expect you to achieve unconscious competence. That is, you must be able to use it without thinking.

“In addition, you must learn to read and write the ancient language. Not only will this help you to memorize words, it is an essential skill if you need to compose an especially long spell and you don’t trust your memory, or if you find such a spell recorded and you want to use it.

“Every race has evolved their own system of writing the ancient language. The dwarves use their runic alphabet, as do humans. They are only makeshift techniques, though, and are incapable of expressing the language’s true subtleties as well as our Liduen Kvaedh& #237;, the Poetic Script. The Liduen Kvaedh& #237; was designed to be as elegant, beautiful, and precise as possible. It is composed of forty-two different shapes that represent various sounds. These shapes can be combined in a nearly infinite range of glyphs that represent both individual words and entire phrases. The symbol on your ring is one such glyph. The symbol on Zar’roc is another. . Let us start: What are the basic vowel sounds of the ancient language? ”

“What? ”

Eragon’s ignorance of the underpinnings of the ancient language quickly became apparent. When he had traveled with Brom, the old storyteller had concentrated on having Eragon memorize lists of words that he might need to survive, as well as perfecting his pronunciation. In those two areas, he excelled, but he could not even explain the difference between a definite and indefinite article. If the gaps in his education frustrated Oromis, the elf did not betray it through word or action, but labored persistently to mend them.

At a certain point during the lesson, Eragon commented, “I’ve never needed very many words in my spells; Brom said it was a gift that I could do so much with justbrisingr. I think the most I ever said in the ancient language was when I spoke to Arya in her mind and when I blessed an orphan in Farthen D& #251; r. ”

“You blessed a child in the ancient language? ” asked Oromis, suddenly alert. “Do you remember how you worded this blessing? ”

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