Paolini, Christopher - [Inheritance 02] - Eldest Page 17
Absorbed by the challenge, he forgot the terror he had just endured.
Eragon woke right before dawn. Scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, he exited the tent and stretched. His breath turned white in the brisk morning air. He nodded to Shrrgnien, who was keeping guard by the fire, then strolled to the edge of the river and washed his face, blinking from the shock of the cold water.
He located Saphira with a flick of his mind, belted on Zar’roc, and headed toward her through the beech trees that lined the Az Ragni. Before long Eragon’s hands and face were slick with dew from a tangled wall of chokecherry bushes that obstructed his way. With an effort, he pushed through the net of branches and escaped onto the silent plains. A round hill rose before him. On its crest—like two ancient statues—stood Saphira and Arya. They faced east, where a molten glow crept into the sky and burnished the prairie amber.
As the clear light struck the two figures, Eragon was reminded of how Saphira had watched the sunrise from his bedpost only a few hours after she hatched. She was like a hawk or falcon with her hard, sparkling eyes under their bony ridges, the fierce arch of her neck, and the lean strength etched into every line of her body. She was a huntress, and endowed with all the savage beauty that the term implied. Arya’s angled features and panther grace perfectly matched the dragon beside her. No discrepancy existed between their demeanors as they stood bathed in dawn’s first rays.
A tingle of awe and joy shuddered along Eragon’s spine. This was where he belonged, as a Rider. Of all the things in Alagaësia, he had been lucky enough to be joined withthis. The wonder of it brought tears to his eyes and a smile of wild exultation that dispelled all his doubts and fears in a surge of pure emotion.
Still smiling, he mounted the hill and took his place by Saphira as they surveyed the new day.
Arya looked at him. Eragon met her gaze, and something lurched within him. He flushed without knowing why, feeling a sudden connection with her, a sense that she understood him better than anyone other than Saphira. His reaction confused him, for no one had affected him in that manner before.
Throughout the rest of the day, all Eragon had to do was think back on that moment to make himself smile and set his insides churning with a mixture of odd sensations he could not identify. He spent most of his time seated against the raft’s cabin, working on Orik’s ring and watching the changing landscape.
Around midday they passed the mouth of a valley, and another river melded into the Az Ragni, doubling its size and speed until the shores were over a mile apart. It was all the dwarves could do to keep the rafts from being tossed like flotsam before the inexorable current and to avoid smashing into the trees that occasionally floated by.
A mile after the rivers joined, the Az Ragni turned north and flowed past a lonely cloud-wreathed peak that stood separate from the main body of the Beor range, like a gigantic watchtower built to keep vigil over the plains.
The dwarves bowed to the peak when they saw it, and Orik told Eragon, “There is Moldûn the Proud. He is the last true mountain we shall see on this journey.”
When the rafts were moored for the evening, Eragon saw Orik unwrap a long black box inlaid with mother-of-pearl, rubies, and curved lines of silver. Orik flicked a clasp, then raised the lid to reveal an unstrung bow nestled in red velvet. The bow’s reflexed limbs were ebony, which formed the background for intricate patterns of vines, flowers, animals, and runes, all executed in the finest gold. It was such a luxurious weapon, Eragon wondered how anyone dared use it.
Orik strung the bow—it was nearly as tall as he was, but still no bigger than a child’s bow by Eragon’s standards—put the box away, and said, “I’m going to find some fresh meat. I’ll be back in an hour.” With that he disappeared into the brush. Thorv grunted disapprovingly, but made no move to stop him.
True to his word, Orik returned with a brace of long-necked geese. “I found a flock of them perched in a tree,” he said, tossing the birds to Dûthmér.
As Orik retrieved the bejeweled case, Eragon asked, “What kind of wood is your bow made of?”
“Wood?” Orik laughed, shaking his head. “You can’t make a bow this short out of wood and cast an arrow more than twenty yards; it breaks, or follows the string after a few shots. No, this is an Urgal horn bow!”
Eragon eyed him suspiciously, sure that the dwarf was trying to fool him. “Horn isn’t flexible or springy enough to make a bow.”
“Ah,” chortled Orik, “that’s because you have to know how to treat it right. We first learned to do it with Feldûnost horns, but it works just as well with an Urgal’s. It’s done by cutting the horn in half lengthwise, then trimming the outside coil until it’s the right thickness. The strip is boiled flat and sanded into the final shape before being fixed to the belly of an ash stave with glue made from fish scales and the skin from the roof of trout’s mouths. Then the back of the stave is covered with multiple layers of sinew; they give the bow itssnap . The last step is decoration. The entire process can take almost a decade.”
“I’ve never heard of a bow built like that before,” said Eragon. It made his own weapon seem no more than a crudely hacked branch. “How far does it shoot?”
“See for yourself,” said Orik. He let Eragon take the bow, which he held gingerly, for fear of scuffing its finish. Orik removed an arrow from his quiver and handed it to him. “You’ll owe me an arrow, though.”
Eragon fit shaft to string, aimed over the Az Ragni, and pulled back. The bow’s draw length was less than two feet, but he was surprised to find that its weight far exceeded that of his own bow; he was barely strong enough to hold the string. He released the arrow and it vanished with atwang, only to reappear far above the river. Eragon watched with amazement as the arrow landed in a spray of water halfway across the Az Ragni.
He immediately reached through the barrier in his mind so that the magic’s power suffused him and said, “Gath sem oro un lam iet.” After a few seconds, the arrow darted back through the air to land on his outstretched palm. “And there,” he said, “is the arrow I owe you.”
Orik clapped his fist to his chest and then embraced the arrow and bow with obvious delight. “Wonderful! Now I still have an even two dozen. Otherwise, I would have had to wait until Hedarth to replenish my stock.” He deftly unstrung the bow and stored it away, wrapping the case in soft rags to protect it.
Eragon saw Arya watching. He asked her, “Do elves use horn bows as well? You’re so strong, a wood bow would shatter if it was made heavy enough for you.”
“We sing our bows from trees that do not grow.” And then she walked away.
For days, they drifted through fields of spring grass while the Beor Mountains faded into a hazy white wall behind them. The banks were often covered with vast herds of gazelles and small red deer that watched them with liquid eyes.
Now that the Fanghur were no longer a threat, Eragon flew almost constantly with Saphira. It was their first opportunity since before Gil’ead to spend so much time together in the air, and they took full advantage of it. Also, Eragon welcomed the chance to escape the cramped deck of the raft, where he felt awkward and unsettled with Arya so near.
ARYASVIT-KONA
Eragon and his company followed the Az Ragni until it joined the Edda River, which then drifted into the unknown east. At the juncture between the rivers, they visited the dwarves’ trading outpost, Hedarth, and exchanged their rafts for donkeys. Dwarves never used horses on account of their size.
Arya refused the steed offered to her, saying, “I willnot return to the land of my ancestors on the back of a donkey.”
Thorv frowned. “How will you keep pace with us?”
“I will run.” And run she did, outstripping Snowfire and the donkeys, only to sit waiting for them at the next hill or copse. Despite her exertions, she displayed no sign of weariness when they stopped for the night, nor any inclination to utter more than a few words between breakfast and supper. With every step, she seemed to grow tenser.
From Hedarth, they trekked north, going up the Edda River toward its point of origin at Eldor Lake.
Du Weldenvarden came into view within three days. The forest first appeared as a hazy ridge on the horizon, then quickly expanded into an emerald sea of ancient oaks, beeches, and maples. From Saphira’s back, Eragon saw that the woods reached unbroken to the horizon both north and west, and he knew they extended far beyond that, stretching the entire length of Alagaësia.
To him, the shadows underneath the trees’ arching boughs seemed mysterious and enticing, as well as dangerous, for there lived the elves. Hidden somewhere in the dappled heart of Du Weldenvarden lay Ellesméra—where he would complete his training—as well as Osilon, and other elven cities few outsiders had visited since the fall of the Riders. The forest was a perilous place for mortals, Eragon felt, certain to be riddled with strange magic and stranger creatures.
It’s like another world,he observed. A pair of butterflies spiraled around each other as they rose from the dark interior of the forest.
I hope,said Saphira, there will be room for me within the trees on whatever path the elves use. I cannot fly the whole time.
I’m sure they found ways to accommodate dragons during the time of the Riders.
Mmm.
That night, just as Eragon was about to seek his blankets, Arya appeared by his shoulder, like a spirit materializing out of the air. Her stealth made him jump; he could never understand how she moved so quietly. Before he could ask what she wanted, her mind touched his and she said, Follow me as silently as you can.
The contact surprised him as much as the request. They had shared thoughts during the flight to Farthen Dûr—it had been the only way Eragon could speak to her through her self-induced coma—but since Arya’s recovery, he had made no attempt to touch her mind again. It was a profoundly personal experience. Whenever he reached out to another person’s consciousness, it felt as if a facet of his bare soul rubbed against theirs. It seemed boorish and rude to initiate something so private without an invitation, as well as a betrayal of Arya’s trust, slender as it was. Also, Eragon was afraid that such a link would reveal his new and confused feelings for Arya, and he had no desire to be ridiculed for them.
He accompanied her as she slipped out from the ring of tents, carefully evaded Tríhga, who had taken the first watch, and passed beyond the dwarves’ hearing. Within him, Saphira kept a close watch on his progress, ready to leap to his side if need be.
Arya squatted on a moss-eaten log and wrapped her arms around her knees without looking at him. “There are things you must know before we reach Ceris and Ellesméra so that you do not shame yourself or me through your ignorance.”
“Such as?” He crouched opposite her, curious.
Arya hesitated. “During my years as Islanzadí‘s ambassador, it was my observation that humans and dwarves are quite similar. You share many of the same beliefs and passions. More than one human has lived comfortably among the dwarves because he or she can understand their culture, as they understand yours. You both love, lust, hate, fight, and create in much the same manner. Your friendship with Orik and your acceptance into Dûrgrimst Ingeitum are examples of this.” Eragon nodded, although their differences seemed greater to him than that. “Elves, though, are not like other races.”
“You speak as though you weren’t one,” he said, echoing her words from Farthen Dûr.
“I have lived with the Varden for enough years to become accustomed to their traditions,” replied Arya in a brittle tone.
“Ah… So then do you mean to say that elves don’t have the same emotions as dwarves and humans? I find that hard to believe. All living things have the same basic needs and desires.”
“That is not what I mean to say!” Eragon recoiled, then frowned and studied her. It was unusual for her to be so brusque. Arya closed her eyes and placed her fingers on her temples, taking a long breath. “Because elves live for so many years, we consider courtesy to be the highest social virtue. You cannot afford to give offense when a grudge can be held for decades or centuries. Courtesy is the only way to prevent such hostility from accumulating. It doesn’t always succeed, but we adhere to our rituals rigorously, for they protect us from extremes. Nor are elves fecund, so it is vital that we avoid conflict among ourselves. If we shared the same rate of crime as you or the dwarves, we would soon be extinct.
“There is a proper way to greet the sentinels in Ceris, certain patterns and forms that you must observe when presented to Queen Islanzadí, and a hundred different manners in which to greet those around you, if it’s not better to just remain quiet.”
“With all your customs,” Eragon risked saying, “it seems as though you’ve only made it easier to offend people.”
A smile flickered across her lips. “Perhaps. You know as well as I that you will be judged by the highest standards. If you make a mistake, the elves will think you did it on purpose. And only harm will come if they discover that it was born of ignorance. Far better to be thought rude and capable than rude and incapable, else you risk being manipulated like The Serpent in a match of Runes. Our politics move in cycles that are both subtle and lengthy. What you see or hear of an elf one day may only be a slight move in a strategy that reaches back millennia, and may have no bearing on how that elf will behave tomorrow. It is a game that we all play but few control, a game that you are about to enter.
“Now perhaps you realize why I say elves are not like other races. The dwarves are also long-lived, yet they are more prolific than us and do not share our restraint or our taste for intrigue. And humans…” She let her voice fade into a tactful silence.
“Humans,” said Eragon, “do the best they can with what they are given.”
“Even so.”
“Why don’t you tell Orik all this as well? He’ll be staying in Ellesméra, same as me.”
An edge crept into Arya’s voice. “He is already somewhat familiar with our etiquette. However, as a Rider, you would do well to appear better educated than him.”
Eragon accepted her rebuke without protest. “What must I learn?”
So Arya began to tutor him and, through him, Saphira in the niceties of elven society. First she explained that when one elf meets another, they stop and touch their first two fingers to their lips to indicate that “we shall not distort the truth during our conversation.” This is followed by the phrase “Atra esterní ono thelduin” to which one replies “Atra du evarínya ono varda.”
“And,” said Arya, “if you are being especially formal, a third response is made: ‘Un atra mor’ranr lífa unin hjarta onr,’ which means, ‘And may peace live in your heart.’ These lines were adopted from a blessing that was made by a dragon when our pact with them was finalized. It goes:
Atra esterní ono thelduin,
Mor’ranr lífa unin hjarta onr,
Un du evarínya ono varda.
“Or: ‘May good fortune rule over you, peace live in your heart, and the stars watch over you.’”
“How do you know who is supposed to speak first?”
“If you greet someone with greater status than yourself or if you wish to honor a subordinate, then speak first. If you greet someone with less status than yourself, speak last. But if you are uncertain of your position, give your counterpart a chance to speak, and if they are silent, speak first. Such is the rule.”
Does it apply to me as well?asked Saphira.
Arya plucked a dry leaf from the ground and crumpled it between her fingers. Behind her, the camp faded into shadow as the dwarves banked the fire, dampening the flames with a layer of dirt so that the coals and embers would survive until morning. “As a dragon, none are higher than you in our culture. Not even the queen would claim authority over you. You may do and say as you wish. We do not expect dragons to be bound by our laws.”
Next she showed Eragon how to twist his right hand and place it over his sternum in a curious gesture. “This,” she said, “you will use when you meet I
slanzadí. By it you indicate that you offer her your loyalty and obedience.”
“Is it binding, like my oath of fealty to Nasuada?”
“No, only a courtesy, and a small one at that.”
Eragon struggled to remember the sundry modes of address that Arya instructed them in. The salutations varied from man to woman, adults to children, boys to girls, as well as by rank and prestige. It was a daunting list, but one that Eragon knew he had to memorize perfectly.
When he had absorbed all he could, Arya stood and dusted her hands. “So long as you do not forget, you’ll do well enough.” She turned to leave.
“Wait,” said Eragon. He reached out to stop her, then snatched back his hand before she noticed his presumption. She looked over her shoulder with a query in her dark eyes, and his stomach clenched as he tried to find a way to voice his thoughts. Despite his best efforts, he ended up just saying, “Are you well, Arya?… You’ve seemed distracted and out of sorts ever since we left Hedarth.”
As Arya’s face hardened into a blank mask, he winced inwardly, knowing that he had chosen the wrong approach, although he could not fathom why the question should offend her.
“When we are in Du Weldenvarden,” she informed him, “I expect that you will not speak to me in such a familiar way, unless you wish to cause affront.” She stalked away.
Run after her!exclaimed Saphira.
What?
We can’t afford to have her angry with you. Go apologize.
His pride rebelled. No! It’s her fault, not mine.
Go apologize, Eragon, or I’ll fill your tent with carrion. It was no idle threat.
How?
Saphira thought for a second, then told him what to do. Without arguing, he jumped to his feet and darted in front of Arya, forcing her to stop. She regarded him with a haughty expression.
He touched his fingers to his lips and said, “Arya Svit-kona,” using the honorific he had just learned for a woman of great wisdom. “I spoke badly, and for that I cry your pardon. Saphira and I were concerned for your welfare. After all you’ve done for us, it seemed the least we could do was offer our help in return, if you need it.”