3-Brisingr-3 (86 page)

Brom lowered his pipe, his face grave. “I hope you do. My greatest desire, Eragon, is that you and Saphira will live long and fruitful lives, free from fear of Galbatorix and the Empire. I wish that I could protect you from all of the dangers that threaten you, but alas, that is not within my ability. All I can do is give you my advice and teach you what I can
now
while I am still here. . . . My son. What ever happens to you, know that I love you, and so did your mother. May the stars watch over you, Eragon Bromsson.”

As Brom’s final words echoed in Eragon’s mind, the memory faded away, leaving behind empty darkness. Eragon opened his eyes and was embarrassed to find tears running down his cheeks. He uttered a choked laugh and wiped his eyes on the edge of his tunic.
Brom really was afraid that I would
hate him,
he said, and sniffed.

Are you going to be all right?
Saphira asked.

Yes,
said Eragon, and lifted his head.
I think I will, actually. I don’t like some of the things Brom did,
but I am proud to call him my father and to carry his name. He was a great man. . . . It bothers
me, though, that I never had the opportunity to talk to either of my parents as my parents.

At least you were able to spend time with Brom. I am not so fortunate; both my sire and my
mother died long before I hatched. The closest I can come to meeting them are a few hazy
memories from Glaedr.

Eragon put a hand on her neck, and they comforted each other as best they could while they stood upon the edge of the Crags of Tel’naeír and gazed out over the forest of the elves.

Not long afterward, Oromis emerged from his hut, carrying two bowls of soup, and Eragon and Saphira turned away from the crags and slowly walked back to the small table in front of Glaedr’s immense bulk.

SOULS OFSTONE

As Eragon pushed away his empty bowl, Oromis said, “Would you like to see a fairth of your mother, Eragon?”

Eragon froze for a moment, astonished. “Yes, please.” From within the folds of his white tunic, Oromis withdrew a shingle of thin gray slate, which he passed to Eragon.

The stone was cool and smooth between Eragon’s fingers. On the other side of it, he knew he would find a perfect likeness of his mother, painted by means of a spell with pigments an elf had set within the slate many years ago. A flutter of uneasiness ran through Eragon. He had always wanted to see his mother, but now that the opportunity was before him, he was afraid that the reality might disappoint him.

With an effort, he turned the slate over and beheld an image—clear as a vision seen through a window—of a garden of red and white roses lit by the pale rays of dawn. A gravel path ran through the beds of roses. And in the middle of the path was a woman, kneeling, cupping a white rose between her hands and smelling the flower, her eyes closed and a faint smile upon her lips. She was very beautiful, Eragon thought. Her expression was soft and tender, yet she wore clothes of padded leather, with blackened bracers upon her forearms and greaves upon her shins and a sword and dagger hanging from her waist. In the shape of her face, Eragon could detect a hint of his own features, as well as a certain resemblance to Garrow, her brother.

The image fascinated Eragon. He pressed his hand against the surface of the fairth, wishing that he could reach into it and touch her on the arm.

Mother.

Oromis said, “Brom gave me the fairth for safekeeping before he left for Carvahall, and now I give it to you.”

Without looking up, Eragon asked, “Would you keep it safe for me as well? It might get broken during our traveling and fighting.”

The pause that followed caught Eragon’s attention. He wrenched his gaze away from his mother to see that Oromis appeared melancholy and preoccupied. “No, Eragon, I cannot. You will have to make other arrangements for the preservation of the fairth.”

Why?
Eragon wanted to ask, but the sorrow in Oromis’s eyes dissuaded him.

Then Oromis said, “Your time here is limited, and we still have many matters to discuss. Shall I guess which subject you would like to address next, or will you tell me?”

With great reluctance, Eragon placed the fairth on the table and rotated it so that the image was upside down. “The two times we have fought Murtagh and Thorn, Murtagh has been more powerful than any human ought to be. On the Burning Plains, he defeated Saphira and me because we did not realize how strong he was. If not for his change of heart, we would be prisoners in Urû’baen right now. You once mentioned that you know how Galbatorix has become so powerful. Will you tell us now, Master? For our own safety, we need to know.”

“It is not my place to tell you this,” said Oromis.

“Then whose is it?” demanded Eragon. “You can’t—”

Behind Oromis, Glaedr opened one of his molten eyes, which was as large as a round shield, and said,
It
is mine. . . . The source of Galbatorix’s power lies in the hearts of dragons. From us, he steals his
strength. Without our aid, Galbatorix would have fallen to the elves and the Varden long ago
.

Eragon frowned. “I don’t understand. Why would you help Galbatorix? And how could you? There are only four dragons and an egg left in Alagaësia . . . aren’t there?”

Many of the dragons whose bodies Galbatorix and the Forsworn slew are still alive today.

“Still alive . . . ?” Bewildered, Eragon glanced at Oromis, but the elf remained quiet, his face inscrutable.

Even more disconcerting was that Saphira did not seem to share Eragon’s confusion.

The gold dragon turned his head on his paws to better look at Eragon, his scales scraping against one another.
Unlike with most creatures,
he said,
a dragon’s consciousness does not reside solely within
our skulls. There is in our chests a hard, gemlike object, similar in composition to our scales,
called the Eldunarí, which means “the heart of hearts.” When a dragon hatches, their Eldunarí is
clear and lusterless. Usually it remains so all through a dragon’s life and dissolves along with the
dragon’s corpse when they die. However, if we wish, we can transfer our consciousness into the
Eldunarí. Then it will acquire the same color as our scales and begin to glow like a coal. If a
dragon has done this, the Eldunarí will outlast the decay of their flesh, and a dragon’s essence
may live on indefinitely. Also, a dragon can disgorge their Eldunarí while they are still alive. By
this means, a dragon’s body and a dragon’s consciousness can exist separately and yet still be
linked, which can be most useful in certain circumstances. But to do this exposes us to great
danger, for whosoever holds our Eldunarí holds our very soul in their hands. With it, they could
force us to do their bidding, no matter how vile.

The implications of what Glaedr had said astounded Eragon. Shifting his gaze to Saphira, he asked,
Did
you already know about this?

The scales on her neck rippled as she made an odd, serpentine motion with her head.
I have always
been aware of my heart of hearts. Always I have been able to feel it inside of me, but I never
thought to mention it to you
.

How could you not when it’s of such significance?

Would you think it worthy of mention that you have a stomach, Eragon? Or a heart or a liver or
any other organ? My Eldunarí is an integral part of who I am. I never considered its existence
worthy of note. . . . At least not until we last came to Ellesméra.

So you did know!

Only a little. Glaedr hinted that my heart of hearts was more important than I had originally
believed, and he warned me to protect it, lest I inadvertently deliver myself into the hands of our
enemies. More than that he did not explain, but since then, I inferred much of what he just said.

Yet you still did not think this was worth mentioning?
demanded Eragon.

I wanted to,
she growled,
but as with Brom, I gave my word to Glaedr that I would speak of this to
no one, not even to you
.

And you agreed?

I trust Glaedr, and I trust Oromis. Do you not?

Eragon scowled and turned back to the elf and the golden dragon. “Why didn’t you tell us of this sooner?”

Unstoppering the decanter, Oromis refilled his goblet with wine and said, “In order to protect Saphira.”

“Protect her? From what?”

From you,
Glaedr said. Eragon was so surprised and outraged, he failed to regain his composure well enough to protest before Glaedr resumed speaking.
In the wild, a dragon would learn about his
Eldunarí from one of his elders when he was old enough to understand the use of it. That way, a
dragon would not transfer themself into their heart of hearts without knowing the full import of
their actions. Among the Riders, a different custom arose. The first few years of partnership
between a dragon and a Rider are crucial to establishing a healthy relationship between the two,
and the Riders discovered that it was better to wait until newly joined Riders and dragons were
well familiar with each other before informing them of the Eldunarí. Otherwise, in the reckless
folly of youth, a dragon might decide to disgorge his heart of hearts merely to appease or impress
his Rider. When we give up our Eldunarí, we are giving up a physical embodiment of our entire
being. And we cannot return it to its original place within our bodies once it is gone. A dragon
should not undertake the separation of their consciousness lightly, for it will change how they live
the rest of their lives, even if they should endure for another thousand years.

“Do you still have your heart of hearts within you?” Eragon asked.

The grass around the table bent under the blast of hot air that erupted from Glaedr’s nostrils.
That is not
a meet question to ask any dragon but Saphira. Do not presume to put it to me again, hatchling
.

Although Glaedr’s rebuke made Eragon’s cheeks sting, he still had the wherewithal to respond as he should, with a seated bow and the words “No, Master.” Then he asked, “What . . . what happens if your Eldunarí breaks?”

If a dragon has already transferred their consciousness to their heart of hearts, then they will die
a true death
. With an audible click, Glaedr blinked, his inner and outer eyelids flashing across the rayed orb of his iris.
Before we formed our pact with the elves, we kept our hearts in Du Fells Nángoröth,
the mountains in the center of the Hadarac Desert. Later, after the Riders established themselves
on the island of Vroengard and therein built a repository for the Eldunarí, wild dragons and
paired dragons both entrusted their hearts to the Riders for safekeeping
.

“So then,” said Eragon, “Galbatorix captured the Eldunarí?”

Contrary to Eragon’s expectations, it was Oromis who replied. “He did, but not all at once. It had been so long since anyone had truly threatened the Riders, many of our order had become careless about protecting the Eldunarí. At the time Galbatorix turned against us, it was not uncommon for a Rider’s dragon to disgorge their Eldunarí merely for the sake of convenience.”

“Convenience?”

Anyone who holds one of our hearts,
said Glaedr,
may communicate with the dragon from which it
came without regard for distance. The whole of Alagaësia might separate a Rider and dragon,
and yet if the Rider had with him his dragon’s Eldunarí, they could share thoughts as easily as you
and Saphira do now.

“In addition,” said Oromis, “a magician who possesses an Eldunarí can draw upon the dragon’s strength to bolster his spells, again without regard for where the dragon might be. When—”

A brilliantly colored hummingbird interrupted their conversation by darting across the table. Its wings a throbbing blur, the bird hovered over the bowls of fruit and lapped at the liquid oozing from a crushed blackberry, then flitted up and away, vanishing among the trunks of the forest.

Oromis resumed speaking: “When Galbatorix killed his first Rider, he also stole the heart of the Rider’s dragon. During the years Galbatorix spent hiding in the wilderness thereafter, he broke the dragon’s mind and bent it to his will, likely with the help of Durza. And when Galbatorix began his insurrection in earnest, with Morzan by his side, he was already stronger than most every other Rider. His strength was not merely magical but mental, for the force of the Eldunarí’s consciousness augmented his own.

“Galbatorix did not just try to kill the Riders and dragons. He made it his goal to acquire as many of the Eldunarí as he could, either by seizing them from Riders or by torturing a Rider until his dragon disgorged its heart of hearts. By the time we realized what Galbatorix was doing, he was already too powerful to stop. It helped Galbatorix that many Riders traveled not only with the Eldunarí of their own dragon but also with Eldunarí of dragons whose bodies were no more, for such dragons often became bored with sitting in an alcove and yearned for adventure. And of course, once Galbatorix and the Forsworn sacked the city of Doru Araeba on the island of Vroengard, he gained possession of the entire hoard of Eldunarí stored therein.

“Galbatorix engineered his success by using the might and wisdom of the dragons against all of Alagaësia. At first he was unable to control more than a handful of the Eldunarí he had captured. It is no easy thing to force a dragon to submit to you, no matter how powerful you might be. As soon as Galbatorix crushed the Riders and had installed himself as king in Urû’baen, he dedicated himself to subduing the rest of the hearts, one by one.