Eragon did not leave, however, but began a new spell. He drew upon the knowledge of the Eldunarí and of the Riders whom many of the older dragons had been paired with, and he sang a spell that nurtured and fostered and restored what had once been. It was a difficult task, but Eragon’s skill was greater than it had once been, and he was able to accomplish what he wished.
As Eragon sang, Sloan twitched, and then he began to curse and scratch with both hands at his cheek and brow, as if an itch had seized him.
“Blast you! What are you doing to me!”
Ending his incantation, Eragon squatted back down and gently removed the strip of cloth around Sloan’s head. Sloan hissed as he felt the strip being pulled away, and he reached up to stop Eragon, but was too slow and his hands closed on empty air.
“You would take my dignity as well?” said Sloan, hate in his voice.
“No,” said Eragon. “I would give it back. Open your eyes.”
The butcher hesitated. “No. I can’t. You’re trying to trick me.”
“When have I ever done that? Open your eyes, Sloan, and look upon your daughter and granddaughter.”
Sloan trembled, and then, slowly, ever so slowly, his eyelids crept upward and revealed, instead of empty sockets, a pair of gleaming eyes. Unlike those he had been born with, Sloan’s new eyes were blue as the noonday sky and of startling brilliance.
Sloan blinked, his pupils shrinking as they adjusted to the meager light within the forest. Then he jolted upright and twisted to peer over the top of the root at the festivities taking place between the trees beyond. The glow from the elves’ flameless lanterns lit his face with a warm light, and by it, he seemed suffused with life and joy. The transformation in his expression was amazing to behold; Eragon felt tears in his own eyes as he watched the older man.
Sloan continued to stare over the root, like a parched traveler seeing a great river before him. In a hoarse voice, he said, “She’s beautiful. They’re both so beautiful.” Another burst of laughter rang forth. “Ah … she looks happy. And Roran too.”
“From now on, you can look at them if you want,” said Eragon. “But the spells upon you still won’t let you talk with them or show yourself to them or contact them in any way. And if you try, I’ll know.”
“I understand,” murmured Sloan. He turned, and his eyes focused on Eragon with unsettling force. His jaw worked up and down for a few seconds, as if he were chewing on something, and then he said, “Thank you.”
Eragon nodded and stood. “Goodbye, Sloan. You’ll not see me again, I promise.”
“Goodbye, Eragon.” And the butcher twisted round to gaze once more into the light of the elven feast.
LEAVE-TAKING
week passed: a week of laughter and music and long walks amid the wonders of Ellesméra. Eragon took Roran, Katrina, and Ismira to visit Oromis’s hut on the Crags of Tel’naeír, and Saphira showed them the sculpture of licked stone she had made for the Blood-oath Celebration. As for Arya, she spent a day guiding them about the many gardens in the city, so they might see some of the more spectacular plants the elves had collected and created throughout the ages.
Eragon and Saphira would have been happy to stay in Ellesméra for another few weeks, but Blödhgarm contacted them and informed them that he and the Eldunarí under his charge had arrived at Ardwen Lake. And though neither Eragon nor Saphira wished to admit it, they knew it was time to leave.
It cheered them, however, when Arya and Fírnen announced that they would fly with them, at least until the edge of Du Weldenvarden and maybe a bit farther.
Katrina decided to stay behind with Ismira, but Roran asked to accompany them on the first part of their journey, for as he said, “I’d like to see what the far side of Alagaësia looks like, and traveling with you is faster than having to ride all the way out there on a horse.”
At dawn the next day, Eragon said his farewells to Katrina, who cried the whole while, and to Ismira, who nursed on her thumb and stared at him without comprehension.
Then they set out, Saphira and Fírnen flying side by side as they headed eastward over the forest. Roran sat behind Eragon, holding him by the waist, while Cuaroc dangled from Saphira’s talons, his body reflecting the sunlight as brightly as any mirror.
After two and a half days, they sighted Ardwen Lake: a pale sheet of water larger than the whole of Palancar Valley. On its western bank stood the city of Sílthrim, which neither Eragon nor Saphira had visited before. And bobbing in the water by the city’s wharves was a long white ship with a single mast.
The vessel looked as Eragon knew it would, for he recognized it from his dreams, and a sense of inexorable fate settled upon him as he gazed at it.
This was always meant to be, he thought.
They spent the night in Sílthrim, which was much like Ellesméra, although smaller and more densely built. While they rested, the elves loaded the Eldunarí onto the ship, along with food, tools, cloth, and other useful supplies. The ship’s crew was composed of twenty elves who wished to help with the raising of the dragons and the training of future Riders, as well as Blödhgarm and all of his remaining spellcasters, save Laufin and Uthinarë, who at that point took their leave.
In the morning, Eragon modified the spell that kept the eggs hidden above Saphira and removed two, which he gave to the elves Arya had chosen to safeguard them. One of the eggs would go to the dwarves, the other to the Urgals, and hopefully the dragons within would see fit to choose Riders from their designated race. If not, then they would swap places, and if they still did not find Riders for themselves … well, Eragon was not quite sure what to do then, but he was confident Arya would figure something out. Once the eggs hatched, they and their Riders would answer to Arya and Fírnen until they were old enough to join Eragon, Saphira, and the rest of their kin in the east.
Then Eragon, Arya, Roran, Cuaroc, Blödhgarm, and the other elves traveling with them boarded the ship, and they set sail across the lake, while Saphira and Fírnen circled high overhead.
The ship was named the Talíta, after a reddish star in the eastern sky. Light and narrow, the vessel needed only a few inches of water to float. It moved without sound and hardly needed steering, as it seemed to know exactly where its helmsman wished to go.
For days, they floated through the forest, first across Ardwen Lake and then, later, down the Gaena River, which was swollen with the spring snowmelt. As they passed through the green tunnel of branches, birds of many kinds sang and flew about them, and squirrels—both red and black—would scold them from the tops of the trees or would sit watching on branches that hung just out of reach.
Eragon spent most of his time with either Arya or Roran and only flew with Saphira on rare occasions. For her part, Saphira kept with Fírnen, and he often saw them sitting on the bank, their paws overlapping and their heads resting side by side on the ground.
During the days, the light in the forest was gold and hazy; during the nights, the stars twinkled brightly and the waxing moon provided enough illumination to sail by. The warmth and the haze and the constant rocking of the Talíta made Eragon feel as if he were half-asleep, lost in the remembrance of a pleasant dream.