Now is the moment, said Saphira, and he knew she was right.
Eragon untied the casket of gold and gems from the back of his horse’s saddle and carried it to Roran.
“This is where we part, then?” Roran asked.
Eragon nodded. “Here,” he said, giving the casket to Roran. “You should have this. You can make better use of it than I.… Use it to build your castle.”
“I’ll do that,” said Roran, his voice thick. He placed the casket under his left arm, and then he embraced Eragon with his right, and they held each other for a long moment. Afterward, Roran said, “Be safe, Brother.”
“You too, Brother.… Take care of Katrina and Ismira.”
“I will.”
Unable to think of anything else to say, Eragon touched Roran once more on the shoulder, then turned away and went to join Arya where she stood waiting for him by the two rows of elves.
They stared at each other for a handful of heartbeats, and then Arya said, “Eragon.” She had drawn her cowl as well, and in the moonlight, he could see little of her face.
“Arya.” He looked down the silvery river and then back at Arya, and he gripped the hilt of Brisingr. He was so full of emotion, he trembled. He did not want to leave, but he knew he must. “Stay with me—”
Her gaze darted up. “I cannot.”
“… stay with me until the first curve in the river.”
She hesitated, then nodded. He held out his arm, and she looped hers through his, and together they walked onto the ship and went to stand by the prow.
The elves behind them followed, and once they were all on board, they pulled up the gangplank. Without wind or oars, the ship moved away from the stony shore and began to drift down the long, flat river.
On the beach, Roran stood alone, watching them go. Then he threw back his head and uttered a long, aching cry, and the night echoed with the sound of his loss.
For several minutes, Eragon stood next to Arya, and neither spoke as they watched the first curve in the river approach. At last, Eragon turned to her, and he pushed the cowl away from her face, so that he could see her eyes.
“Arya,” he said. And he whispered her true name. A tremor of recognition ran through her.
She whispered his true name in response, and he too shivered at hearing the fullness of his being.
He opened his mouth to speak again, but Arya forestalled him by placing three of her fingers upon his lips. She stepped back from him then and raised one arm over her head.
“Farewell, Eragon Shadeslayer,” she said.
And then Fírnen swept down from above and snatched her off the deck of the ship, buffeting Eragon with the gusts of air from his wings.
“Farewell,” Eragon whispered as he watched her and Fírnen fly back toward where Roran still stood upon the distant shore.
Then Eragon finally allowed the tears to spill from his eyes, and he clutched the railing of the ship and wept as he left behind all that he had ever known. Above, Saphira keened, and her grief mingled with his as they mourned what could never be.
In time, however, Eragon’s heart slowed, and his tears dried, and a measure of peace stole over him as he gazed out at the empty plain. He wondered what strange things they might encounter within its wild reaches, and he pondered the life he and Saphira were to have—a life with the dragons and Riders.
We are not alone, little one, said Saphira.
A smile crept across his face.
And the ship sailed onward, gliding serenely down the moonlit river toward the dark lands beyond.