Eragon
Page 19
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No,said the dragon. It sounded amused with his efforts.Eragon.
“That’smy name; you can’t have it,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Well, if you don’t like those, there are others.” He continued through the list, but the dragon rejected every one he proposed. It seemed to be laughing at something Eragon did not understand, but he ignored it and kept suggesting names. “There was Ingothold, he slew the . . .” A revelation stopped him.That’s the problem! I’ve been choosing male names. You are a she!
Yes.The dragon folded her wings smugly.
Now that he knew what to look for, he came up with half a dozen names. He toyed with Miremel, but that did not fit—after all, it was the name of a brown dragon. Opheila and Lenora were also discarded. He was about to give up when he remembered the last name Brom had muttered. Eragon liked it, but would the dragon?
He asked.
“Are you Saphira?” She looked at him with intelligent eyes. Deep in his mind he felt her satisfaction.
Yes.Something clicked in his head and her voice echoed, as if from a great distance. He grinned in response. Saphira started humming.
AM ILLER-TO-BE
The sun had set by the time dinner was served. A blustery wind howled outside, shaking the house. Eragon eyed Roran closely and waited for the inevitable. Finally: “I was offered a job at Therinsford’s mill . . . which I plan to take.”
Garrow finished his mouthful of food with deliberate slowness and laid down his fork. He leaned back in his chair, then interlaced his fingers behind his head and uttered one dry word, “Why?”
Roran explained while Eragon absently picked at his food.
“I see,” was Garrow’s only comment. He fell silent and stared at the ceiling. No one moved as they awaited his response. “Well, when do you leave?”
“What?” asked Roran.
Garrow leaned forward with a twinkle in his eye. “Did you think I would stop you? I’d hoped you would marry soon. It will be good to see this family growing again. Katrina will be lucky to have you.” Astonishment raced over Roran’s face, then he settled into a relieved grin. “So when do you leave?” Garrow asked.
Roran regained his voice. “When Dempton returns to get the sockets for the mill.”
Garrow nodded. “And that will be in . . . ?”
“Two weeks.”
“Good. That will give us time to prepare. It’ll be different to have the house to ourselves. But if nothing goes amiss, it shouldn’t be for too long.” He looked over the table and asked, “Eragon, did you know of this?”
He shrugged ruefully. “Not until today. . . . It’s madness.”
Garrow ran a hand over his face. “It’s life’s natural course.” He pushed himself up from the chair. “All will be fine; time will settle everything. For now, though, let’s clean the dishes.” Eragon and Roran helped him in silence.
The next few days were trying. Eragon’s temper was frayed. Except for curtly answering direct questions, he spoke with no one. There were small reminders everywhere that Roran was leaving: Garrow making him a pack, things missing from the walls, and a strange emptiness that filled the house. It was almost a week before he realized that distance had grown between Roran and him. When they spoke, the words did not come easily and their conversations were uncomfortable.
Saphira was a balm for Eragon’s frustration. He could talk freely with her; his emotions were completely open to her mind, and she understood him better than anyone else. During the weeks before Roran’s departure, she went through another growth spurt. She gained twelve inches at the shoulder, which was now higher than Eragon’s. He found that the small hollow where her neck joined her shoulders was a perfect place to sit. He often rested there in the evenings and scratched her neck while he explained the meanings of different words. Soon she understood everything he said and frequently commented on it.
For Eragon, this part of his life was delightful. Saphira was as real and complex as any person. Her personality was eclectic and at times completely alien, yet they understood each other on a profound level. Her actions and thoughts constantly revealed new aspects of her character. Once she caught an eagle and, instead of eating it, released it, saying,No hunter of the sky should end his days as prey. Better to die on the wing than pinned to the ground.
Eragon’s plan to let his family see Saphira was dispelled by Roran’s announcement and Saphira’s own cautionary words. She was reluctant to be seen, and he, partly out of selfishness, agreed. The moment her existence was divulged, he knew that shouts, accusations, and fear would be directed at him . . . so he procrastinated. He told himself to wait for a sign that it was the right time.
The night before Roran was to leave, Eragon went to talk with him. He stalked down the hallway to Roran’s open door. An oil lamp rested on a nightstand, painting the walls with warm flickering light. The bedposts cast elongated shadows on empty shelves that rose to the ceiling. Roran—his eyes shaded and the back of his neck tense—was rolling blankets around his clothes and belongings. He paused, then picked up something from the pillow and bounced it in his hand. It was a polished rock Eragon had given him years ago. Roran started to tuck it into the bundle, then stopped and set it on a shelf. A hard lump formed in Eragon’s throat, and he left.
S TRANGERS INCARVAHALL
Breakfast was cold, but the tea was hot. Ice inside the windows had melted with the morning fire and soaked into the wood floor, staining it with dark puddles. Eragon looked at Garrow and Roran by the kitchen stove and reflected that this would be the last time he saw them together for many months.
“That’smy name; you can’t have it,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Well, if you don’t like those, there are others.” He continued through the list, but the dragon rejected every one he proposed. It seemed to be laughing at something Eragon did not understand, but he ignored it and kept suggesting names. “There was Ingothold, he slew the . . .” A revelation stopped him.That’s the problem! I’ve been choosing male names. You are a she!
Yes.The dragon folded her wings smugly.
Now that he knew what to look for, he came up with half a dozen names. He toyed with Miremel, but that did not fit—after all, it was the name of a brown dragon. Opheila and Lenora were also discarded. He was about to give up when he remembered the last name Brom had muttered. Eragon liked it, but would the dragon?
He asked.
“Are you Saphira?” She looked at him with intelligent eyes. Deep in his mind he felt her satisfaction.
Yes.Something clicked in his head and her voice echoed, as if from a great distance. He grinned in response. Saphira started humming.
AM ILLER-TO-BE
The sun had set by the time dinner was served. A blustery wind howled outside, shaking the house. Eragon eyed Roran closely and waited for the inevitable. Finally: “I was offered a job at Therinsford’s mill . . . which I plan to take.”
Garrow finished his mouthful of food with deliberate slowness and laid down his fork. He leaned back in his chair, then interlaced his fingers behind his head and uttered one dry word, “Why?”
Roran explained while Eragon absently picked at his food.
“I see,” was Garrow’s only comment. He fell silent and stared at the ceiling. No one moved as they awaited his response. “Well, when do you leave?”
“What?” asked Roran.
Garrow leaned forward with a twinkle in his eye. “Did you think I would stop you? I’d hoped you would marry soon. It will be good to see this family growing again. Katrina will be lucky to have you.” Astonishment raced over Roran’s face, then he settled into a relieved grin. “So when do you leave?” Garrow asked.
Roran regained his voice. “When Dempton returns to get the sockets for the mill.”
Garrow nodded. “And that will be in . . . ?”
“Two weeks.”
“Good. That will give us time to prepare. It’ll be different to have the house to ourselves. But if nothing goes amiss, it shouldn’t be for too long.” He looked over the table and asked, “Eragon, did you know of this?”
He shrugged ruefully. “Not until today. . . . It’s madness.”
Garrow ran a hand over his face. “It’s life’s natural course.” He pushed himself up from the chair. “All will be fine; time will settle everything. For now, though, let’s clean the dishes.” Eragon and Roran helped him in silence.
The next few days were trying. Eragon’s temper was frayed. Except for curtly answering direct questions, he spoke with no one. There were small reminders everywhere that Roran was leaving: Garrow making him a pack, things missing from the walls, and a strange emptiness that filled the house. It was almost a week before he realized that distance had grown between Roran and him. When they spoke, the words did not come easily and their conversations were uncomfortable.
Saphira was a balm for Eragon’s frustration. He could talk freely with her; his emotions were completely open to her mind, and she understood him better than anyone else. During the weeks before Roran’s departure, she went through another growth spurt. She gained twelve inches at the shoulder, which was now higher than Eragon’s. He found that the small hollow where her neck joined her shoulders was a perfect place to sit. He often rested there in the evenings and scratched her neck while he explained the meanings of different words. Soon she understood everything he said and frequently commented on it.
For Eragon, this part of his life was delightful. Saphira was as real and complex as any person. Her personality was eclectic and at times completely alien, yet they understood each other on a profound level. Her actions and thoughts constantly revealed new aspects of her character. Once she caught an eagle and, instead of eating it, released it, saying,No hunter of the sky should end his days as prey. Better to die on the wing than pinned to the ground.
Eragon’s plan to let his family see Saphira was dispelled by Roran’s announcement and Saphira’s own cautionary words. She was reluctant to be seen, and he, partly out of selfishness, agreed. The moment her existence was divulged, he knew that shouts, accusations, and fear would be directed at him . . . so he procrastinated. He told himself to wait for a sign that it was the right time.
The night before Roran was to leave, Eragon went to talk with him. He stalked down the hallway to Roran’s open door. An oil lamp rested on a nightstand, painting the walls with warm flickering light. The bedposts cast elongated shadows on empty shelves that rose to the ceiling. Roran—his eyes shaded and the back of his neck tense—was rolling blankets around his clothes and belongings. He paused, then picked up something from the pillow and bounced it in his hand. It was a polished rock Eragon had given him years ago. Roran started to tuck it into the bundle, then stopped and set it on a shelf. A hard lump formed in Eragon’s throat, and he left.
S TRANGERS INCARVAHALL
Breakfast was cold, but the tea was hot. Ice inside the windows had melted with the morning fire and soaked into the wood floor, staining it with dark puddles. Eragon looked at Garrow and Roran by the kitchen stove and reflected that this would be the last time he saw them together for many months.
