Brisingr [en]

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’naeir 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 OF STONE

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 Uru’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 Alagaesia... 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 Eldunari, which means “the heart of hearts.” When a dragon hatches, their Eldunari 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 Eldunari. Then it will acquire the same color as our scales and begin to glow like a coal. If a dragon has done this, the Eldunari will outlast the decay of their flesh, and a dragon’s essence may live on indefinitely. Also, a dragon can disgorge their Eldunari 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 Eldunari 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 Eldunari is an integral part of who I am. I never considered its existence worthy of note... At least not until we last came to Ellesmera.

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