Eldest [en]

them, but they followed clearly defined paths from their nest to food and back. Their source of food was another surprise. As he had expected, the ants killed and scavenged other insects, but most of their efforts were directed toward the cultivation of... of something that dotted the rosebush. Whatever the life-form was, it was barely large enough for him to sense. He focused all of his strength on it in an attempt to identify it and satisfy his curiosity.

The answer was so simple, he laughed out loud when he comprehended it: aphids. The ants were acting as shepherds for aphids, driving and protecting them, as well as extracting sustenance from them by massaging the aphids’ bellies with the tips of their antennae. Eragon could hardly believe it, but the longer he watched, the more he became convinced that he was correct.

He traced the ants underground into their complex matrix of warrens and studied how they cared for a certain member of their species that was several times bigger than a normal ant. However, he was unable to determine the insect’s purpose; all he could see were servants swarming around it, rotating it, and removing the specks of matter it produced at regular intervals.

After a time, Eragon decided that he had gleaned all the information from the ants that he could — unless he was willing to sit there for the rest of the day — and was about to return to his body when a squirrel jumped into the glade. Its appearance was like a blast of light to him, attuned as he was to the insects. Stunned, he was overwhelmed by a rush of sensations and feelings from the animal. He smelled the forest with its nose, felt the bark give under his hooked claws and the air swish through his upraised plume of a tail. Compared to an ant, the squirrel burned with energy and possessed unquestionable intelligence.

Then it leaped to another branch and faded from his awareness.

The forest seemed much darker and quieter than before when Eragon opened his eyes. He took a deep breath and looked about, appreciating for the first time how much life existed in the world. Unfolding his cramped legs, he walked over to the rosebush.

He bent down and examined the branches and twigs. Sure enough, aphids and their crimson guardians clung to them. And near the base of the plant was the mound of pine needles that marked the entrance to the ants’ lair. It was strange to see with his own eyes; none of it betrayed the numerous and subtle interactions that he was now aware of.

Engrossed in his thoughts, Eragon returned to the clearing, wondering what he might be crushing under his feet with every step. When he emerged from under the trees’ shelter, he was startled by how far the sun had fallen. I must have been sitting there for at least three hours.

He found Oromis in his hut, writing with a goose-feather quill. The elf finished his line, then wiped the nib of the quill clean, stoppered his ink, and asked, “And what did you hear, Eragon?”

Eragon was eager to share. As he described his experience, he heard his voice rise with enthusiasm over the details of the ants’ society. He recounted everything that he could recall, down to the minutest and most inconsequential observation, proud of the information that he had gathered.

When he finished, Oromis raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

“I...” Dismay gripped Eragon as he understood that he had somehow missed the point of the exercise. “Yes, Ebrithil.”

“And what about the other organisms in the earth and the air? Can you tell me what they were doing while your ants tended their droves?”

“No, Ebrithil.”

“Therein lies your mistake. You must become aware of all things equally and not blinker yourself in order to concentrate on a particular subject. This is an essential lesson, and until you master it, you will meditate on the stump for an hour each day.”

“How will I know when I have mastered it?”

“When you can watch one and know all.”

Oromis motioned for Eragon to join him at the table, then set a fresh sheet of paper before him, along with a quill and a bottle of ink. “So far you have made do with an incomplete knowledge of the ancient language. Not that any of us knows all the words in the language, but you must be familiar with its grammar and structure so that you do not kill yourself through an incorrectly placed verb or similar mistake. I do not expect you to speak our language like an elf — that would take a lifetime — but I do expect you to achieve unconscious competence. That is, you must be able to use it without thinking.

“In addition, you must learn to read and write the ancient language. Not only will this help you to memorize words, it is an essential skill if you need to compose an especially long spell and you don’t trust your memory, or if you find such a spell recorded and you want to use it.

“Every race has evolved their own system of writing the ancient language. The dwarves use their runic alphabet, as do humans. They are only makeshift techniques, though, and are incapable of expressing the language’s true subtleties as well as our Liduen Kvaedhi, the Poetic Script. The Liduen Kvaedhi was designed to be as elegant, beautiful, and precise as possible. It is composed of forty-two different shapes that represent various sounds. These shapes can be combined in a nearly infinite range of glyphs that represent both individual words and entire phrases. The symbol on your ring is one such glyph. The symbol on Zar’roc is another... Let us start: What are the basic vowel sounds of the ancient language?”

“What?”

Eragon’s ignorance of the underpinnings of the ancient language quickly became apparent. When he had traveled with Brom, the old storyteller had concentrated on having Eragon memorize lists of words that he might need to survive, as well as perfecting his pronunciation. In those two areas, he excelled, but he could not even explain the difference between a definite and indefinite article. If the gaps in his education frustrated Oromis, the elf did not betray it through word or action, but labored persistently to mend them.

At a certain point during the lesson, Eragon commented, “I’ve never needed very many words in my spells; Brom said it was a gift that I could do so much with just brisingr. I think the most I ever said in the ancient language was when I spoke to Arya in her mind and when I blessed an orphan in Farthen Dur.”

“You blessed a child in the ancient language?” asked Oromis, suddenly alert. “Do you remember how you worded this blessing?”

“Aye.”

“Recite it for me.” Eragon did so, and a look of pure horror engulfed Oromis. He exclaimed, “You used skolir! Are you sure? Wasn’t it skoliro?”

Eragon frowned. “No, skolir. Why shouldn’t I have used it? Skolir means shielded. ‘... and may you be shielded from misfortune.’ It was a good blessing.”

“That was no blessing, but a curse.” Oromis was more agitated than Eragon had ever seen him. “The suffix o forms the past tense of verbs ending with r and i. Skoliro means shielded, but skolir means shield. What you said was ‘May luck and happiness follow you and may you be a shield from misfortune.’ Instead of protecting this child from the vagaries of fate, you condemned her to be a sacrifice for others, to absorb their misery and suffering so that they might live in peace.”

No, no! It can’t be! Eragon recoiled from the possibility. “The effect a spell has isn’t only determined by the word’s sense, but also by your intent, and I didn’t intend to harm—”

“You cannot gainsay a word’s inherent nature. Twist it, yes. Guide it, yes. But not contravene its definition to imply the very opposite.” Oromis pressed his fingers together and stared at the table, his lips reduced to a flat white line. “I will trust that you did not mean harm, else I would refuse to teach you further. If you were honest and your heart was pure, then this blessing may cause less evil than I fear, though it will still be the nucleus of more pain than either of us could wish.”

Violent trembling overtook Eragon as he realized what he had done to the child’s life. “It may not undo my mistake,” he said, “but perhaps it will alleviate it; Saphira marked the girl on the brow, just like she marked my palm with the gedwey ignasia.”

For the first time in his life, Eragon witnessed an elf dumbstruck. Oromis’s gray eyes widened, his mouth opened, and he clutched the arms of his chair until the wood groaned with protest. “One who bears the sign of the