Eldest
Page 92
“I thought that it might be for washing clothes or linens.”
“It is for washingyou. Two nozzles are concealed in the side of the wall above the hollow. Open them and you can bathe in water of any temperature. Also,” he gestured at Eragon’s chin, “while you are my student, I expect you to keep yourself clean-shaven until you can grow a full beard—if you so choose—and not look like a tree with half its leaves blown off. Elves do not shave, but I will have a razor and mirror found and sent to you.”
Wincing at the blow to his pride, Eragon agreed. They returned outside, whereupon Oromis looked at Glaedr and the dragon said,We have decided upon a curriculum for Saphira and you.
The elf said, “You will start—”
—an hour after sunrise tomorrow, in the time of the Red Lily. Return here then.
“And bring the saddle that Brom made for you, Saphira,” continued Oromis. “Do what you wish in the meantime; Ellesméra holds many wonders for a foreigner, if you care to see them.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Eragon, bowing his head. “Before I go, Master, I want to thank you for helping me in Tronjheim after I killed Durza. I doubt that I would have survived without your assistance. I am in your debt.”
We are both in your debt,added Saphira.
Oromis smiled slightly and inclined his head.
THESECRETLIVES OFANTS
The moment that Oromis and Glaedr were out of sight, Saphira said,Eragon, another dragon! Can you believe it?
He patted her shoulder.It’s wonderful. High above Du Weldenvarden, the only sign of habitation in the forest was an occasional ghostly plume of smoke that rose from the crown of a tree and soon faded into clear air.
I never expected to encounter another dragon, except for Shruikan. Maybe rescue the eggs from Galbatorix, yes, but that was the extent of my hopes. And now this!She wriggled underneath him with joy.Glaedr is incredible, isn’t he? He’s so old and strong and his scales are so bright. He must be two, no, three times bigger than me. Did you see his claws? They . . .
She continued on in that manner for several minutes, waxing eloquent about Glaedr’s attributes. But stronger than her words were the emotions Eragon sensed roiling within her: eagerness and enthusiasm, twined over what he could only identify as a longing adoration.
Eragon tried to tell Saphira what he had learned from Oromis—since he knew that she had not paid attention—but he found it impossible to change the subject of conversation. He sat silently on her back, the world an emerald ocean below, and felt himself the loneliest man in existence.
Back at their quarters, Eragon decided against any sightseeing; he was far too tired from the day’s events and the weeks of traveling. And Saphira was more than content to sit on her bed and chatter about Glaedr while he examined the mysteries of the elves’ wash closet.
Morning came, and with it a package wrapped in onionskin paper containing the razor and mirror that Oromis had promised. The blade was of elvish make, so it needed no sharpening or stropping. Grimacing, Eragon first bathed in steaming hot water, then held up the mirror and confronted his visage.
I look older. Older and worn.Not only that, but his features had become far more angled, giving him an ascetic, hawklike appearance. He was no elf, but neither would anyone take him to be a purebred human if they inspected him closely. Pulling back his hair, he bared his ears, which now tapered to slight points, more evidence of how his bond with Saphira had changed him. He touched one ear, letting his fingers wander over the unfamiliar shape.
It was difficult for him to accept the transformation of his flesh. Even though he had known it would occur—and occasionally welcomed the prospect as the last confirmation that he was a Rider—the reality of it filled him with confusion. He resented the fact that he had no say in how his body was being altered, yet at the same time he was curious where the process would take him. Also, he was aware that he was still in the midst of his own, human adolescence, and its attendant realm of mysteries and difficulties.
When will I finally know who and what I am?
He placed the edge of the razor against his cheek, as he had seen Garrow do, and dragged it across his skin. The hairs came free, but they were cut long and ragged. He altered the angle of the blade and tried again with a bit more success.
When he reached his chin, though, the razor slipped in his hand and cut him from the corner of his mouth to the underside of his jaw. He howled and dropped the razor, clapping his hand over the incision, which poured blood down his neck. Spitting the words past bared teeth, he said, “Waíse heill.” The pain quickly receded as magic knitted his flesh back together, though his heart still pounded from the shock.
Eragon!cried Saphira. She forced her head and shoulders into the vestibule and nosed open the door to the closet, flaring her nostrils at the scent of blood.
I’ll live,he assured her.
She eyed the sanguine water.Be more careful. I’d rather you were as ragged as a molting deer than have you decapitate yourself for the sake of a close shave.
So would I. Go on, I’m fine.
Saphira grunted and reluctantly withdrew.
Eragon sat, glaring at the razor. Finally, he muttered, “Forget this.” Composing himself, he reviewed his store of words from the ancient language, selected those that he needed, and then allowed his invented spell to roll off his tongue. A faint stream of black powder fell from his face as his stubble crumbled into dust, leaving his cheeks perfectly smooth.
Satisfied, Eragon went and saddled Saphira, who immediately took to the air, aiming their course toward the Crags of Tel’naeír. They landed before the hut and were met by Oromis and Glaedr.
“It is for washingyou. Two nozzles are concealed in the side of the wall above the hollow. Open them and you can bathe in water of any temperature. Also,” he gestured at Eragon’s chin, “while you are my student, I expect you to keep yourself clean-shaven until you can grow a full beard—if you so choose—and not look like a tree with half its leaves blown off. Elves do not shave, but I will have a razor and mirror found and sent to you.”
Wincing at the blow to his pride, Eragon agreed. They returned outside, whereupon Oromis looked at Glaedr and the dragon said,We have decided upon a curriculum for Saphira and you.
The elf said, “You will start—”
—an hour after sunrise tomorrow, in the time of the Red Lily. Return here then.
“And bring the saddle that Brom made for you, Saphira,” continued Oromis. “Do what you wish in the meantime; Ellesméra holds many wonders for a foreigner, if you care to see them.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Eragon, bowing his head. “Before I go, Master, I want to thank you for helping me in Tronjheim after I killed Durza. I doubt that I would have survived without your assistance. I am in your debt.”
We are both in your debt,added Saphira.
Oromis smiled slightly and inclined his head.
THESECRETLIVES OFANTS
The moment that Oromis and Glaedr were out of sight, Saphira said,Eragon, another dragon! Can you believe it?
He patted her shoulder.It’s wonderful. High above Du Weldenvarden, the only sign of habitation in the forest was an occasional ghostly plume of smoke that rose from the crown of a tree and soon faded into clear air.
I never expected to encounter another dragon, except for Shruikan. Maybe rescue the eggs from Galbatorix, yes, but that was the extent of my hopes. And now this!She wriggled underneath him with joy.Glaedr is incredible, isn’t he? He’s so old and strong and his scales are so bright. He must be two, no, three times bigger than me. Did you see his claws? They . . .
She continued on in that manner for several minutes, waxing eloquent about Glaedr’s attributes. But stronger than her words were the emotions Eragon sensed roiling within her: eagerness and enthusiasm, twined over what he could only identify as a longing adoration.
Eragon tried to tell Saphira what he had learned from Oromis—since he knew that she had not paid attention—but he found it impossible to change the subject of conversation. He sat silently on her back, the world an emerald ocean below, and felt himself the loneliest man in existence.
Back at their quarters, Eragon decided against any sightseeing; he was far too tired from the day’s events and the weeks of traveling. And Saphira was more than content to sit on her bed and chatter about Glaedr while he examined the mysteries of the elves’ wash closet.
Morning came, and with it a package wrapped in onionskin paper containing the razor and mirror that Oromis had promised. The blade was of elvish make, so it needed no sharpening or stropping. Grimacing, Eragon first bathed in steaming hot water, then held up the mirror and confronted his visage.
I look older. Older and worn.Not only that, but his features had become far more angled, giving him an ascetic, hawklike appearance. He was no elf, but neither would anyone take him to be a purebred human if they inspected him closely. Pulling back his hair, he bared his ears, which now tapered to slight points, more evidence of how his bond with Saphira had changed him. He touched one ear, letting his fingers wander over the unfamiliar shape.
It was difficult for him to accept the transformation of his flesh. Even though he had known it would occur—and occasionally welcomed the prospect as the last confirmation that he was a Rider—the reality of it filled him with confusion. He resented the fact that he had no say in how his body was being altered, yet at the same time he was curious where the process would take him. Also, he was aware that he was still in the midst of his own, human adolescence, and its attendant realm of mysteries and difficulties.
When will I finally know who and what I am?
He placed the edge of the razor against his cheek, as he had seen Garrow do, and dragged it across his skin. The hairs came free, but they were cut long and ragged. He altered the angle of the blade and tried again with a bit more success.
When he reached his chin, though, the razor slipped in his hand and cut him from the corner of his mouth to the underside of his jaw. He howled and dropped the razor, clapping his hand over the incision, which poured blood down his neck. Spitting the words past bared teeth, he said, “Waíse heill.” The pain quickly receded as magic knitted his flesh back together, though his heart still pounded from the shock.
Eragon!cried Saphira. She forced her head and shoulders into the vestibule and nosed open the door to the closet, flaring her nostrils at the scent of blood.
I’ll live,he assured her.
She eyed the sanguine water.Be more careful. I’d rather you were as ragged as a molting deer than have you decapitate yourself for the sake of a close shave.
So would I. Go on, I’m fine.
Saphira grunted and reluctantly withdrew.
Eragon sat, glaring at the razor. Finally, he muttered, “Forget this.” Composing himself, he reviewed his store of words from the ancient language, selected those that he needed, and then allowed his invented spell to roll off his tongue. A faint stream of black powder fell from his face as his stubble crumbled into dust, leaving his cheeks perfectly smooth.
Satisfied, Eragon went and saddled Saphira, who immediately took to the air, aiming their course toward the Crags of Tel’naeír. They landed before the hut and were met by Oromis and Glaedr.
