Eldest
Page 93
Oromis examined Saphira’s saddle. He traced each strap with his fingers, pausing on the stitching and buckles, and then pronounced it passable handiwork considering how and when it had been constructed. “Brom was always clever with his hands. Use this saddle when you must travel with great speed. But when comfort is allowed—” He stepped into his hut for a moment and reappeared carrying a thick, molded saddle decorated with gilt designs along the seat and leg pieces. “—use this. It was crafted in Vroengard and imbued with many spells so that it will never fail you in time of need.”
Eragon staggered under the weight of the saddle as he received it from Oromis. It had the same general shape as Brom’s, with a row of buckles—intended to immobilize his legs—hanging from each side. The deep seat was sculpted out of the leather in such a way that he could fly for hours with ease, both sitting upright and lying flat against Saphira’s neck. Also, the straps encircling Saphira’s chest were rigged with slips and knots so that they could extend to accommodate years of growth. A series of broad ties on either side of the head of the saddle caught Eragon’s attention. He asked their purpose.
Glaedr rumbled,Those secure your wrists and arms so that you are not killed like a rat shaken to death when Saphira performs a complex maneuver.
Oromis helped Eragon relieve Saphira of her current saddle. “Saphira, you will go with Glaedr today, and I will work with Eragon here.”
As you wish,she said, and crowed with excitement. Heaving his golden bulk off the ground, Glaedr soared off to the north, Saphira close behind.
Oromis did not give Eragon long to ponder Saphira’s departure; the elf marched him to a square of hard-packed dirt beneath a willow tree at the far side of the clearing. Standing opposite him in the square, Oromis said, “What I am about to show you is called the Rimgar, or the Dance of Snake and Crane. It is a series of poses that we developed to prepare our warriors for combat, although all elves use it now to maintain their health and fitness. The Rimgar consists of four levels, each more difficult than the last. We will start with the first.”
Apprehension for the coming ordeal sickened Eragon to the point where he could barely move. He clenched his fists and hunched his shoulders, his scar tugging at the skin of his back as he glared between his feet.
“Relax,” advised Oromis. Eragon jerked open his hands and let them hang limply at the end of his rigid arms. “I asked you to relax, Eragon. You can’t do the Rimgar if you are as stiff as a piece of rawhide.”
“Yes, Master.” Eragon grimaced and reluctantly loosened his muscles and joints, although a knot of tension remained coiled in his belly.
“Place your feet together and your arms at your sides. Look straight ahead. Now take a deep breath and lift your arms over your head so that your palms meet. . . . Yes, like that. Exhale and bend down as far as you can, put your palms on the ground, take another breath . . . and jump back. Good. Breathe in and bend up, looking toward the sky . . . and exhale, lifting your hips until you form a triangle. Breathe in through the back of your throat . . . and out. In . . . and out. In . . .”
To Eragon’s utter relief, the stances proved gentle enough to hold without igniting the pain in his back, yet challenging enough that sweat beaded his forehead and he panted for breath. He found himself grinning with joy at his reprieve. His wariness evaporated and he flowed through the postures—most of which far exceeded his flexibility—with more energy and confidence than he had possessed since before the battle in Farthen Dûr.Maybe I’ve healed!
Oromis performed the Rimgar with him, displaying a level of strength and flexibility that astounded Eragon, especially for one so old. The elf could touch his forehead to his toes. Throughout the exercise, Oromis remained impeccably composed, as if he were doing no more than strolling down a garden path. His instruction was calmer and more patient than Brom’s, yet completely unyielding. No deviation was allowed from the correct path.
“Let us wash the sweat from our limbs,” said Oromis when they finished.
Going to the stream by the house, they quickly disrobed. Eragon surreptitiously watched the elf, curious as to what he looked like without his clothes. Oromis was very thin, yet his muscles were perfectly defined, etched under his skin with the hard lines of a woodcut. No hair grew upon his chest or legs, not even around his groin. His body seemed almost freakish to Eragon, compared to the men he was used to seeing in Carvahall—although it had a certain refined elegance to it, like that of a wildcat.
When they were clean, Oromis took Eragon deep into Du Weldenvarden to a hollow where the dark trees leaned inward, obscuring the sky behind branches and veils of snarled lichen. Their feet sank into the moss above their ankles. All was silent about them.
Pointing to a white stump with a flat, polished top three yards across that rested in the center of the hollow, Oromis said, “Sit here.” Eragon did as he was told. “Cross your legs and close your eyes.” The world went dark around him. From his right, he heard Oromis whisper, “Open your mind, Eragon. Open your mind and listen to the world around you, to the thoughts of every being in this glade, from the ants in the trees to the worms in the ground. Listen until you can hear them all and you understand their purpose and nature. Listen, and when you hear no more, come tell me what you have learned.”
Then the forest was quiet.
Unsure if Oromis had left, Eragon tentatively lowered the barriers around his mind and reached out with his consciousness, like he did when trying to contact Saphira at a great distance. Initially only a void surrounded him, but then pricks of light and warmth began to appear in the darkness, strengthening until he sat in the midst of a galaxy of swirling constellations, each bright point representing a life. Whenever he had contacted other beings with his mind, like Cadoc, Snowfire, or Solembum, the focus had always been on the one he wanted to communicate with. But this . . . this was as if he had been standing deaf in the midst of a crowd and now he could hear the rivers of conversation whirling around him.
Eragon staggered under the weight of the saddle as he received it from Oromis. It had the same general shape as Brom’s, with a row of buckles—intended to immobilize his legs—hanging from each side. The deep seat was sculpted out of the leather in such a way that he could fly for hours with ease, both sitting upright and lying flat against Saphira’s neck. Also, the straps encircling Saphira’s chest were rigged with slips and knots so that they could extend to accommodate years of growth. A series of broad ties on either side of the head of the saddle caught Eragon’s attention. He asked their purpose.
Glaedr rumbled,Those secure your wrists and arms so that you are not killed like a rat shaken to death when Saphira performs a complex maneuver.
Oromis helped Eragon relieve Saphira of her current saddle. “Saphira, you will go with Glaedr today, and I will work with Eragon here.”
As you wish,she said, and crowed with excitement. Heaving his golden bulk off the ground, Glaedr soared off to the north, Saphira close behind.
Oromis did not give Eragon long to ponder Saphira’s departure; the elf marched him to a square of hard-packed dirt beneath a willow tree at the far side of the clearing. Standing opposite him in the square, Oromis said, “What I am about to show you is called the Rimgar, or the Dance of Snake and Crane. It is a series of poses that we developed to prepare our warriors for combat, although all elves use it now to maintain their health and fitness. The Rimgar consists of four levels, each more difficult than the last. We will start with the first.”
Apprehension for the coming ordeal sickened Eragon to the point where he could barely move. He clenched his fists and hunched his shoulders, his scar tugging at the skin of his back as he glared between his feet.
“Relax,” advised Oromis. Eragon jerked open his hands and let them hang limply at the end of his rigid arms. “I asked you to relax, Eragon. You can’t do the Rimgar if you are as stiff as a piece of rawhide.”
“Yes, Master.” Eragon grimaced and reluctantly loosened his muscles and joints, although a knot of tension remained coiled in his belly.
“Place your feet together and your arms at your sides. Look straight ahead. Now take a deep breath and lift your arms over your head so that your palms meet. . . . Yes, like that. Exhale and bend down as far as you can, put your palms on the ground, take another breath . . . and jump back. Good. Breathe in and bend up, looking toward the sky . . . and exhale, lifting your hips until you form a triangle. Breathe in through the back of your throat . . . and out. In . . . and out. In . . .”
To Eragon’s utter relief, the stances proved gentle enough to hold without igniting the pain in his back, yet challenging enough that sweat beaded his forehead and he panted for breath. He found himself grinning with joy at his reprieve. His wariness evaporated and he flowed through the postures—most of which far exceeded his flexibility—with more energy and confidence than he had possessed since before the battle in Farthen Dûr.Maybe I’ve healed!
Oromis performed the Rimgar with him, displaying a level of strength and flexibility that astounded Eragon, especially for one so old. The elf could touch his forehead to his toes. Throughout the exercise, Oromis remained impeccably composed, as if he were doing no more than strolling down a garden path. His instruction was calmer and more patient than Brom’s, yet completely unyielding. No deviation was allowed from the correct path.
“Let us wash the sweat from our limbs,” said Oromis when they finished.
Going to the stream by the house, they quickly disrobed. Eragon surreptitiously watched the elf, curious as to what he looked like without his clothes. Oromis was very thin, yet his muscles were perfectly defined, etched under his skin with the hard lines of a woodcut. No hair grew upon his chest or legs, not even around his groin. His body seemed almost freakish to Eragon, compared to the men he was used to seeing in Carvahall—although it had a certain refined elegance to it, like that of a wildcat.
When they were clean, Oromis took Eragon deep into Du Weldenvarden to a hollow where the dark trees leaned inward, obscuring the sky behind branches and veils of snarled lichen. Their feet sank into the moss above their ankles. All was silent about them.
Pointing to a white stump with a flat, polished top three yards across that rested in the center of the hollow, Oromis said, “Sit here.” Eragon did as he was told. “Cross your legs and close your eyes.” The world went dark around him. From his right, he heard Oromis whisper, “Open your mind, Eragon. Open your mind and listen to the world around you, to the thoughts of every being in this glade, from the ants in the trees to the worms in the ground. Listen until you can hear them all and you understand their purpose and nature. Listen, and when you hear no more, come tell me what you have learned.”
Then the forest was quiet.
Unsure if Oromis had left, Eragon tentatively lowered the barriers around his mind and reached out with his consciousness, like he did when trying to contact Saphira at a great distance. Initially only a void surrounded him, but then pricks of light and warmth began to appear in the darkness, strengthening until he sat in the midst of a galaxy of swirling constellations, each bright point representing a life. Whenever he had contacted other beings with his mind, like Cadoc, Snowfire, or Solembum, the focus had always been on the one he wanted to communicate with. But this . . . this was as if he had been standing deaf in the midst of a crowd and now he could hear the rivers of conversation whirling around him.
