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Chapter 2

Memory

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Eragon sat on the edge of his bed, looking down at the grain of the wooden floor, half-awake to what was being said outside his door.

“I don’t know, father; he’s been like this all morning.” Roran said. “He’s gotten himself really worked up over a dream he had, and now he’s not moving from the spot where I left him.”

“Do you think he’s sick?” The other voice was Garrow…Eragon’s dead uncle Garrow.

“No, I don’t think so, but he’s not doing too well. He seems a little distressed right now…maybe we should leave him be for a little while, let him recover.”

“Well…alright.” Eragon heard them walking away. “While we finish with the table, go ahead and tell me about this dream of his…”

Eragon stood up, looking to his right at the shelf where he had kept Saphira’s egg. There was nothing there. If he didn’t have the egg…where was it? Did Durza get it? Eragon shuddered at the thought. Did he already find it, but left it in the woods? No…if I had found it I would have felt the connection and not dropped it. That leaves only one possible option…

Arya still has it. Eragon looked down at his unmarked hands, barely noticing that the scar on his wrist was still there. I have to get to Ellesmera…I have to find the Varden and get to that egg if I want to see Saphira again…

But how do I get there? I may know everything that a rider knows, but I’m still a farmboy! I don’t have my strength or speed anymore, though I have my skill…I never broke my wrist, I have not been cut by Durza…I know the ancient language fluently!

Eragon pushed himself from the bed, gritting his teeth to keep himself from crying out loud. “I…I’m going to go to the Varden.” He said with certainty; it seemed to him that he was only barely convincing himself to not lie down and die then and there. “If I have any hope of seeing Saphira again, I’m going to have to find her myself.

“Although…” Eragon held his head in his hands, leaning against the wall for support. “…I might need Roran. He’s strong…stronger than me, at least in this state. How could I convince him to come with me? And what about Garrow? He would never let me without solid facts to prove I know what I’m doing! If Brom were here, he would…”

Eragon jerked upright, hitting his head on a shelf and knocking it down, scattering bits and pieces of the things he had collected over the floor, though he ignored this and the pain completely. “Brom!” He cried. “He should be here! The Ra’zac never got to him!” Eragon sat down on the bed again, breathing slowly to calm himself. It was very difficult. “Brom is here…hopefully. If I can convince him that I was supposed to be a Rider, then he might be able to take me to the Varden. I’m going to need Zar’roc as well…

“But how to convince him?” Eragon thought for a moment. “I could talk to him in the ancient language, and he would know I was telling the truth. Then again, if it was a dream, he wouldn’t understand a thing. There’s no harm in trying, and I have everything to gain…but Saphira to lose.”

Eragon finally stood again, opening his door and striding into the main area of the house. Roran and Garrow were nowhere to be seen there…but everything seemed to be the way he remembered it; for some reason the table was missing, however. On an impulse, Eragon grabbed a knife and stuck it into his boot, leaving the house and stepping out into the freezing winter air.

Roran and Garrow were outside, working on the table that Eragon had seen was missing. Its legs were broken, and they were trying to find pieces of wood that would replace them. Garrow seemed to be having more luck with things, however, as Roran was distracted by something in his thoughts.

“What happened?” Eragon asked, picking up a long shard of broken wood.

Garrow snorted. “Roran threw that doe onto the table instead of taking it to the barn, and the weight made it collapse.”

“What doe?” Eragon asked incredulously. Garrow glanced at him.

“The one you shot, of course.”

So I shot the doe…her egg didn’t appear at all, then. Eragon thought to himself. I’m going to have to remember that…one event changed and suddenly there are other changes relating to it. Why didn’t it appear? Was it sent? Was it sent somewhere else? Was Arya attacked? Eragon shuddered. Did Durza get his hands on it? Eragon resolved to slay the shade quick this time, and avoid any giant crystals while he did so.

“You feeling better, cousin?” Roran asked, swinging a stick of wood at him.

Purely out of reflex, Eragon brought the shard of the table leg up in an arc, knocking the stick from Roran’s hand and putting the sharp tip against his collarbone. He could still fight…

“Hey, now, take it easy!” Roran cried, brushing the stick away from him. “You’re a little jumpy…something about the Spine?”

“I think…” Eragon thought quickly, tossing the stick away. “…I think I need to see Gertrude.” It wasn’t really a lie; he had to see Gertrude anyway when he saw Brom.

“I’ll see him to town, then…” Roran said, and when he saw that Garrow was going to protest he added: “And I’ll pick up some new legs for the table. I think Morn has some spare table legs for his tavern, and he still owes me from that bet we made last winter.”

Garrow sighed. “I cannot have anyone being sick…go ahead, and stay together.”

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“So tell me more about this dream you had.”

Eragon glanced to his right, meeting Roran’s calm brown eyes, and then he looked back to the road that they both walked along, slowly approaching the town.

“It wasn’t a dream.” Eragon said after a long moment.

“As you say…but I would like to know more about it, regardless.”

Eragon sighed. There is no harm in telling him some of it…and I might need him still. “I told you; I am…was…a rider. I fought for the Varden, and my dragon’s name is…was…Saphira.” Saying the name made his throat tighten.

“I heard that part…why not tell me something more detailed.” Roran smiled and almost laughed. “It’s been a long time since you dreamed at all…”

“It wasn’t a dr-…nevermind.” Eragon broke off. “I was hunting in the Spine, and when I was going to shoot that doe an egg appeared.” He began explaining. “That is the point where my memory and this reality split from eachother. I thought it was a stone, and tried to sell it, and then it hatched. I was bonded to a blue dragon…her name is…was…Saphira.”

“Sounds like some noblewoman in the king’s court…” Roran commented, kicking a stone in the path.

“She is far better than any noblewoman.” Eragon muttered.

“I’d imagine a dragon would be a more reasonable creature than a woman, really…” Eragon smiled at the joke, but didn’t laugh. “So overall it was a great dream…erm…whatever it was?”

“Carvahall was burned to the ground.”

“What?”

“Carvahall.” Eragon muttered. “It was destroyed by the king’s men. You led the villagers to safety in Surda, after almost marrying, traveling through the Spine, sneaking into cities where you were wanted, stealing a ship, sailing through a maelstrom, and fighting a battle on a plain of ash.” He smiled. “They call you ‘Stronghammer’.”

“Sounds like the dream me is a little more adventurous than the real me.” Roran said glumly, obviously thinking about Carvahall being destroyed.

“Well…” Eragon put an arm around Roran’s shoulders. “…he couldn’t throw a punch to save his life, either.”

“Hey!”

“I’m joking, Roran!” Eragon laughed, shoving Roran away from him.

Carvahall looked just as he remembered it, although there were a few more people out in the streets now. Eragon pointed across to almost the other side of the village.

“There…that’s where we are going.” He said softly.

“I thought you were seeing Gertrude?”

“We will…after I talk with old Brom the ‘storyteller’…”