CHAPTER VI

Questions and Answers

Eragon lowered the sheaf of pages and stared for a long while into the whirling snow outside the eyrie.

Still holding the papers, he stood and descended the long curve of stairs that led to the common area at the base of the stone finger. The dwarves were there eating, and most of the humans as well, but only a few of the elves and none of the Urgals. In a corner, one of the dwarves was playing a bone flute carved with runes, and the deep, thoughtful melody provided a homely accompaniment to the murmur of conversation.

The herbalist was sitting by herself next to one of the fires, knitting the brim for a woolen cap made of red and green yarn. She looked up as Eragon approached, but the speed of her clicking needles never slowed or faltered.

“I have questions,” he said.

“Then you have more wisdom than most.”

He squatted next to her and tapped the pages. “How much of this is true?”

Angela laughed a little, and her breath frosted in the cold. “I believe I made that perfectly clear in my preface. It’s as true or not true as you want it to be.”

“So you made it all up.”

“No,” she said, giving him a serious look over her flashing needles. “I did not. Even if I had, there are often lessons worth learning in stories. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Eragon shook his head, bemused and somewhat exasperated. He pulled over a stump they were using for a chair, sat, and stretched his legs out toward the fire. He thought about how Brom would often smoke his pipe in the evenings, and for a moment, Eragon considered getting a pipe of his own. The dwarves would be sure to have one he could use….

In a quiet voice, he said, “Why did you have me read this?”

“Perhaps because I think there are certain doors you need to walk through.”

He frowned, frustrated as always with the herbalist’s answers. “The Keeper of the Tower, is he—”

“I have nothing to say about him.” Eragon opened his mouth again, and Angela interrupted: “No. Ask other questions if you must, but not about him.”

“As you wish.” But Eragon’s suspicions remained. He looked across the common area. Elva was there, sitting and chatting with a group of dwarves, all of whom were attending to her with uncharacteristic animation. “What you wrote about her…”

“Elva is a bright young woman with a bright future,” said Angela, and she gave him an overly bright smile.

“In that case, I should see to it that she has the sort of training that a young person of such great promise ought to have.”

“Exactly,” said Angela, seeming both satisfied and relieved. Then she surprised him by saying, “Understand me, Eragon; it’s not that the task is beyond me, but some tasks are best accomplished with more than one set of hands.”

He nodded. “Of course. Elva is my responsibility, after all.”

“That she is….Although you could blame her on Brom, if you wanted, for not teaching you the proper forms of the ancient language.”

Eragon chuckled, despite himself. “Perhaps, but blaming the dead for our mistakes never accomplishes much.”

The clacking of the herbalist’s needles continued at the same steady pace as she gave him a thoughtful look and said, “My, you have grown wise in your old age.”

“Not really. I’m just trying to avoid making the same mistakes as before.”

“One could argue that is the definition of wisdom.”

He half smiled. “One could, but just avoiding mistakes isn’t enough to make a person wise. Does a turtle that lives alone under a rock for a hundred years really learn anything?”

Angela shrugged. “Does a man who lives alone in a tower for a hundred years learn anything?”

Eragon eyed her for a moment. “Maybe. It depends.”

“Even so.”

He stood and held out the papers toward her. “Here.”

“Keep them. They will serve you better than me. And besides, I have the words in my head already. That’s all that really matters.”

“I’ll make sure they’re stored where no one will ever think to look,” he said. He tucked the pages into the front of his jerkin.

She smiled. “You do that.”

Then Eragon looked back at Elva, and a hint of trepidation stirred within him. He ignored it. Just because something was difficult or uncomfortable didn’t mean it wasn’t worth doing. “We’ll talk later,” he said, and Angela made a noncommittal sound.

As Eragon walked across the common area, he reached out with his mind to Saphira, who was outside with Blödhgarm and a number of the elves, clearing snow with the fire from her throat.

You’ve been listening? he said.

Of course, little one.

I could use your help, I think.

On my way.

And he felt her turn and head inward. Pleased, Eragon continued on. The witch-child might prove troublesome for him alone, but even she would hesitate to disregard a dragon. Moreover, Eragon did not believe that the girl would be able to manipulate Saphira with her powers the way she might him.

Either way, it would be an interesting experience.

As he stopped in front of Elva, she looked up at him with her violet eyes and smiled, wide and sharp-toothed, like a cat before a mouse. “Greetings, Eragon,” she said.