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Instead of Arya, I prefer her mom (Chapter 13)
🕑 Added 2023-09-15 16:07:10 +0000 UTCOne month after the egg’s hatching, a pair of hooded strangers showed up, looking for it. At that time, Cedric and Brom were sitting at a small wooden table, discussing the matter.
“…you did what?!”
The old rider got to his feet, shouting furiously. The gaze he directed at his apprentice was scorching with anger, disbelief, disappointment, and something else.
Expecting the reaction, Cedric maintained a state of calm, his hands folded on the wooden tabletop. He held Brom’s gaze, appearing resolute.
“Frankly, it’s your own fault I resorted to this. You refused to tell me your plans. Whether they’d work or not, well… I couldn’t know, could I? What, was I just supposed to sit by and watch, hoping you had the perfect solution?”
“…”
Brom seemed like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. His mouth opened and closed as another shout built in his chest, but restraining himself. The last thing he needed was to attract attention right now.
“You’re a child, barely starting your journey to adulthood. Relaying your vision to me was enough, you needn’t have gotten any more involved than that! This crisis is for me to resolve. I may be old, but I’m not so useless as to be bested by that pair of fiends…!”
He was about to continue, but the young, red-haired wizard interrupted him, shaking his head.
“But it’s not about winning or losing, is it? If the empire’s… people start going missing, we’ll have a disaster on our hands. It’s only a matter of time before reinforcements arrive, and then what? No, far better they snoop around, find nothing and leave…”
Brom’s moustaches bristled, and he raised a hand to his forehead, smoothing his brow. He looked like he wanted to pull Cedric over his lap and give him the hiding of his life.
“…I was prepared for a fight, but the more I considered it, the more convinced I became was the best solution.”
The old rider clenched his jaw, putting his hands behind his back and pacing around. His feet thumped anxiously against the hollow floor. It went on for a minute or two before he suddenly whirled, grabbing his cloak and staff before storming out of the house.
“I better not return and find you missing! If I do…!”
With that threat hanging in the air, went through the doorway, pulling down his cowl before vanishing like a specter.
Cedric held his breath for a long moment before sighing. On the surface, his choice seemed like the most callus one, but that wasn’t the case. Truthfully, he wiped the townspeople’s memories because he was too soft.
However, he didn’t think that was the case for Brom. A good man he may be, but if choosing between last rider (who also happened to be his son), their dragon and this little mountain village, well it wouldn’t be a hard choice to make… he’d watch Carvahall burn without blinking an eye.
In fact, Cedric suspected Brom wasn’t too upset about the mindrape of people he’d known for a decade, but rather… he seemed disturbed by Cedric himself. He hid it well, but his unease was impossible to miss if one looked for it.
Thinking about it, it wasn’t hard to figure out why. Humans, even if they had dormant magical talent, didn’t just awaken it by themselves, less so at three years old. Even riders required some kind of stimulation or guidance, exposure to magic or the ancient language—as was the case with Eragon, having overheard Brom using brisingr, then accidentally using it himself.
To say Cedric was an anomaly was an understatement, and it was clear Brom had never dealt with anyone like him, nor did he really have a clue how to teach him. Perhaps he feared for Cedric’s safety, keeping the ancient language from him, or perhaps… he feared his apprentice’s talent, that he’d grow beyond his own control.
Though, as much as his talent, what seemed to unsettle Brom was Cedric’s lack of fear. As a young boy entering adulthood, he should be experiencing a myriad of new and complex emotions. On top of that, he was somewhat of an outcast, regarded with suspicion by many of the adults and ignored by his peers. Adding in prodigious magical talent would be like tossing a match into a vat of oil.
Yet… he seemed perfectly fine, and in control of himself. There was no agonizing over his place in the world, what his identity might mean, resenting his fellow villagers, or… a sense of superiority, along with dark thoughts—reactions behaviors the old rider had undoubtedly seen before, and would’ve considered normal.
If it were just that, Brom might’ve considered Cedric as nothing more than an oddball, a child unusually mature for their age.
However, there was one thing the old man did see in him, something he’d seen before in others, and it never boded well. Despite himself, the young wizard had never managed to conceal his burning desire to dig deeper into the mysteries of magic—his ambition.
Was it bad, wanting to know? Brom seemed to think so, that some things were better left alone, that some questions remained unasked. Perhaps even more than that… it was the pursuit of power, untempered by any consideration for social norms, things commonly considered right or wrong, that bothered him.
Reaching into another’s mind, sifting through their memories, seeing the human creature in all its raw ugliness… and then going farther, taking the brain inside that fragile meat vessel and molding it like a ball of clay…
Just the possibility of it, seeing, realizing and acting on the fact that the mind wasn’t sacred, not an absolute sanctuary, that it could be breached, could be raided. That knowledge alone was more than a lot of people could bear…
He, Brom, a dragon rider, wizard and hundred-year old veteran could do it, but an untrained, thirteen-year-old boy…? And to sit there, so unbothered, undistressed with an expressionless face… it reminded him of someone. Someone he hated very much, and who’d caused an untold amount of suffering.
And yet, when thinking it through, Cedric had the potential to be even more frightening than Galbatorix. After all, no matter how evil the tyrant was, he was no genius—‘talented’ at best. His temperament was the riders’ downfall, not his own, personal power, at least not at first.
Initially, Brom regretted the egg hadn’t gone to someone other than Eragon. He loved his son, but he knew him to only be an ordinary boy—and would have it no other way. But now… now, he thanked the gods it hadn’t gone to his apprentice. If there was one thing he believed, it was that no one person should have that much power…
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When Eragon suddenly burst into Brom’s little hut, eyes wild and expression frantic, he found Cedric reclining in his small, detached room, hands behind his head. He stared idly out the round window-hole, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Are you alone, Cid? Where’s Brom? We need to find him, quickly! Two people showed up, looking for the egg! They’re asking everyone around town, it’s only a matter of time until…”
Contrary to his expectations, this didn’t light a fire under his friend’s behind. With a casual wave, Cedric dismissed his concerns.
“I already know about it, as does the old man. There’s no need to kick up a fuss, nobody will say a thing. They’ll probably ask you, me and Brom too, but as long as we put up a good act and they don’t find it, Galbatorix’s servants will be out of Carvahall by week-end.”
Eragon’s expression turned to one of surprise, his mouth hanging open. What was Cedric saying?
“No, you don’t understand, the merchants saw it, as did some of the villagers. Horst, his family…”
His breath hitched, almost choking on the last name.
“…Katarina, Sloan. We can’t count on everyone keeping my secret, certainly not if they’re threatened. We need to do something!”
Cedric sighed, pushing against his stuffed, straw mattress and getting to his feet.
“You don’t understand. I already took care of it. They won’t tell the strangers because they can’t. Nobody remembers you finding the egg, nor ever seeing it.”
Eragon blinked a few times, then understanding dawned on him. He seemed vaguely horrified by what Cedric suggested.
“You… you used magic on them. You messed with their heads! I thought it was weird, when I spoke to Garrow, he wasn’t making any sense…”
He grabbed his chin, looking down at the floor while his mouth moved silently. Undoubtedly recalling the earlier conversation with his uncle.
Cedric smiled, snapping his fingers and pointing at Eragon.
“Good job, you figured it out immediately. It was easier than I expected, to be honest. I just had to stick my hand in, rummage around until I found what I’d been looking for and then…”
He mimed rolling his sleeve up, stretching his arm and wriggling his fingers. Then, he pinched his forefinger and thumb together, like plucking a hair.
At this point, he’d grown rather adept at telepathy. Of course, it didn’t happen overnight—he’d been training for a long time. Not by dominating the minds of animals, though. Instead, there was a far better way to strengthen his powers, a method far more… sinister.
He discovered it accidentally, while experimenting with the life-draining technique. As it turned out, there was a good reason why, in the novel, both Oromis and Eragon considered it to be abominable. Because the user had to all but press their consciousness inside the victim’s, it was extraordinarily difficult to block out their feelings.
And getting the life-force sucked out of you until you died, well… needless to say, it wasn’t very pleasant.
The panic, fear, terror and pain of an animal losing its life was so intense, so vivid, that Cedric almost emptied his stomach the first few times. Nor could they be soothed—even unconscious creatures would suddenly return to wakefulness as death approached, their instincts urging them to take flight, to find a way to survive…
In any case, the point was, aside from expanding his mana reserves, repeatedly using the life-draining technique had an unintended side-effect—strengthening his mind. Fighting off the dying creatures’ roiling emotions proved to be an excellent form of mental training, as close as he could come to a real, all-out mind-battle.
His repeated use of it was one of the main reasons he’d tried to avoid Brom. If the old man ever found out, Cedric knew he’d immediately become a villain in the ex-rider’s eyes.
Returning to the present, he caught Eragon looking at him strangely, but decided to ignore it.
“Fortunately, I caught Roran before he left for Therinsford. As of right now, there shouldn’t be anyone aside from us three who know about the egg-…”
Suddenly, the young rider surged forward, grabbing Cedric’s shirt and balling it in his fist.
“How could you do that? What gives you the right to mess around in someone else’s head? Was it Brom? Did he ask you to help him?!”
Cedric fought the urge to roll his eyes, reaching for the other boy’s hand and trying to pry it loose.
“Hey, watch the shirt, it was expensive. Answering your question, no, Brom didn’t ask me to do it, nor did he participate. He was just as pissed off when he found out, if it makes you feel better.”
Eragon added another hand, all but picking up Cedric by his collar. Two years the senior, he was taller than the red-head.
“Feel better? It’s not about how I feel, or how Brom feels! You did something… awful! Everyone in Carvahall, they’re not toys for you to play with…!”
Though it looked like he was about a second away from getting a black eye, the ‘victim’ still didn’t lose his composure.
“What was your solution, then? His, or at least I suspected so, was to kill the two ‘strangers’ and hide their bodies in the woods. For a while, I considered that approach myself, but it just wasn’t going to work! If he lost his servants out here, Galbatorix would send reinforcements, without a doubt!”
He took a breath, realizing he’d started raising his voice.
“I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Brom—it’s better for all of us if they conduct their search, find nothing and leave. It’ll cause the least trouble in the long-run.”
Eragon took in Cedric’s words, struggle visible on his face as principle clashed with reason.
“…but by all means, if you have a better plan, go ahead. Maybe see if you can find Brom, figure something out between the two of you.”
For some reason, this was what set Eragon off, releasing Cedric’s collar only to give him a solid right-hook, whipping his head to the side.
“There’s no point in doing that, is there? You’ve already gone ahead with your own crazy idea! Or are you telling me you can give them their memories back?”
His back against the wall, Cedric rubbed his cheek, red from the blow. His expression finally changed, though he seemed more surly than angry.
“I’ll forgive that, given the circumstances. Your suspicions are correct—I can’t restore their memories. They were snipped off before being stitched back together. However, they won’t suffer any harm. Like a bodily surgery, the mind will heal itself, given enough time. A few months from now, it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”
Eragon threw his hands up in the air.
“You don’t know that! Unless…”
Freezing, his eyes flitted toward Cedric’s, almost pleading, hoping his worries were unfounded.
The young wizard knew what Eragon suggested—that he couldn’t know, unless… he’d done it before. Naturally, as someone who believed in preparing properly, Cedric had indeed tested the method before applying it to the villagers.
He shrugged.
“For heaven’s sake, calm down. It isn’t what you think. Remember that merchant, the one who’d supported the empire…”
Eragon groaned, his hand going to his forehead before slumping into a chair.
“It doesn’t matter! It was just an argument, and he’s just a normal man! He doesn’t deserve to have his mind misused by you…!”
This time, Cedric decided to keep his mouth shut. That stupid sense of justice and unwillingness to bend—it was exactly like Brom’s. There was absolutely no point in arguing with either of them, because both believed themselves entirely in the right. They couldn’t be convinced.
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Comments
Hafgrim
Most heros from these types of YA novels don't really have coherent moral systems. Mosty a fault of their writers. Most people irl don't have a strong moral system but for me it's important in a story with revolutionary heros/leaders that the characters either have have one, or develop one. A century's old veteran dragon rider should have a deeper understanding of utilitarian morals. Maybe his experiences with king would sour his views but ehhh.
David Hedges
Of course. The "heroes" are completely unwilling to even slightly dirty their own hands even if it means saving the lives of everyone around them. Better they all die then the 'good guys' have to accept a moral compromise. Not unexpected really. It's par for the course for most hero archtype characters to do this sort of stuff, especially when they won't be the ones paying the price.
