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Instead of Arya, I prefer her mom (Chapter 7)
🕑 Added 2023-09-08 15:19:31 +0000 UTCFor a few years, Cedric contemplated whether or not to touch Saphira’s egg, see if it would hatch for him. However, despite the tremendous power boost he’d get from being a rider, the idea was incredibly off-putting.
He struggled to justify his knee-jerk emotional reaction. Even when mind-melded with the dragon, he’d still be able to share or keep as much of himself private as he wished.
But maybe that wasn’t his problem. Instead, there was just something about dragons that put a bad taste in his mouth. He just… didn’t like them. They were too pretentious, too bullshit. If the gods of Alagaësia existed, they clearly played favorites. And it wasn’t at all hard to guess which race occupied that spot…
Cedric thought his feelings might have something to do with being from Earth. Whether one believed in god or not, it was commonly accepted that mankind’s role was to be custodians of the earth, and to have dominion over all other creatures.
On this world, that wasn’t the case. Man was a fragile, transient being, compared not only to dragons, but elves, dwarves, Ra’zac—even urgals. For this reason, among others, Cedric found himself… negatively predisposed toward the other intelligent races. However, when it came to dragons, his feelings were most intense.
Why were they so powerful, so long-lived? Why, when everyone else had to study magic, delve into nature’s mysteries – even dedicating their entire lives – could those beasts use it without even thinking, ignore the rules everyone else had to obey?
Which is why, when Eragon presented the ‘stone’ for him to touch, Cedric refused resolutely. They’d earned none of their powers, their gifts, and were no better than him. He would borrow none of their strength.
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When Cedric showed up at Brom’s house, it was dark.
The shutters were already closed, but the front door was open. Shadows danced across the wooden floor and walls, an orange light flickering inside.
Entering, Cedric saw Brom, hunched over the fire. He was cooking something meaty, emitting a mouth-watering smell. Drawing closer, he spotted lamb skewers, laid across a metal grill. Alternating between chunks of meat, vegetables and fruit, it was a familiar sight.
Taking his shoes off and rolling up his sleeves, Cedric went to wash his hands in a nearby pot, steaming with hot water.
“Feeling better?”
Brom broke the silence, setting down the fork in his hands, glancing at Cedric over his shoulder.
The boy tilted his head.
“What do you mean?”
“…you seem less moody than earlier. Never mind, sit down and we’ll eat.”
Cedric’s lip twitched, but he didn’t address Brom’s strange comment. Despite being housed and fed, he couldn’t quite bring himself to feel grateful. The old rider wasn’t doing this out of the kindness of his heart.
Or was he? His attitude seemed genuine…
As Cedric sunk his teeth into the succulent meat, tasting salt and spices, undoubtedly procured today and at great expense, he wondered. People weren’t always so black-and-white. Brom was keeping an eye on him, that was certain, but perhaps he was also concerned for Cedric.
Polishing off the first skewer in short order, he went in for seconds.
“Eragon returned today.”
Brom looked up from under bushy, white eyebrows.
“Oh? It should be about time, if I recall correctly. He’s fine? Hmph, of course he is. That kid’s been in and out of the Spine since his baby-teeth grew in.”
Cedric fought not to roll his eyes. Despite his front, the old man was definitely concerned for his son, and glad he returned in one piece.
“Yes, he came in just before sunset. But that’s not the point—he brought something with him. It’s… I don’t know. Some kind of stone. Big, strange-looking. Not normal. It gives me a weird feeling.”
Brom chuckled, shaking his head.
“Boy, don’t get carried away. There’s indeed magic in this world, as well as things most believe only exist in stories, but for goodness’ sake… The nightmares, I somewhat understand, but have you considered the possibility its just an odd-looking rock? They do exist, you know.”
Cedric’s face was deadpan, not at all amused by Brom’s patronizing attitude.
“You’ll swallow those words before the week’s over, old man. But don’t trust my account. By all means, go take a look yourself. I doubt Eragon will hang onto the thing—coming back empty-handed aside from that blasted stone, he’s bound to pawn it off somewhere for money.”
There was a period of silence as the storyteller processed what he’d just heard. He wasn’t quite serious yet, but Cedric’s manner of speech at least gave him pause.
“…all-right, brat, I’ll bite. Tell me what the thing looks like.”
Cedric chewed and swallowed his last mouthful, washing it down with a cup of warm water. Holding his hands apart, he started explaining.
“It was about this big. The surface was smooth and flawless. Deep blue, but with… I don’t know—veins, cracks? I didn’t get a close enough look. They were white. It almost reminded me of an egg, but the shape wasn’t quite right. It was a perfect oval.”
His mouth opened and closed like he wanted to continue, but instead shrugged.
“Like I said, better you take a look yourself.”
During Cedric’s description, Brom’s expression remained unchanged. His self-control was indeed impeccable. The boy couldn’t see so much as a single tell as to whether he recognized the dragon egg or not.
Eventually, the storyteller sipped his own drink—warm wine.
“If the shape is as regular as you say, its most likely the work of a skilled craftsman. Perhaps I will take a look, but tomorrow. It’s been a busy day, and I doubt people would welcome visitors this late.”
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When Cedric woke the next morning, sunlight burning through the back of his eyelids, he realized he’d overslept. He got up, and after checking Brom’s house, noticed the man himself was missing.
Sighing, Cedric went outside, drawing some water for washing his face, brushing his teeth and combing his hair. Maybe he’d been overly worried about Brom keeping him on a leash. After all, with everything happening, the old rider was constantly occupied.
Now somewhat presentable, he left, making sure everything was closed behind him. With the egg only hatching during the early-morning hours tomorrow, and a week or so until the Ra’zac showed up in pursuit, he still had time for… a few experiments.
He made his way though Carvahall like a specter, using magic and telepathy to dull the villagers’ senses, and obscure his presence. Rather than his work being so secretive, he just wished to avoid interruptions.
He was soon in front of Fitch’s old house, standing silent and empty on the outskirts. Despite the late-autumn chill, the weather was sunny, but it didn’t quite manage to dispel the homestead’s gloom.
Approaching carefully, Cedric climbed the porch steps, taking a key from his pocket and turning the wrought-iron lock. It was somewhat of an oddity in the village, given the absence of a locksmith, but Fitch was always distrusting of others.
Entering, the boy made his way to his old room. Despite having lived here all his life, the place now felt alien to him. He realized he might not have enjoyed staying by himself, after all.
Under his bed, a few clay jars stood, the tops closed and tied with brown paper and twine. Cedric took them out, heading to the kitchen and boiling some water.
His heart beat in his chest, a mixture of excitement and trepidation.
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An hour-or-so later, he was seated in front of a small, wooden table, a cup of cloudy, brown liquid in front of him.
After staring at it for a few seconds, he stood again, making a few rounds inside the house. The windows were closed and shuttered, he confirmed for the second time, and both doors were locked.
It was now or never.
He sat again, fidgeting, but made no move to drink his ‘tea’. Even if it worked, he’d never… taken this particular substance before. He was aware of it, given its fame in his past life, but…
Cedric licked his dry lips, raising the cup and taking a small sip. Unsure if his formula was correct, he’d made a rather weak mixture. What’s the worst that could happen?
It was bitter and unpleasant, but in the way of medicine, not something poisonous or rancid. Slowly, he drank the entire cup, feeling the liquid slide down his gullet and toward his gut.
What he’d made—or attempted to make—was something called ‘dimethyltryptamine’, a well-known, though controversial substance back on Earth. The manufacturing wasn’t difficult either, only requiring two relatively common plants: mimosa hostilis, a type of fern with various common names like catclaw, littleleaf, nuttall and so on, as well as banisteriopsis caapi, or soul vine.
He wasn’t able to find these exact plants, but after two-or-so years’ experimentation, he was able to locate substitutes. This ‘tea’ was the end-product, a mixture of the dried, processed plants, along with vinegar—a common by-product when making alcohol from fruit—and water.
The purpose of it was, well… it was a hallucinogenic substance, useful for inducing certain states of mind. As for why Cedric wanted to do something like that, what could the reason be aside from his investigations into the nature of magic?
As he continued digging up old memories, he became more certain the elves’ understanding of magic was either flawed or intentionally misleading. The most powerful magic in Alagaësia, wild magic, obeyed none of the rules they’d ‘discovered’.
Cedric wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt-… who was he kidding? No he didn’t. If the elves could lower the power-ceiling of magic-users by introducing a false, intentionally restrictive system, they’d do it without thinking twice.
There were quite a few examples of this being done in the books: Oromis refusing to teach Eragon sorcery, the banning of necromancy, no explanation being offered for dark magic nor the learning of true names.
In any case, the long and short of it was that Cedric felt, if he was going to get ahead, he needed to ‘think outside the box’. He’d already succeeded twice—when first using magic and his near-death experience in the river.
He hoped this effort would produce even more significant results. As the saying went, ‘third time’s the charm’.
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