Chapter 10
Whispers in the Night
Celestine lay awake in bed. After returning to the castle, Galbatorix had assembled all of Lord Bradburn’s spellcasters—an easy task since it consisted of one rather portly fellow and his considerably thinner apprentice. Oddly, though, Kaelin was nowhere to be found. Galbatorix seemed unsure what to make of it. Celestine had insisted that the guards were murdered right as the battle started, which would eliminate Kaelin from suspicion. However, Galbatorix got her to admit that time of death could’ve been as late as the beginning of the victory celebration, and no one recalled seeing Kaelin there. Even after arguing for his potential involvement, though, Galbatorix then argued that he couldn’t have done it alone—not without the power of Dorias. Celestine was just happy when he finally let them all go to their rooms, but exhausted though she was from the battles and the late hour, she couldn’t sleep.
She closed her eyes and simply breathed slowly and deeply. She found herself in a green valley thronged by majestic mountains. It looked familiar to her as she walked around. She spied a nearby foal with its mother. A flock of black birds overhead. White seeds floating in the air. In the distance, a rumbling noise slowly grew louder. The animals looked up, startled, and bolted in the opposite direction. Celestine didn’t move. She knew.
Gavarian tanks and infantry swarmed the area, ignoring her as they always did. She looked to one of the nearby mountains—it was where death came from. The skies turned red. The clouds churned. Celestine watched as fire rained from the sky all around her, wishing she could close her eyes to the melting men and machines. And once the valley was littered with nothing but smoldering remains, the burning men pulled themselves to their feet, climbed out of their molten tanks, and walked towards her.
She also saw some of the Varden interspersed with the Gavarians. She could tell by their swords. They crowded around her.
She awoke wearier than ever. She conjured a light and left her room. A few times, she thought about turning around and returning to her bed, but she would be struck with a sudden fear that if she did turn around, she’d see dead men. Before long, she stood in front of a wooden door, knocking.
Murtagh opened the door—then scrambled to button his nightshirt. “Celestine? What’s wrong?”
“I… I can’t sleep. I thought if I had some company…” she said. “But I’m being selfish. I shouldn’t be disturbing your sleep.”
“No! No, it’s fine. Come in,” he said, opening the door wider. “I wanted to talk to you. I was going to wait until morning, but since you’re here…”
She entered his room. He motioned toward a cushioned piece of furniture—it was kind of like what Celestine would call a couch, but it wasn’t upholstered. “Have a seat.”
She sat down beside him. “So…” he began, “trouble sleeping.”
She nodded.
“It’s because of the battle?”
“I had a nightmare. Always the same one,” she said. “About that spell. The first time I cast it was against the Gavarians—they’re a fairly powerful empire southwest of my people. They invaded one of Syl’s outlying oil fields, far from the homeland. We happened to be in the area at the time, so the military ordered Captain Nash to help defend.”
“Is he your commander?”
“No, he doesn’t command me, and I don’t command him, but we have a mutual goal, so we work together. Anyway, he asked my sister and me to protect a valley. He said the Gavarians would engage the defense head on with the main army and send a division through the valley to flank them. He said he didn’t have enough troops to cover both the valley and the plains and air support was limited. If I didn’t and the Gavarians outflanked us, thousands would die and the oil would be lost to us, hampering our efforts to defend ourselves against them in the future, meaning even more could die as a result.”
She looked away. Murtagh waited for her to continue. “I made Angelina swear that she would only defend me—that she would leave the defense of the valley to me. We waited so long. I prayed that the Gavarians wouldn’t find the pass or wouldn’t try to make use of it. But they did. And no matter how terrible it got, they wouldn’t stop coming.” She pressed her open palms against her legs as she leaned over. “They sent more and more! They were very brave. And now I can’t seem to escape the fires I used to halt them.”
He put an arm around her shoulders.
She leaned against his chest. “I pray about it constantly.”
“Does it work?”
She looked up at him. “Dayus does comfort me. I don’t think I’ll ever be at ease with the people I’ve killed, but I don’t think I’d want to be. Does that make any sense?”
Murtagh nodded. “Would it work for me?”
“What do you need to pray about?”
“I have a problem. I… need to forgive Eragon.”
Celestine grinned a little despite her mood. “That doesn’t sound like a problem to me.”
“I mean that I need to, but I don’t think I can. Would prayer help? Dayus probably can’t even hear me here.”
“If I fly upon the wings of eagles to the furthest shore, there will he find me. Shall I ascend to the highest heavens? His glory fills them. Shall I lay down in the grave? Even there will he hold me fast in his arms,” Celestine said. “He can certainly hear you.”
“Hmmm. If you’re sure… Yes. Yes, that’s what I’ll do,” Murtagh said. “So, how does it… ah, how does it work?”
“I’ll start one for you,” she said, taking hold of his free hand and closing her eyes. “Dayus, we humbly approach your presence now, to praise your majesty and your power, and to lay our requests before you. We thank you that you gave us victory over our foes, and we ask that you comfort the families of the dead, and comfort us as we protect the people of the Empire from these invaders. Please grant that peace may be reached in this world and in mine so that there may be an end to the bloodshed.”
She lightly squeezed Murtagh’s hand. He cleared his throat and spoke. “Dayus, my name is Murtagh. I don’t know much about you, but Celestine tells me you can help with my problem. I have a brother on the opposite side of this conflict—Eragon. He has done me much wrong, but I need to forgive him. I don’t know how.”
As Murtagh considered his next words, Celestine’s head slowly slid down his chest and rested on his lap. She was asleep. And, since she could no longer hear him, he could speak freely. “Dayus, I need to change. Galbatorix has me under his thumb because he knows my true name. I must change my true name, and all I can think is if I could just forgive Eragon, that would do it. Then I could be free, and I could tell her. Dayus, he’s deceiving her, and I can’t tell her. Please, if not for my sake, then for hers. Just help. Of course, if you have any better ideas, I’m listening.”
Murtagh couldn’t move without rousing her, so he called a blanket over to cover her and closed his eyes.
“Murtagh.”
“Celestine?” he asked. “You couldn’t sleep?”
“Murtagh.”
It wasn’t Celestine’s voice. When it spoke, everything felt like it trembled—the stone floor, the wooden furniture, even the air. It reminded him of his father.
Murtagh was standing at the window.
He looked around, trying to find out where the voice had come from. “Murtagh.”
It sounded like Brom’s voice. “I’m listening,” he said. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“What do you see?”
Now it sounded like his mother’s voice. He also noticed that a quiet chorus sang a majestic song just underneath the voice when it spoke. “I see a cauldron in the northwest,” Murtagh answered. “It’s tipping over and pouring out boiling water all over.”
“You have seen correctly.”
Celestine’s voice.
Murtagh was sitting now with Celestine laying her head on his lap.
“What else do you see?”
Galbatorix’s voice. Murtagh looked at Celestine as she breathed deeply. When she breathed in, two small places on her back poked up against her robe, and he remembered the strange protuberances he’d seen amid the scars on her bare back. “I see Celestine,” he answered.
“Help her. Help, and do not hinder. She will need you before the end.”
Eragon’s voice. He said, “I want to help her, but I’m constrained. Break my restraints, and I swear I’ll do everything I can to help her.”
After a long silence, he asked, “Hello? Are you going to help me? Are you still here?”
No response.
Murtagh looked down at Celestine again. She seemed so peaceful. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her delicate ear. She barely stirred. He then pulled the blanket up over her shoulders before closing his eyes.
The sun had been climbing the sky for a while when Murtagh awoke. Celestine was rousing. She mumbled, “You smell like a dragon, you know.”
“I suppose I would,” he replied.
“Hmmm, well I should get back to my room. Why is it so bright?”
Murtagh said, “You’ve been asleep quite a while. It must be close to noon.”
Celestine sat up quickly. “Noon! I slept here all night?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you didn’t wake me?”
Murtagh frowned. “I thought it would be counterproductive to the entire ‘needing sleep’ situation.”
Celestine stood. “I just wanted to talk for a while before going back to my room!”
“How was I supposed to know that?”
“Murtagh! Only married couples should spend the night in the same room.”
“I understand, but we didn’t do anything except sleep,” Murtagh said, standing. “And it was more important for you to rest.”
“But people will talk!”
“About me? They wouldn’t dare.”
Celestine started poking his chest with her index finger. “And what about me? They’ll talk about me.”
Murtagh held his hands up. “I’ll defend your honor, Celestine, but listen, something more important happened last night.”
“What could possibly be more important than this?” she asked, still pointing at him.
“Dayus spoke to me last night.”
Celestine froze for a moment, mouth agape. Finally, she said, “You had a dream.”
“No. I mean, maybe, but even if it was a dream, Dayus spoke to me in the dream.”
Celestine’s hand dropped to her side. “Murtagh, Dayus doesn’t just speak to people.”
“But I prayed to him, and he answered. I thought that was the way it was supposed to work,” he said. “I thought you of all people would believe me. Why don’t you?”
“Dayus hasn’t spoken to anyone for the past 1300 years.”
“There must be some way of proving he spoke to me,” Murtagh said. “How about how his voice sounded? He kept using the voices of people I knew—my father and mother, Brom, even Eragon. And he whispered very quietly, but everything would quiver at the sound of his voice.”
“And that would mean something if I’d ever heard his voice!”
“Well, how does that book of yours describe his voice? Surely some of the people in there heard it!”
Celestine shook her head. “The sound of rushing waters! The sound of seven thunders! The shout of a mighty host! …A still, small whisper in the night.”
“There! See! But, I don’t understand what he showed me.”
Celestine slumped back down on the couch. “If it was Dayus, what did he show you?”
After Murtagh told her about the tipping cauldron, Celestine clapped her hands over her mouth. “What?” he asked. “What does that mean?”
“It means destruction,” she said. “One of his prophets saw a cauldron poured out on top of the city of Ashkaveh. Within one year, the city was so utterly destroyed that its ruins weren’t even rediscovered for five hundred years.”
“I didn’t see it pouring on a city, just the land. Maybe that means something different?”
“It means devastation will be poured out on the entire land. It will start in the northwest and spread everywhere.”
“Oh. Well. You said yourself, it was just a dream anyway. You probably got me spooked with that nightmare, and I just had one of my own,” he said.
Celestine jumped to her feet. “No! It’s more than that. It’s a warning. What else did he say? Anything else?”
“Nothing. I mean, nothing that I’m not already doing.”
“I see,” she said. “We need to go to the king with this news.”
He began, “That might not be—” when a soldier opened the door and told them the king wished to see them.
He led them to Lord Bradburn’s throne room. The king was there, sitting on Bradburn’s throne while the lord sat next to him on a plain wooden chair. As soon as they entered, Galbatorix looked up from the leather-bound book and said, “Ah, just the young lady I wanted to see. First, let me apologize.”
“What for?”
“I’ve been reading this tome, and the meat you ate from my table wasn’t from a clean animal.”
“Oh,” Celestine said, “well, I’m a Syllian and a proselyte. The dietary laws don’t apply to me. That’s in the book of Proselytes, near the end. The only thing that matters for us regarding unclean animals is that it’s not permissible to sacrifice them.”
“Ah, good. Glad to hear,” Galbatorix said. “Now, I noticed something that I’m concerned is a copy error. I thought you would be familiar enough with the original?”
“Probably.”
“As I read, I noticed that Dayus has all sorts of different titles. What’s strange is that when he’s called Lord, in some places only the first letter is capitalized while in other places it’s in all capital letters. Is that intentional?”
“Yes. In the Syllian translation, the all capital Lord is used as a placeholder for where his real name appears in the original text.”
“His real name, you say?” Galbatorix said. “So, what is his real name that the all capital Lord is put in place of? You know it, don’t you?”
Celestine fidgeted. “It’s not permissible to speak the Name.”
Galbatorix motioned to a nearby servant to bring her parchment and a writing utensil. “It’s permissible to write down—it must be if it’s in the original text. Could you write it in its original language?”
“I can,” she said, putting the quill to the parchment.
As Celestine wrote the first letter, Murtagh cleared his throat. She paused to look at him, but he only opened and closed his mouth a few times, saying nothing. She turned her attention back to the parchment and wrote the second letter and third letter. “Celestine, we had something we wanted to tell the king,” he said.
“I know. I’m almost done.”
As she wrote the fourth letter, he said, “Say, just out of curiosity, do you remember how magic works in our world?”
“Yes,” she said, handing the parchment back to the servant. “You learn the true name of something, which allows you to control it with your spells…”
The servant handed the parchment to the king.
“You cannot control Dayus!” she said.
Galbatorix looked at her intently. Her hands were balled into fists. “I’m afraid Murtagh’s question has your mind thinking in the wrong place. You misjudge me, young lady.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. I don’t know if you realize, but I’m quite a religious man,” Galbatorix said. “In my castle, I even have an altar to an unknown god. Thanks to you, I now know what name to inscribe on that altar. I merely wish to offer sacrifices and pray to Dayus, which is why I wanted to know his proper name first.”
“You can’t speak his name.”
“Yes, I remember you saying that, but I hadn’t noticed that command in here. If you could point it out?”
“It’s in the book of Returning during the first giving of the law. It’s repeated again in the book of the Renewal of the Covenant in the second giving of the law, and finally in the book of Proselytes in the third giving of the law.”
Galbatorix frowned as he turned the pages of Holy Writ. “Let me see. ‘You shall not misuse the Name of Dayus the All-Powerful.’ Is that the command?” When Celestine nodded, he asked, “What does it say in the book of Proselytes?”
“It says, ‘Be mindful of the utterances of your tongue, for Dayus will hold no one guiltless who speaks the Name for no good reason,’” she answered.
“So, if I speak his name in prayer, how could that be considered misusing his name, or speaking it for no good reason?”
“If you don’t use the Name at all, you never have to be concerned that you’ve misused it. If you never speak the Name for any reason, you never have to be concerned that your reason was good enough,” Celestine replied.
“While I understand your concern, I don’t think I’ll be violating any of his commands,” Galbatorix said, finally looking at the paper. “There’s something wrong with my translation spell. There are no vowels in this name!”
“Dayus’s chosen people didn’t write out vowels.”
“How could they read anything without vowels?”
“Try writing something and remove all the vowels. You could still read it. It’s not even that hard.”
Galbatorix frowned. “Bah, this conversation is going nowhere,” he said. “No matter. I have reports from my spies that indicate the dragon thief has fled to the island of Vroengard, possibly seeking something in the old capital of the Riders, Doru Araeba.”
Murtagh gasped. “That’s in the northwest.”
Galbatorix regarded him suspiciously. “Yes. Why are you telling me information we both know?”
“It was for Celestine’s benefit,” Murtagh said. “I wasn’t sure if she remembered seeing it on the map.”
“Murtagh, I thought we were going to tell him about the vision,” Celestine said.
“Vision?”
“Dayus gave him a vision last night.”
Murtagh said, “It was just a dream. Just a silly dream, and it didn’t mean anything!”
“What was the dream?” Galbatorix asked.
“Just a pot, it was in the northwest, and it was spilling water on the ground. See? Nothing more meaningless.”
Galbatorix turned several pages in the book. He began reading, “Behold, destruction is coming upon Ashkaveh. It will pour over the whole of Ashkaveh, and great will be the fall of that city. When it is done, the devastation will be so complete there will not even be enough dust for a man to have a handful. Every living thing within its gates will pass away—all that has within it the breath of life. Man and beast alike will perish.” He closed the book. “That was what Dayus said when Jehoel saw a vision of a cauldron pouring water on the ground.”
“It was just a dream. The voice wasn’t even Dayus; it was my parents.”
“Murtagh!” Celestine began.
Galbatorix stood and interrupted her. “My spies tell me that our dragon thief is headed to Vroengard, and you get a premonition of destruction from the northwest. That’s too much coincidence for me. Go at once, both of you. And remember what I’ve told you of that place, boy.”
“What of the siege, my king?” Lord Bradburn asked.
“Shruikan will be here before the day’s end. We’ll be sufficient to handle this siege.”
“One more thing before we go, your majesty,” Celestine said. “How goes the spell to return me home?”
“It’s been going quite well since you confirmed the book copied without error. I already have the other direction mostly worked out—only a few more things to… fine tune. I’m sure I’ll have it worked out by the time you’re done at Doru Araeba.”
Celestine nodded. When she turned to leave, she saw that Murtagh was grimacing as if in pain, and his hands were clenched into fists. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine!” he said. “I’m going to prepare for departure. I’ll meet you in the courtyard when I’m ready.”
Murtagh then rushed out of the throne room. Celestine just stood there for a moment until Galbatorix asked, “Problems?”
Celestine shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of…”
Shortly after Celestine left the throne room, Galbatorix, inspecting the parchment, said, “This looks somewhat familiar for some reason. I need to return to Urû’baen.”
“But, my king,” Bradburn said. “The siege. You said…”
Galbatorix stood and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Have faith!” he said with a smile. “I told you I would handle the siege, and I will.”
* * *
The leaders were gathered in Nasuada’s tent. Eragon was also there. “What are our options?” Nasuada asked.
“Options?” Orrin said, the derision in his voice dripping off the word. “Let’s see, we couldn’t take the city even when it was just Murtagh, a Shade, and that sorceress protecting it. Now Galbatorix has arrived? We’re lucky to be alive to have this discussion!”
“Many men were lost in the battle. Many more have disappeared with the daylight,” Jörmundur said.
“Most of the deserters are Varden,” Orrin added. “My men are more disciplined.”
“Pointing fingers at each other will do us no good,” Arya said. “There must be some way. Perhaps if we could defeat Galbatorix here away from his stronghold.”
“A brilliant idea!” Orrin said. “You crossed swords with him, didn’t you, Eragon? You think you can defeat him now that you’ve gotten a taste of the power he wields?”
“I…” Eragon began. He then turned to Arya and said, “I need to find the Rock of Kuthian. I spoke about it with you just before Celestine attacked our camp. I’d spoken of it before, too, but you said you didn’t remember.”
“I didn’t remember… What were you just saying, Eragon?” Arya asked.
“He said,” Orrin started in irritation. “Said… Needing to find something. And something about Celestine. Oh dear, what’s happened to me?”
Enough! The disembodied voice rang through all their minds.
Glaedr! You’re speaking! Eragon replied. But no one else is supposed to know about you…
That doesn’t matter right now. Glaedr said. I’ve seen symptoms like this before. It’s obvious someone has placed a memory spell on the name of the place you need to go—probably to protect it. Since you can remember the name of this place, either you cast the spell—unlikely, to say the least—or the spell was cast with you in mind. You are supposed to find it.
But how can I find a place that no one else knows about?
“Perhaps I could help with that. Please pardon that I was listening in.”
Everyone turned to see the source of the voice. A cat that no one had noticed until that point was transmogrifying into a small, human shape. His green eyes were striking, but most curious was that he was missing two fingers on his left hand. “A werecat!” Eragon said.
“Grimrr Halfpaw, at your service,” he said with an over-flourished bow. “I am the Lord of the Lonely Places, Ruler of the Night Reaches, and—more importantly—keeper of the secret you seek.”
“You know where the Rock of Kuthian is?”
“Indeed, and we must move fast. I fear it has already been compromised.”
“How? Who?”
“I must be careful what I say in mixed company. I would also urge you not to say the name in front of everyone, else the spell will make the conversation very hard for them to follow.”
Eragon nodded his head. “Go on.”
“We werecats, as the most cunning of all races, were given the task of leading the new Rider to the hidden place once he was ready. Perhaps I should’ve come to you earlier—you just didn’t seem ready enough to me. Time is a luxury we had little of to begin with; now I fear we have none at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“All of the other werecats are gone. Last night, I was alone, scouting your battle. This morning, I returned to my people in order to recommend we lead you to the place, but I only found this.”
Grimrr held out a hastily scratched note. As Eragon read it, Grimrr said, “I recognize the writing of my mate.”
The note read: “We’re taking the Rider to the Rock. We must. Bring Era—”
“Who are they leading to… the hidden place? Surely not Murtagh or Galbatorix?”
Grimrr went down on all fours and arched his back. “No, they are still in the city.”
“Celestine said the green dragon had hatched, but… it would be so small, you could hardly consider whoever has it to be a Rider yet.”
Grimrr stood. “A mystery indeed, and there is but one place that holds the answers. It is in Doru Araeba on Vroengard. Meet me outside the camp with Saphira. I will get my traveling boots.”
Bring me, too, Eragon. Glaedr said as the werecat left the tent.
Orrin stood. “I’m going back to Surda. This is unsalvageable.”
“You can’t give up hope just because it’s unsalvageable! You have to hope even more!” Eragon insisted. “Whatever is going on… there… I will handle it, and I know I’ll return more powerful than ever! And I’ll defeat Galbatorix, Murtagh, Celestine, all of them!”
“What do you propose Eragon?” Nasuada asked.
“Meet me outside the walls of Urû’baen. I’ll get there by the time you do.”
Jörmundur said slowly, “What you ask is… difficult.”
“Difficult?” Orrin echoed, slamming his palm down on the table. “What he asks is suicide. March on the capital without securing the numerous strongholds along the way? We’ll be stuck outside the mighty walls of Urû’baen, surrounded by every Imperial garrison that we passed.”
“A very good point,” Murtagh said as he walked into the tent. “Brother, I need to talk to you.”
Before Eragon could say or do anything, Nasuada asked, “What did you do to my guards?”
“Guards? You call those guards?” Murtagh scoffed. “Please. I could’ve traipsed in here and kidnapped you at any time. Count yourself lucky I didn’t. I’m not here to fight anyway. I just want to talk to my dear little brother.”
“Here’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a while. You can stop calling me brother, son of Morzan. My father was Brom,” Eragon said, and just so Murtagh couldn’t argue the point, he repeated his last sentence in the original language.
Murtagh just stared at him for several moments. Finally, he blinked and said, “I counted you a brother in adversity long before I thought we were brothers in blood. Do you reckon so little of me that you would throw me away for my father’s blood?”
Eragon only looked at him.
Murtagh shook his head. “Still, I’m happy for you, half-brother. Brom was a good man—aside from the adultery, I suppose. I hope that’s put your mind to ease regarding your parentage.”
“It has.”
“Good. Now for why I’m here,” Murtagh said, struggling at his next words. “We need to reconcile our differences.”
“Are you apologizing?” Eragon asked.
“Me apologize? For what? It’s you who should apologize!”
“Why should I apologize? I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“Done nothing…? You suggested I kill myself!”
“You’re working for Galbatorix!”
“I’m being forced to work for Galbatorix! I fought alongside you! I risked my life for you! And the best solution you could come up with was to let you kill me!” Murtagh stopped yelling abruptly and took in a deep breath. “No, we need to settle our differences, so let’s do that.”
“Why this sudden interest in reconciliation, half-brother? This has something to do with that strange monster, Celestine, doesn’t it? Does she think it will make me weak? Bring me over to Galbatorix’s side? Tell me!”
“Don’t talk about her that way. She has a kind and loving soul.”
“She’s bewitched you! And she is a monster. What kind of person can slaughter more than a thousand men in a single night?”
“Have you looked in a mirror lately? What looks back at you, I wonder?”
Eragon charged, throwing a punch. Murtagh blocked it and grabbed his half-brother’s throat. Arya stood and began to draw her sword, but Murtagh said something in the original language, plunging the entire tent in darkness. By the time Arya reversed the spell, Murtagh was gone. In the commotion, Eragon had received a bloody nose. He wiped the blood from his face and said, “I will find my destiny at the hidden place. I won’t let Celestine lead me astray as she has my half-brother. If any of you have the courage, meet me outside Urû’baen. That is all.”
As he stormed from the tent, he nearly ran into Angela. “Eragon!” she said. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to the… hidden place. The one that Solembum mentioned.”
“Already? That wasn’t supposed to happen yet. It’s all going to pieces! Eragon, have you seen Elva at all?”
Eragon shook his head. “Not since the first time Celestine came to our camp. You don’t think she did something to her, do you?”
“Ugh, no, just… just go do whatever. Everything’s out of control. I don’t know what to do next.”
Finn on 28 November 2012, 21:08 said:
Yay! A new chapter! I love how quickly the plot advances—so different from the original books! It’s very refreshing.
Am I right in guessing that Celestine’s religion is based almost completely on Judaism? Because if it isn’t, then there’s certainly a lot of Biblical references/parallels. I was wondering if Dayus’ real name would also have no syllables, and I found Galbatorix’s reaction quite amusing. Come to think of it, how did Galby get a copy of a book from Celestine’s world? Could she have not been the first multi-universe traveler to pass by?
Also, I think Galby was lying to Celeste about having an alter to an unknown god. He clearly stole that from the book of Acts. I don’t trust him.
I’m looking forward to the next one~
Nate Winchester on 28 November 2012, 22:46 said:
Well in the previous chapter he claims to have gotten it from C’s homeworld so who knows? Maybe his fargate worked, maybe there’s another of her kind around…
Nah, he stole it from the Greeks. Everyone steals from the Greeks.
Creature_NIL on 28 November 2012, 23:44 said:
Win.
Asahel on 30 November 2012, 00:10 said:
Glad to hear you’re all enjoying the advancing plot.
You’re quite astute. When putting thought into what the major religion of Celestine’s world would be, I eventually settled on pre-Christian Judaism with one major difference as well as many subtle differences. The major difference is the emphasis on and success of proselytization. In Celestine’s world, proselytes outnumber the original chosen Dayists by a huge proportion. There are, of course, many other religions in her world, but Dayism happens to be the most widespread (especially in Syl and the other Eastern countries).
Nate already addressed the question of how Galbatorix got the book. Expect some more on that in the next chapter.
Creature_NIL on 30 November 2012, 14:16 said:
I’m curious, from the way you are writing this, it seems you intend to redeem (this is probably a poor word choice, but nothing else come to mind) Eragon through Murtagh (and/or Celestine).
Although I recall reading a former article of yours that said the series would have benefited from Eragon being written as a sociopath. Are you going to have Murtagh try to redeem him, but through unfortunate circumstances Eragon becomes more twisted and alienated, manifesting his sociopathic tendencies?
Or are you going to leave out that whole sociopath theme and have Eragon come to ‘see the light’ or some such thing.
Asahel on 4 December 2012, 01:19 said:
Good memory. I do still contend that Paolini’s best bet for a good story for the fourth book would’ve been the Eragon is a sociopathic bully that looks good when his story is told by an unreliable narrator; however, this story is a different beast altogether. Your question is a good one. Will Eragon recognize the error of his ways or will he persist in them? Right now, he doesn’t seem to believe he’s done anything wrong or that he’s anything other than the hero. This doesn’t bode well for his “redemption” since, as we all know, the first step in recovery is admitting you have a problem.
Only time will tell which path Eragon will take.
Brendan Rizzo on 4 December 2012, 18:02 said:
Things are picking up here. I have to admit that I like this story, even though I know nothing of Celestine or her world. (Am I correct in assuming that she’s a character from a novel you are writing?)
I do like the twists you have this chapter. Considering that Galbatorix tries to make what is obviously the Judeo-Christian God into his slave with magic, Celestine should probably be a little worried. As another commenter has said, Galby’s explanation smells like bullshit. Am I correct in assuming that something epic will happen soon?
Asahel on 8 December 2012, 02:08 said:
Thank you, I’m glad you’re liking the story. Yes, Celestine is a character from a novel I’m writing.
Ah, does Galbatorix not strike you as a religious man? Ha, ha. I wouldn’t want to spoil the tale, but I will say I definitely hope something epic is developing!