VISIONS NEAR AND FAR
The day came when Eragon went to the glade beyond Oromis’s hut, seated himself on the polished white stump in the center of the mossy hollow, and — when he opened his mind to observe the creatures around him — sensed not just the birds, beasts, and insects but also the plants of the forest.
The plants possessed a different type of consciousness than animals: slow, deliberate, and decentralized, but in their own way just as cognizant of their surroundings as Eragon himself was. The faint pulse of the plants’ awareness bathed the galaxy of stars that wheeled behind his eyes — each bright spark representing a life — in a soft, omnipresent glow. Even the most barren soil teemed with organisms; the land itself was alive and sentient.
Intelligent life, he concluded, existed everywhere.
As Eragon immersed himself in the thoughts and feelings of the beings around him, he was able to attain a state of inner peace so profound that, during that time, he ceased to exist as an individual. He allowed himself to become a nonentity, a void, a receptacle for the voices of the world. Nothing escaped his attention, for his attention was focused on nothing.
He was the forest and its inhabitants.
Is that what a god feels like? wondered Eragon when he returned to himself.
He left the glade, sought out Oromis in his hut, and knelt before the elf, saying, “Master, I have done as you told me to. I listened until I heard no more.”
Oromis paused in his writing and, with a thoughtful expression, looked at Eragon. “Tell me.” For an hour and a half, Eragon waxed eloquent about every aspect of the plants and animals that populated the glade, until Oromis raised his hand and said, “I am convinced; you heard all there was to hear. But did you understand it all?”
“No, Master.”
“That is as it should be. Comprehension will come with age... Well done, Eragon-finiarel. Well done indeed. If you were my student in Ilirea, before Galbatorix rose to power, you would have just graduated from your apprenticeship and would be considered a full member of our order and accorded the same rights and privileges as even the oldest Riders.” Oromis pushed himself up out of his chair and then remained standing in place, swaying. “Lend me your shoulder, Eragon, and help me outside. My limbs betray my will.”
Hurrying to his master’s side, Eragon supported the elf’s slight weight as Oromis hobbled to the brook that rushed headlong toward the edge of the Crags of Tel’naeír. “Now that you have reached this stage in your education, I can teach you one of the greatest secrets of magic, a secret that even Galbatorix may not know. It is your best hope of matching his power.” The elf’s gaze sharpened. “What is the cost of magic, Eragon?”
“Energy. A spell costs the same amount of energy as it would to complete the task through mundane means.”
Oromis nodded. “And where does the energy come from?”
“The spellcaster’s body.”
“Does it have to?”
Eragon’s mind raced as he considered the awesome implications of Oromis’s question. “You mean it can come from other sources?”
“That is exactly what happens whenever Saphira assists you with a spell.”
“Yes, but she and I share a unique connection,” protested Eragon. “Our bond is the reason I can draw upon her strength. To do that with someone else, I would have to enter...” He trailed off as he realized what Oromis was driving at.
“You would have to enter the consciousness of the being — or beings — who was going to provide the energy,” said Oromis, completing Eragon’s thought. “Today you proved that you can do just that with even the smallest form of life. Now...” He stopped and pressed a hand against his chest as he coughed, then continued, “I want you to extract a sphere of water from the stream, using only the energy you can glean from the forest around you.”
“Yes, Master.”
As Eragon reached out to the nearby plants and animals, he felt Oromis’s mind brush against his own, the elf watching and judging his progress. Frowning with concentration, Eragon endeavored to eke the needed force from the environment and hold it within himself until he was ready to release the magic...
“Eragon! Do not take it from me! I am weak enough as is.”
Startled, Eragon realized that he had included Oromis in his search. “I’m sorry, Master,” he said, chastised. He resumed the process, careful to avoid draining the elf’s vitality, and when he was ready, commanded, “Up!”
Silent as the night, a sphere of water a foot wide rose from the brook until it floated at eye level across from Eragon. And while Eragon experienced the usual strain that results from intense effort, the spell itself caused him no fatigue.
The sphere was only in the air for a moment when a wave of death rolled through the smaller creatures Eragon was in contact with. A line of ants keeled over motionless. A baby mouse gasped and entered the void as it lost the strength to keep its heart beating. Countless plants withered and crumbled and became inert as dust.
Eragon flinched, horrified by what he had caused. Given his new respect for the sanctity of life, he found the crime appalling. What made it worse was that he was intimately linked with each being as it ceased to exist; it was as if he himself were dying over and over. He severed the flow of magic — letting the sphere of water splash across the ground — and then whirled on Oromis and growled, “You knew that would happen!”
An expression of profound sorrow engulfed the ancient Rider. “It was necessary,” he replied.
“Necessary that so many had to die?”
“Necessary that you understand the terrible price of using this type of magic. Mere words cannot convey the feeling of having those whose minds you share die. You had to experience it for yourself.”
“I won’t do that again,” vowed Eragon.
“Nor will you have to. If you are disciplined, you can choose to draw the power only from plants and animals that can withstand the loss. It’s impractical in battle, but you may do so in your lessons.” Oromis gestured at him, and, still simmering, Eragon allowed the elf to lean on him as they returned to the hut. “You see why this technique was not taught to younger riders. If it were to become known to a spellweaver of evil disposition, he or she could wreak vast amounts of destruction, especially since it would be difficult to stop anyone with access to so much power.” Once they were back inside, the elf sighed, lowered himself into his chair, and pressed the tips of his fingers together.
Eragon sat as well. “Since it’s possible to absorb energy from”— he waved his hand—“from life, is it also possible to absorb it directly from light or fire or from any of the other forms of energy?”
“Ah, Eragon, if it were, we could destroy Galbatorix in an instant. We can exchange energy with other living beings, we can use that energy to move our bodies or to fuel a spell, and we can even store that energy in certain objects for later use, but we cannot assimilate the fundamental forces of nature. Reason says that it can be done, but no one has managed to devise a spell that allows it.”
Nine days later, Eragon presented himself to Oromis and said, “Master, it struck me last night that neither you nor the hundreds of elven scrolls I’ve read have mentioned your religion. What do elves believe?”
A long sigh was Oromis’s first answer. Then: “We believe that the world behaves according to certain inviolable rules and that, by persistent effort, we can discover those rules and use them to predict events when circumstances repeat.”
Eragon blinked. That did not tell him what he wanted to know. “But who, or what, do you worship?”