Chapter Text
My training progressed parallel to the rebellion, though I rarely participated in the actual fighting. The forsworn’s early tactics hinged largely on small, surgical strikes. The goal was to create a smokescreen of paranoia and confusion, all while they accumulated eldunari. I sometimes wonder if the first members of their merry band believed this scheme had a prayer of succeeding. But, lo and behold, in a handful of years their group had grown and their plan was on the very precipice of success.
Not that it was all smooth sailing. The forsworn were a diverse group; strong-willed, loud-mouthed, and often at odds with one another. Even Galbatorix’s raw charisma wasn’t enough to keep everyone on friendly terms for very long. In fact, little friendships and rivalries took over the group in later years. In the beginning, two very distinct memories stand out among the rest. They would test the group to its very breaking point and well beyond.
The hardest part of my day was the walk to Master’s office. No matter how much I prepared, I seemed to just barely meet his exacting expectations. I would be inclined to skip out, or stop trying altogether… but the penalties for disobeying were far worse than those for underperforming.
You could claim sudden illness? Katana offered in solidarity.
Not likely. Try lying to somebody who spends half the time you’re together in your head.
A good motivator to train then, yes? To eventually get away with lying? An irrepressible smile took over through my gloom. She gloated briefly and caressed my anxiety-addled thoughts back in order, Either way, nothing to be done about it now. Get it over with and then meet me in the lair; our friend wants to show us something. That was a pleasant enough thought to buoy me through even the worst Torix had to offer; Xanist’s dragon had ‘adopted’ Katana as her hatchling, and she loved to share little treats and treasures with us when she could. I’d regained so much spring in my step that I almost missed the figure hovering at the last bend in the hallway before Master’s study.
All thoughts of the future dropped away at this fascinating present. I crept closer until I could make out which of our family members it could be. To my surprise, I recognized Eltereth, though she was pressed tightly to the wall and turned mostly away. Eltereth was the tallest of the group’s female members, nearly six feet, with long, walnut-brown hair that she kept swept back from her chiseled face. Her inscrutable dark-blue eyes were narrowed as she strained closer to the corner. She didn’t move as I approached, but when I would have spoken she held up a finger for me to wait.
And then we both heard the sound of heavy objects crashing to the floor.
“I didn’t join this group to watch you play God!” I froze like a rabbit. The shout was laced with pure venom and contempt (not surprising in this house) but the speaker was…
“Xanist, control yourself,” the responding voice was so quiet that I almost didn’t realize it was Master speaking, “You joined because you had no other choice.”
“And do any of us?” Xanist spat back, “If we chose to leave what would happen?”
“You have three choices. First, you may see our course through. Second, you can stand with those who burned your Emilia,” Eltereth covered her mouth to stifle a gasp, “in which case we’ll be forced to crush you. Or, last and least pleasant of all; force yourself into exile and pray,” the sheer level of malice coating that one word made me shrink in place “that we never meet again.”
Silence greeted his proclamation. Tension thrummed through the air, one agonizing moment at a time. When Xanist did speak, his voice was controlled once more. “So, this is what we have come to? You make us into butchers, and now you ask us to allow… to stand by and watch as a city- a city, Galbatorix!- burns?”
“This was never going to be a bloodless path.”
“Where is the justice in mass slaughter? How can this possibly be the road to a better way?” I heard the thump of a back hitting a wall. “And in the end, what will happen to the people? You claim to liberate them from tyranny… but for what?”
“They will be given new leadership.”
Xanist’s tone was incredulous. “You mean to take the crown?” Apparently, a nonverbal signal answered his question in the affirmative because his next outburst was explosive, “You are Shur’tugal !”
“Was. Soon that word will be meaningless-”
“What of the survivors? The hatchlings, the students? If you take the Empire’s throne, then who will guide the fragments?”
“They will either join us or share their elders’ fate.” The calm, matter-of-fact threat was more harrowing than anything else the man had ever said.
And still, Xanist soldiered on. “And by that you mean, they will join you. ”
“I see no difference.”
Another long, painful silence. “And the rest?”
“Will burn.” I could feel the unseen, brutal smile behind his whispered reply.
Eltereth must have picked up something I didn’t because she tugged both of us into a window alcove. She hugged me against her, threw a drape over us and we both held our breath as Master’s signature steps retreated down the hall. She released the pensive pose with a short sigh, then ducked back into the hallway. I had no intention of bothering Master when he was already in such a foul mood so I followed at her heels. She reached the corner just in time to catch Xanist’s arm.
“Ellie? What are you-”
“I was worried,” she answered his unfinished question and gripped his bicep, “Apparently, I had good reason to be. Are you out of your mind?”
“I’m starting to think I’m the only one who isn’t,” Xanist whispered, an edge of brooding undercutting his attempt at calm.
“You started a quarrel with Torix? With tensions running high already? That just… doesn’t sound like you.” I watched Eltereth carefully. Her grip on his arm relaxed, and yet neither of them pulled away. Her eyes were hard and searching, but clearly, she was more than disapproving; she was concerned… for Xanist?
“You didn’t hear him!” his volume spiked sharply and he frowned, caught somewhere between rage and misery, “Our last trip was to retrieve maps of the ancient bolt holes used by the elves in Du Fyrn Skulblaka . I assumed it was for infiltration. That is, until Amroth and he started discussing where to…” He trailed off, glancing down at me and back to Eltereth meaningfully. “Where to begin setting up their plan,” he finished tactfully.
Eltereth was frowning now as well. There was a distant but conciliatory calm to her voice as she said, “We can discuss the details later. For now, we should give someone ,” she dropped her free hand on top of my head, “an excuse to miss her lessons tonight. I don’t think Siyamak is in any mood for company, and I know Torix isn’t either.”
I nodded along, grinning up at her.
“I guess I can arrange another hunting trip.” Eltereth shrugged and winked, “Maybe we’ll drag Formora along too; I can tell she’s getting restless cooped up in the house.”
I didn’t love the idea, but I knew the two had an uncanny camaraderie. In fact, all of the forsworn’s female members seemed to be more in tune with one another than their outward actions might suggest. “And Papa Xanist?”
Eltereth defrosted a little at the plea in my words. She tried her best to keep an unflappable face, but inevitably she caved to my puppy eyes. "Alright, Xanist as well. Run and grab your gear; I want to see what you learned," she spoke to me, but she kept glancing back at Xanist.
I ducked my head and sprinted for my room. Seems like Papa and Eltereth are closer than I thought.
I'll say! Katana chirped. Even at her tender age, she was a fiend for gossip. I've never heard anybody call her "Ellie".
I've never heard anybody talk to Master like that. The conversation we'd overheard bothered me deeply. Would Master really murder one of our own just for disagreeing with him?
Nobody who's still alive anyway, Katana's train of thought mirrored mine perfectly. The cloud of foreboding followed us all the way into the mountains, though it wouldn’t be validated for some time yet.
I spent that entire hunting trip just watching Eltereth and Xanist together. Now that I’m older it seems perfectly obvious that there was a spark between the two of them, though the added perspective actually complicates matters as well. Everyone knew that their dragons were mated, but it was unthinkable that the riders could follow suit. Xanist had a century on her, easily, and neither of them was in the right state of mind to seek a partner. Eltereth lived every day in a militant fixation on avenging her murdered brother.
Xanist carried a similar burden of grief, but he preferred to bear it alone. I didn’t learn this until much later in life, but his was a fresh and gruesome wound. While serving the riders, his wife and daughter took ill with a strange infection. The order made the call that all the infected must be quarantined, eliminated, and destroyed to prevent it from spreading. Xanist disobeyed his orders, returning home to find everything he’d ever loved in flames. It’s no wonder then that he recoiled at the thought of inflicting that same agony on hundreds of people. It also illuminates why he and Eltereth were so drawn to one another in the first place. I think their friendship brought them both moments of light in lives sapped of all meaning. Perhaps if they had more time together, things would have progressed differently.
The second memory happened directly following what should have been a very impactful moment for me; the first time I took a life. I suppose it would be more appropriate to describe the event in painstaking detail. But, I regret to say, the memory is blurry at best after all these years. I barely even remember the boy- for he was no more than a child- let alone the exact details of his death. My clearest memory of the event was the awful, sticky crust of dried blood on my hand. I picked at it the entire flight back home. I feel a sense of deep shame that the snuffing of another life had so little impact on me… it’s a complicated jumble of regret and bitter emptiness.
But then, the next hours would dominate all of our thoughts for many months and years after.
Katana banked in lethargic circles around the manor, waiting for our senior riders to land first. I rested back in our saddle and stared straight up at a mounting cloud. It held a complete landscape; valleys and swaths of fluffy hills, rivers of shadow dividing layer upon layer of dense white forests. The only hint of the peaceful scene's true danger was a tinge of dark grey at the edges of my vision; this haven would soon transform into the epicenter of a massive thunderhead. At least we made it home before it could start raining.
Katana snorted, Our teachers will probably have me out in it anyway. They’ve been teasing that I need to learn storm flying eventually.
Maybe the mission today earned us a little peace and quiet? Another snort; neither of us believed that for an instant. Katana finally tipped into a gentle decline and landed alongside Eltereth and… and…
I blinked and shook my head. Katana, tell me if I’m crazy-
You are, she settled to her belly to give me an easier time dismounting, I promise.
You’re hilarious. But really-
“Welcome back everyone!” Kialandi crossed the overgrown yard at a half jog, reaching out to hug Eltereth as soon as she reached them. The taller woman tried to act irritated by the display, but she did loop an arm around Kialandi’s waist. “I’m glad you made it back in one piece!”
“Almost everyone,” Gelmir corrected, gesturing with obvious concern to his partner.
“The information we had was wrong,” Gildor said sourly, “There was an extra dragon and rider there. Took us off guard.”
Kialandi dropped the hug and her excitable aura at once, pushing up her sleeves, “Who’s hurt?”
And silence met her query.
Gelmir and Gildor locked eyes, thoughts flying between them as they tried to parse out the confusion.
Eltereth shifted her feet, “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Look at who’s bleeding,” She stretched and yawned.
Kialandi paid the twins no more mind, crossing to Gelmir’s partner (a pale, spring-green male with patches of pearly white down his chest and viridian eyes), and beginning her examination.
Gildor turned and stared at Eltereth, “But what is his name ?” He pressed on the word like he was terrified it would slip out from beneath him.
Eltereth snorted. “You really think I don’t know your dragon’s name?”
He shook his head, “Of course you do. So say it,” he urged, a deadly serious edge to his normally carefree face.
She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. Slowly her eyes widened. “I… I can’t…”
“Neither can we,” Gelmir wrung his hands in obvious distress.
“What about the others?” Eltereth said quickly. “Name someone else’s partner. Name mine!” I couldn’t tell if she was actually investigating, or suddenly desperate.
Again, silence.
“Lilly, what about you?” Gildor walked over to me, leaning down to get close to my face. I stepped back until I bumped into Katana’s leg, but still, he moved closer. “Can you remember?”
My mind went blank. It was eerie… I strained for the missing pieces, sounds and images that were certainly there… but how long have they been absent? I responded with a question of my own, “When was the last time someone said one of their names?”
This time, no one even breathed.
“We need to get Torix,” Eltereth said, “We need to gather everyone.”
The first roll of thunder rumbled in the distance.
-:- -:- -:-
The mood in the room teetered between despair and explosive rage. I wedged myself into a corner to avoid most of the shouting, but it still bounced around the dining room and beat against my aching head. We’d spent the last hour and then some in the exact same place, all of the forsworn arguing in circles. Torix had been uncharacteristically quiet, sitting and absorbing all information in a tense meditation. Siyamak too mostly kept his thoughts to himself, though his long fingers tapped rhythmically on his armrest.
Everyone else had devolved into their own conversations, some more heated than others. Formora and Morzan shouted obscenities from opposite sides of the table. Ellessar accused anyone who bothered to listen of faking their sudden amnesia. Kialandi tried vainly to coax Eltereth to drink some lukewarm tea, but her patient only sat in stony silence. The twins huddled together, only conversing within their minds. Amroth, a rarely seen and even more rarely heard dark-skinned man, leaned against one wall, staring sightlessly and failing to respond to anyone who tried to engage with him. Balor and Beren whispered back and forth, casting furtive glances all around. Xanist had his elbows planted on the table, grimacing behind his weathered palms. Idril lay on her back beneath the heavy table, strains of her disjointed humming breaking through the clamor.
Morzan had just unleashed a new string of curses when Torix suddenly got to his feet. He waited patiently for the unruly assembly to quiet down before pivoting to stare directly at me. “What of you?” he said, each word like lead on his lips, “Can you remember any of them?”
I scuffed my foot on the floor. “I know Katana. And… Shruikan. I can’t remember anyone else.”
“Convenient,” Formora said icily, glaring daggers at Torix, “We have half our brain leak out of our ears, but you two aren’t affected?”
Torix returned her glower but kept his voice steady, “I have no reason to wish this madness on anyone. No, I can only assume…”
“An outside force must be responsible,” Siyamak filled in. His attention was still largely directed inward. “A piece of magic like this, for I have no doubt that it is magic, could only have one source.”
“Dragons,” Torix completed, bracing his palms on the table, “Not even I could attempt it with all of our power stores at my disposal. Only dragons interact with the weave of the world so casually.”
“So what does that mean?” Eltereth looked up at him, grief-stricken and hopeless. “That their names were… taken? By other dragons? That’s impossible…”
“Nothing is impossible for the skulblakan,” Siyamak answered, “And it is not lost on me that only traitors to the order have been affected by this working.”
Formora tried to interject, “But what about-”
“Shruikan is no traitor,” Galbatorix pronounced the words slowly and clearly, daring anyone present to refute his claim. “Neither are Lilleth and Katana; they were never sworn to the Riders. It seems only those who chose to resist have been-”
“You mean those that have followed you.” The new voice was low, rich, and dangerously calm. Everyone turned to Amroth. Only then did I realize that every muscle in his body was tightened like stretched wires, hands shaking with the strain. Golden eyes stared into black and every word fell like a hammer blow as he intoned, “What have you done to us?”
I expected someone to take up the accusation, or even try to defend their leader… but no one so much as breathed. For the first time in my life, I saw Galbatorix’s unshakable mask crack at the seams. The only reply he could offer was a helpless shake of his head.
Outside, the rain pounded in dismal sheets against our finite sanctuary. But even the crash of thunder couldn’t quite cover the despairing howls of thirteen nameless dragons.
This day had a far-reaching impact on all of Alagaesia, though we did not know it yet. The Banishing of the Names (as it would later be called) was unlike any magic in recorded history. No one knew quite what to expect, though the end result surpassed even our worst fears. Over the next years and decades, our comrades would lose their very souls; piece by agonizing piece. It affected everyone differently, but the breadth and depth of suffering were the same. It is this suffering that cost many of them their humanity (those of them that had it in the first place). It also drove a permanent wedge between Torix and his comrades, a wound that no amount of time could heal. After this day, it became clear to all that we needed to end this conflict soon...
before we had nothing left to fight for.