The ultimate example of this phenomenon was the Menoa tree, which was once the elf Linnëa. The tree seemed to quicken with life at the activity in the clearing. Its branches stirred, though no breeze touched them, at times the creaks of its trunk could be heard to match the flow of music, and an air of gentle benevolence emanated from the tree and lay upon those in the vicinity. . . .

And he remembered two attacks from his back, screaming and groaning in the shadows while the mad elves continued their revels around him and only Saphira came to guard over him. . . .

On the third day of the Agaetí Blödhren, or so Eragon later learned, he delivered his verses to the elves. He stood and said, “I am no smith, nor skilled at carving or weaving or pottery or painting or any of the arts. Nor can I rival your accomplishments with spells. Thus, all that remains to me are my own experiences, which I have attempted to interpret through the lens of a story, though I am also no bard.” Then, in the manner that Brom had performed lays in Carvahall, Eragon chanted:

In the kingdom by the sea,

In the mountains mantled blue,

On frigid winter’s final day

Was born a man with but one task:

To kill the foe in Durza,

In the land of shadows.

Nurtured by the kind and wise

Under oaks as old as time,

He ran with deer and wrestled bears,

And from his elders learned the skills,

To kill the foe in Durza,

In the land of shadows.

Taught to spy the thief in black

When he grabs the weak and strong;

To block his blows and fight the fiend

With rag and rock and plant and bone;

And kill the foe in Durza,

In the land of shadows.

Quick as thought, the years did turn,

’Til the man had come of age,

His body burned with fevered rage,

While youth’s impatience seared his veins.

Then he met a maiden fair,

Who was tall and strong and wise,

Her brow adorned with Gëda’s Light,

Which shone upon her trailing gown.

In her eyes of midnight blue,

In those enigmatic pools,

Appeared to him a future bright,

Together, where they would not have

To fear the foe in Durza,

In the land of shadows.

So Eragon told of how the man voyaged to the land of Durza, where he found and fought the foe, despite the cold terror within his heart. Yet though at last he triumphed, the man withheld the fatal blow, for now that he had defeated his enemy, he did not fear the doom of mortals. He did not need to kill the foe in Durza. Then the man sheathed his sword and returned home and wed his love on summer’s eve. With her, he spent his many days content until his beard was long and white. But:

In the dark before the dawn,

In the room where slept the man,

The foe, he crept and loomed above

His mighty rival now so weak.

From his pillow did the man

Raise his head and gaze upon

The cold and empty face of Death,

The king of everlasting night.

Calm acceptance filled the man’s

Aged heart; for long ago,

He’d lost all fear of Death’s embrace,

The last embrace a man will know.

Gentle as a morning breeze,

Bent the foe and from the man

His glowing, pulsing spirit took,

And thence in peace they went to dwell,

Forevermore in Durza,

In the land of shadows.

Eragon fell quiet and, conscious of the eyes upon him, ducked his head and quickly found his seat. He felt embarrassed that he had revealed so much of himself.

The elf lord, Däthedr, said, “You underestimate yourself, Shadeslayer. It seems that you have discovered a new talent.”

Islanzadí raised one pale hand. “Your work shall be added to the great library in Tialdarí Hall, Eragon-finiarel, so that all who wish can appreciate it. Though your poem is allegory, I believe that it has helped many of us to better understand the hardships you have faced since Saphira’s egg appeared to you, for which we are, in no small way, responsible. You must read it to us again so we may think upon this further.”

Pleased, Eragon bowed his head and did as she commanded. Afterward was time for Saphira to present her work to the elves. She flew off into the night and returned with a black stone thrice the size of a large man clutched in her talons. Landing on her hind legs, she placed the stone upright in the middle of the bare greensward, in full view of everyone. The glossy rock had been melted and somehow molded into intricate curves that wound about each other, like frozen waves. The striated tongues of rock twisted in such convoluted patterns that the eye had difficulty following a single piece from base to tip, but rather flitted from one coil to the next.

As it was his first time seeing the sculpture, Eragon gazed at it with as much interest as the elves.How did you make this?

Saphira’s eyes twinkled with amusement.By licking the molten rock. Then she bent and breathed fire long upon the stone, bathing it in a golden pillar that ascended toward the stars and clawed at them with lucent fingers. When Saphira closed her jaws, the paper-thin edges of the sculpture glowed cherry red, while small flames flickered in the dark hollows and recesses throughout the rock. The flowing strands of rock seemed to move under the hypnotic light.

The elves exclaimed with wonder, clapping their hands and dancing about the piece. An elf cried, “Well wrought, Brightscales!”

It’s beautiful,said Eragon.

Saphira touched him on the arm with her nose.Thank you, little one.

Then Glaedr brought out his offering: a slab of red oak that he had carved with the point of one talon into a likeness of Ellesméra as seen from high above. And Oromis revealed his contribution: the completed scroll that Eragon had often watched him illustrate during their lessons. Along the top half of the scroll marched columns of glyphs—a copy of “The Lay of Vestarí the Mariner”—while along the bottom half ran a panorama of a fantastic landscape, rendered with breathtaking artistry, detail, and skill.