Luminescent (Inheritance Cycle and Beyond)

Chapter Forty: Radiant

"We did."

"And did you know that Murtagh was my brother?"

"We did, but—"

"Then why didn't you tell me!" Eragon exclaimed, and jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair. He pounded a fist against his hip, strode several feet away, and stared at the shadows within the tangled forest. I shared a look with Master Oromis while we let Eragon vent his anger.

"Were you ever going to tell me? Did you keep the truth about my family a secret because you were afraid it would distract me from my training? Or was it that you were afraid I would become like my father?"

"Or did you not even consider it important enough to mention? And what of Brom? Did he know? Did he choose Carvahal to hide in because of me, because I was the son of his enemy? You can't expect me to believe it was a coincidence he and I happened to be living only a few miles apart and that Arya just happened to send Saphira's egg to me in the Spine."

"What Arya did was an accident," asserted Oromis. "She had no knowledge of you then."

"When Brom first saw Saphira, I remember he said something to himself about being unsure whether 'this' was a farce or a tragedy. At the time, I thought he was referring to the fact that an ordinary farmer like myself had become the first new Rider in over a hundred years. But that's not what he meant, was it? He was wondering whether it was a farce or a tragedy that Morzan's youngest son should be the one to take up the Riders' mantle! Is that why you and Brom trained me, to be nothing more than a weapon against Galbatorix so that I may atone for the villainy of my father? Is that all I am to you, a balancing of the scales?"

"My whole life has been a lie! Since the moment I was born, no one but Saphira has wanted me: not my mother, not Garrow, not Aunt Marian, not even Brom. Brom showed interest in me only because of Morzan and Saphira. I have always been an inconvenience. Whatever you think of me, though, I am not my father, nor my brother, and I refuse to follow in their footsteps." Eragon placed his hands on the table.

"I'm not about to betray the elves or the dwarves or the Varden to Galbatorix if that's what you are worried about. I will do what I must, but from now on, you have neither my loyalty nor my trust. I will not—"

The ground and the air shook as Glaedr growled, his upper lip pulling back to reveal the full length of his fangs.

"You have more reason to trust us than anyone else, hatchling, if not for our efforts, you would be long dead." Saphira, Alethea and I both turned our eyes to our Masters.

"Tell him,"

"Saphira is right," I spoke quietly. "I believe it is time."

"You know?"

"Yes." Saphira, Alethea, and I responded at the same time.

"You know what?" Eragon bellowed. With one slim finger, Oromis pointed toward the fallen chair.

"Sit."

When Eragon remained standing, Oromis sighed.

"I understand this is difficult for you, Eragon, but if you insist upon asking questions and then refuse to listen to the answers, frustration will be your only reward. Now, please sit, so we can talk about this in a civilized manner." Glaring, Eragon righted the chair and dropped into it like a pouting child.

"Why?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell me that my father was Morzan, the first of the Forsworn?"

"First things first Eragon," I started, playing with my now empty goblet. "Morzan isn't your father, you and Murtagh are only half-brothers."

Eragon went pale and grabbed the table to keep from swaying in his seat.

"My half brother . . . But then, who . . . ?" Oromis plucked a blackberry from a bowl, contemplated it for a moment, and then ate it.

"Glaedr and I did not wish to keep this a secret from you, but we had no choice. We both promised, with the most binding of oaths, that we would never reveal to you the identity of your father or of your half-brother, nor discuss your lineage, unless you had discovered the truth on your own or unless the identity of your relatives had placed you in danger. What transpired between you and Murtagh during the Battle of the Burning Plains satisfies enough of those requirements that we can now speak freely on this topic."

"Oromis-elda, if Murtagh is my half-brother, then who is my father?"

"Look into your heart, Eragon," Glaedr said. "You already know who he is, and you have known for a long time." Eragon shook his head.

"I don't know! I don't know! Please . . ." A plume of smoke and flame jetted from Glaedr's nostrils as he snorted.

"Is it not obvious? Your father is Brom." Eragon gaped at the gold dragon.

"But how?" he exclaimed. Before either Glaedr or Oromis could respond, Eragon whirled toward Saphira, Alethea and I, with both his mind and his voice. "You knew? You knew, and yet you let me believe Morzan was my father this whole time, even though it . . . even though I—I..."

Eragon started as Oromis touched him on the shoulder.

"Eragon, you need to calm yourself. Remember the techniques I taught you for meditating. Control your breathing, and concentrate upon letting the tension drain out of your limbs into the ground beneath you. . . . Yes, like that. Now again, and breathe deeply."

Eragon's hands grew still, and his heartbeat slowed as he followed Oromis's instructions. When Eragon was calm again, he turned to Saphira, Alethea and I.

"You knew?" Saphira lifted her head from the ground.

"Oh, Eragon, I wanted to tell you. It pained me to see how Murtagh's words tormented you and yet to be unable to help you. I tried to help—I tried so many times—but like Oromis and Glaedr, I too swore in the ancient language to keep Brom's identity a secret from you, and I could not break my oath."

"None of us could," Alethea added.

"Wh-when did he tell you?" Eragon asked.

"The day after the Urgals attacked us outside of Teirm, while you were still unconscious," I spoke up.

"Was that also when he told you how to contact the Varden in Gil'ead?"

"Yes. Before we knew what Brom wished to say, he had us swear to never speak of this with you unless you found out on your own. To our regret, we agreed."

"Is there anything else he told you?" Eragon demanded. "Any other secrets I ought to know, like that Murtagh isn't my only sibling, or perhaps how to defeat Galbatorix?"

"During the two days we spent hunting the Urgals, Brom recounted the details of his life to us so that if he died, and if ever you learned of your relation to him, his son could know what kind of a man he was and why he had acted as he did. Also, Brom gave me a gift for you."

"A gift?"

"A memory of him speaking to you as your father and not as Brom, the storyteller," I interjected

"Before Saphira shares this memory with you, however," Oromis said. "it would be best, I think if you knew how this came to pass. Will you listen to me for a while, Eragon?"

Eragon hesitated, then nodded. Lifting his crystal goblet, Oromis drank of his wine, then returned the cup to the table.

"Alethea and I will give you a moment of privacy," I said before getting up from my chair and running to the cliff. I leaped as far as I could, and Alethea swiftly picked me up.