Dawnbreaker [Inheritance Cycle]

2. Discovery

Serafyna stalked through the undergrowth, noting the places where the reed grass had been trampled—deer tracks.

The scent of the broken reed grass indicated the tracks were quite recent, as little as half an hour ago. Their target was a young doe, with a pronounced limp on the left forefoot, lagging behind the herd. A perfect target.

She glanced towards Eragon several feet to her right, scanning the tracks as they carefully picked their way through the dense woods.

It was still early in the morning. They had gotten up not long after Serafyna returned to sleep. The valley was cold, dark, and damp with dew that was beginning to collect on the surfaces of the trees and the undergrowth.

A silvery cloud drifted over the mountains that surrounded her, its edges glowing with ruddy light cast from the harvest moon cradled between two peaks. Streams flowed down the mountains from stolid glaciers and glistening snowpacks.

A brooding mist crept along the valley's floor, almost thick enough to obscure her feet.

Serafyna had seen fifteen winters, similar to her twin brother, Eragon, who was less than a year from manhood. They shared the same intense brown eyes, shadowed by dark eyebrows. Her clothes were worn from work.

A hunting knife with a bone handle was sheathed at her belt, and a buckskin tube protected her yew bow from the mist. She carried a wood-frame pack.

The deer had led them deep into the Spine, a range of untamed mountains that extended up and down the land of Alagaësia. Strange tales and men often came from those mountains, usually boding ill.

Despite that, Serafyna did not fear the Spine—she and Eragon were the only hunters near Carvahall who dared track game deep into its craggy recesses.

It was the third night of the hunt, and their food was half gone. If they failed to fell the doe, the pair would be forced to return home empty-handed. Her family needed the meat for the rapidly approaching winter and could not afford to buy it in Carvahall.

Serafyna stood with quiet assurance in the waning starlight, half hidden in the shadow of a tall pine.

After glancing at Eragon and exchanging silent nods, she strode towards a glen where she was sure the deer would rest. The trees blocked the sky from view and cast feathery shadows on the ground.

She looked at the tracks only occasionally; she knew the way.

At the glen, she couched and edged forward until the starlight revealed the lone doe where she lay in the grass, her left foreleg stretched out awkwardly, twenty or so paces away.

Serafyna paused and then, slowly and painstakingly, unslung and strung her bow with practiced ease. She drew three arrows and nocked one, holding the others in her right hand.

She waited patiently, as Eragon did the same, setting down several paces to her right and stringing his bow that was identical to her own.

Once he was set, Eragon began to inch forward, bow held ready.

This is how they hunted. Eragon would approach as close as possible for the ideal shot, followed by a shot of her own, in case he missed or if their quarry was still standing.

Time was precious and they didn't want to waste hours chasing down a fatally wounded prey to wherever it would ultimately fall.

Nor was the idea of spending too long in the Spine very appealing. People avoided it for good reason.

All of their work of the past three days had led to this moment.

Serafyna took a steadying breath and aimed, drawing her bow. She waited on her brother.

Eragon got into position. He raised his bow and drew, steadied his aim, and—an explosion shattered the night.

The doe bolted.

Eragon lunged forward and loosed an arrow at the bounding doe. At the same time, Serafyna, her aim thrown off as a rush of fiery wind blew past her cheek, released her arrow at the fleeing animal.

Both missed by a finger's breadth and hissed into darkness.

Serafyna heard Eragon curse as she whirled around, instinctively nocking another arrow.

To her left, where there used to be thick undergrowth, smoldered a large circle of grass and trees.

Many of the pines stood bare of their needles. The grass outside the charring was flattened. A wisp of smoke curled in the air, carrying a burnt smell. In the center of the blast radius lay a polished stone, a deep crimson in color.

Mist snaked across the scorched area and swirled insubstantial tendrils over the stone.

Serafyna held her nocked bow, alert for danger, but the only thing that moved was the mist.

Cautiously, she released the tension from her bow. "Well, that was unexpected."

Eragon made a noise of agreement as he walked over to where Serafyna stood. "The doe got away." He sighed, sounding disappointed and weary. She shared his sentiment.

Wordlessly, they strode forward. Moonlight cast her in pale shadow as she walked into the circle of charred grass. They stopped before the stones.

Eragon nudged the stone with an arrow, then jumped back. Nothing happened.

Serafyna set down her bow and carefully, reached out a hand to touch it. It was cooler to the touch than she expected. Tentatively, she picked it up, inspecting it.

Nature had never polished a stone as smooth as this one. Its flawless surface was dark red, except for thin veins of black that spiderwebbed across it. The stone was cool and frictionless under her fingers, like hardened silk. Oval and about a foot long, it weighed several pounds, though it felt lighter than it should have.

Serafyna found the stone both beautiful and frightening.

"Where did it come from?" Eragon wondered out loud.

She shook her head, her eyes continued to wander over the stone. "I don't know. This definitely wasn't here before, or I'd have noticed."

Nor was there any explanation for the explosion that cost them their quarry. She had only questions. Was it magic? Does the stone have a purpose?

Then a disturbing thought came to her: Was it sent here by accident, or is there a more sinister reason? If she had learned anything from the old stories, it was to treat magic and those who used it, with great caution.

But what to do with the stone? It would be tiresome to carry, and there was a chance it was dangerous. It might be better to leave it behind. A flicker of indecision ran through her, and she almost dropped it, but something stayed her hand.

A feeling, an instinct, as she gazed into the polished surface of the stone she held.

"Should we take it with us?" She asked, glancing over to her brother who was similarly enraptured.

He paused, frowning in thought. "I don't see why not. At the very least, it might pay for some food." He answered with a shrug.

The unspoken fact hung heavily on them. They would otherwise have to go home entirely empty-handed. At least there was a chance for them to barter for the peculiar stone.

Serafyna nodded. So it was decided, then. She tucked the crimson stone into her pack.

They decided to get some more sleep before beginning the long journey back home.

The glen was too exposed to make a safe camp, so they slipped back into the forest and spread their bedroll beneath the upturned roots of a fallen tree.

After a cold dinner of bread and cheese, Serafyna wrapped herself in blankets and fell asleep, pondering what had occurred.