“I hope you don’t. I would prefer to leave in friendship, not anger.”
“So you will answer to no one but yourself?”
“I will answer to Saphira and to my conscience, as I always have.”
The edge of Nasuada’s lip curled. “A man of conscience—the most dangerous kind in the world.”
Once more, the sounds of the fountain filled the gap in their conversation.
Then Nasuada said, “Do you believe in the gods, Eragon?”
“Which gods? There are many.”
“Any of them. All of them. Do you believe in a power higher than yourself?”
“Other than Saphira?” He smiled in apology as Nasuada frowned. “Sorry.” He thought seriously for a minute, then said, “Perhaps they exist; I don’t know. I saw … I’m not sure what I saw, but I may have seen the dwarf god Gûntera in Tronjheim when Orik was crowned. But if there are gods, I don’t think very highly of them for leaving Galbatorix on the throne for so long.”
“Perhaps you were the gods’ instrument for removing him. Did you ever consider that?”
“Me?” He laughed. “I suppose it could be, but either way, they certainly don’t care very much whether we live or die.”
“Of course not. Why should they? They are gods.… Do you worship any of them, though?” The question seemed of particular importance to Nasuada.
Again Eragon thought for a while. Then he shrugged. “There are so many, how could I know which ones to choose?”
“Why not the creator of them all, Unulukuna, who offers life ever lasting?”
Eragon could not help but chuckle. “As long as I don’t fall sick and no one kills me, I may live for a thousand years or more, and if I live that long, I can’t imagine I would want to continue on after death. What else can a god offer me? With the Eldunarí, I have the strength to do most anything.”
“The gods also provide the chance to see those we love again. Don’t you want that?”
He hesitated. “I do, but I don’t want to endure for an eternity. That seems even more frightening than someday passing into the void, as the elves believe.”
Nasuada appeared troubled. “So you do not hold yourself accountable to anyone other than Saphira and yourself.”
“Nasuada, am I a bad person?”
She shook her head.
“Then trust me to do what I believe is right. I hold myself accountable to Saphira and the Eldunarí and all of the Riders who are yet to be, and also to you and Arya and Orik and everyone else in Alagaësia. I need no master to punish me in order to behave as I ought. If I did, I would be no more than a child who obeys his father’s rules only because he fears the whip, and not because he actually means good.”
She gazed at him for several seconds. “Very well, then, I will trust you.”
The splashing of the fountain once more achieved prominence. Overhead, the light from the sinking sun picked out cracks and flaws in the underside of the stone shelf.
“What if we need your help?” she asked.
“Then I’ll help. I won’t abandon you, Nasuada. I’ll bind one of the mirrors in your study with a mirror of my own, so that you will always be able to reach me, and I’ll do the same for Roran and Katrina. If trouble arises, I’ll find a way to send assistance. I may not be able to come myself, but I will help.”
She nodded. “I know you will.” Then she sighed, unhappiness plain on her face.
“What?” he asked.
“It was all going so well. Galbatorix is dead. The last of the fighting has settled down. We were going to finally solve the problem of the magicians. You and Saphira were going to lead them and the Riders. And now … I don’t know what we’ll do.”
“It’ll sort out; I’m sure. You’ll find a way.”
“It would be easier with you here.… Will you at least agree to teach the name of the ancient language to whomever we choose to lead the magicians?”