Chapter Twenty-Nine: One Little Miracle

Christopher gasped. For a second, his entire body was racked with pain emanating from his chest. He looked down, only for the pain to dissipate. His chest was whole, and he could see no signs of any damage done to him. He ran his hand across his heart, feeling uneasy. Something didn't seem quite right. He looked around, and saw he was surrounded by a dense fog, through which nothing could be seen. He tried to find his sword, which he was sure he had dropped, but couldn't find it. Shrugging, he got up, only to have his head spin for the trouble. He was about to fall over, when a supporting hand grabbed him. Christopher's reflexes kicked in, causing him to throw himself in the other direction and reach for his sword that wasn't there. A man stepped out of the fog, holding his empty hands out to either side.

"Be at ease," the strange man said.

Christopher wet his lips and tried talking, but his lungs felt like they were caked with dust. After a long coughing fit, he finally gained enough breath to ask, "Who... are you?"

The strange man smiled. "I suppose calling myself a god would be too immodest. Of course, you elves don't believe in such nonsense, do you?" Christopher simply stood there, quiet. "Why would you?" the man continued. "You've seen no proof of one. I've always admired the logic of the elves. Well, more than the superstitious nonsense of the humans and urgals. And the tradition of the dwarves is just exasperating. I mean really, why they need me every time they crown a new ruler never ceases to amaze me. They're like children, needing someone to constantly hold their hand." He seemed to catch himself. "But I digress. You don't care about the woes of an old man. And for good reason, considering you're dead and all."

Christopher recoiled as if stung. "Dead?" Memories suddenly flooded his mind. Of leading an army in the desert, of fighting Chernobog, and finally of getting stabbed in the back. He subconsciously rubbed his chest where the sword had pierced him. "I'm dead!" Christopher looked around, and his brain filled in the fog with images of dead soldiers; men, elves, and urgals alike.

The man looked around as well. "Oh good. The fog always drives me crazy. Fortunately, I don't have to do this often. At least I'm not Helzvog. Or worse, Sindri. I've never seen a race with such a fleeting lifespan as the humans. Although you elves are beginning to catch up. Not that I have to personally carry each of you. Most I just point and they go where they are supposed to go." Christopher just gazed at the man, trying to gauge if he meant harm. He seemed to be an average elf, slightly taller than Christopher, but with broader shoulders, but most different was the large beard he had on his face.

The man seemed unaware of Christopher's examination, and continued. "But when I heard that the elves latest hero had fallen in battle, well I just had to come myself. You have no idea how upset I was that Eragon was human. Though I suppose it made up for Galbatorix. Well the first one at any rate."

Here Christopher interrupted. "The first one?"

The man laughed a booming laugh. "Did you think the world would stop turning just because you died? Things go on, with or without heroes there to see it. Now, in a perfect world, I would have come straight to you, but then the others would get suspicious. Especially that Helzvog. Just because his race is the only one to actually worship him, he thinks he's so important."

The name finally clicked. "Helzvog? The dwarven god?"

The man laughed again. "Hey look whose brain is finally working. Here I thought I was going to have to spell it out. Yes, the dwarven god. More specifically, the god who made dwarves. There was a time when all the races worshipped us, just by different names."

Understanding was beginning to dawn on Christopher. "Us? You mean-"

"That I'm a 'dwarven' god too? Yes. Guntera is my name. At least the one the dwarves call me."

"Guntera. Wasn't he- Aren't you the one who made the elves?"

"Two for two. Say hello to your maker, little elfling."

Christopher's head was beginning to spin. "Why are you here?"

"Why, I'm taking my people home. A lot of elves died in the battle, and someone has to guide them out of here. Granted, some need more guidance than others."

"And you explain all this to all elves who die."

"No."

"Then why explain it to me?"

Guntera sighed. "Because you're the One." At Christopher's lost expression, he added, "Every couple hundred years or so, a person of pure evil is born. Actually, more often created than born. Generally they find a source of power that corrupts them. Like the Eldunari for Galbatorix. Or Bid'Daum for your version. Once we, that is, the rest of us gods, realize that someone is about to tip the balance of power, we create a person to stop them. It doesn't always take right away, which is why Eragon was born so much later than expected. But since the discovery of Bid'Daum was so groundbreaking, we decided to rush the process, and simply turn an already born creature into what we needed. And right now we are paying for that decision. You just didn't have the right stuff."

Christopher was starting to get angry. "I'm sorry that I couldn't play your game well enough for you. Do you really just think you could pull our strings as if we're puppets? What gives you the right-"

"The right!" Now Guntera was mad. "We created you! We saved you countless times from death and destruction by this method. At least until you came along and failed. Now look. Everyone is dead. This isn't a vision you're seeing around you, it's the real thing. This is what that battlefield looks like now, days later." He took a deep breath and calmed down. "Listen. I'm not here to fight with you."

"I know, you're here to take me 'home'."

Guntera shook his head. "No I'm not." Thunder boomed across the distance. "Great," Guntera murmured under his breath. "We don't have much time. If your human king wins this war, he won't stop with the elves and urgals. He'll move on to the dwarves, and eventually across the sea to the dragons. If he does this, then the balance of power in the heavens will be disrupted. Even now, Sindri is gaining power. As the humans grow stronger, so does their creator. That is how I've been king of the gods for so long. But we are having something of a civil war on our hands. Sindri is attempting to win my crown through warfare. That is why elves have grown weak. Our strength is bound together. As one decreases in strength, so does the other. If the human empire is overthrown, then Sindri will lose her strength, and my I will be able to restore the balance. But you must be quick."

Christopher's head was swimming now, and he was growing a substantial headache. "Maybe you've forgotten, but I'm dead. I can't do anything."

"What's death to a god." Another bout of thunder rolled across the desert. "We're out of time. You must go. Find the soothsayer. She will aid you in your quest. Tell her the grumpy old elf with a beard sent you. Hurry." Guntera and the desert began to fade, until both were little more than a spectre, and then all was black.