Dras and me to the prophet’s hovel.
The crazy man was crouched by that post again, and he was still jerking
on his chain. I don’t think he was actually trying to get loose. The
clinking of the chain seemed to soothe him for some reason. Then
again, aside from the wooden bowl they fed him from, that chain was his
only possession. It was his, so he had a right to play with it, I
guess. He was making animal noises when we approached.
“Has he stopped?” I asked the scribe who had come to fetch us.
“He’ll start up again,” the scribe assured me.
“He breaks off and moans and grunts for a while every so often. Then
he goes back to talking. Once he starts, he’s usually good for the
rest of the day. He stops when the sun goes down.”
Then the crazy man let go of his chain and looked me directly in the
face. His eyes were alert and very penetrating.
“Behold!” he said to me in a booming, hollow voice, a voice that
sounded almost exactly the same as Bormik’s.
“The Child of Light shall be accompanied on his quest by the Bear and
by the Guide and by the Man with Two Lives. Thou, too, Ancient and
Beloved, shall be at his side. And the Horse-Lord shall also go with
ye, and the Blind Man, and the Queen of the World. Others also will
join with ye–the Knight Protector and the Archer and the Huntress and
the Mother of the Race That Died and the Woman who Watches, whom thou
hast known before.”
He broke off and began to moan and drool and yank on his chain again.
“That should do it,” I told Dras.
“That’s what I needed to know. He’s authentic.”
“How were you able to tell so quickly?”
“Because he talked about the Child of Light, Dras. Bormik did the same
thing back in Darine. You might want to pass that on to your father
and brothers. That’s the key that identifies the prophets. As soon as
someone mentions the Child of Light, you’d better put some scribes
nearby, because what he’s saying is going to be important.”
“How did you find that out?”
“The Necessity and I spent some time together when we were on the way
to Mallorea, remember? He talked about the Child of Light
extensively.”
Then I remembered something else.
“It might be a little farfetched, and I don’t know if it’ll ever happen
in our part of the world, but we might come across somebody who talks
about the Child of Dark, as well. Have people take down what he says,
too.”
“What’s the difference?”
“The ones who talk about the Child of Light are giving us
instructions.
The ones who mention the Child of Dark are telling Torak what to do. It
might be useful if we can intercept some of those messages.”
“Are you going to stay here and listen?”
“There’s no need of that. I’ve found out what I wanted to. Have your
scribes make me a copy of everything they’ve set down so far and send
it to me in the Vale.”
“I’ll see to it. Do you want to go back to Kotu now?”
“No, I don’t think so. See if you can find somebody here with a boat
who knows the way through the fens. Pol and I’ll go on down to Algaria
and then on home from there. There’s not much point in
backtracking.”
“Is there anything you want me to do?”
“Go back to Boktor and get married. You’ll need a son to pass your
crown to.”
“I don’t have a crown, Belgarath.”
“Get one. A crown doesn’t really mean anything, but people like to
have visible symbols around.”
Polgara was scowling at me.
“What?” I asked her.
The fens, father? You’re going to make me go through the fens?
“Look upon it as an educational experience, Pol. Let’s go gather up
our things. I want to get back to the Vale.”
“What’s the rush?”
“Let’s just say I’m homesick.”
She rolled her eyes upward with that long-suffering look she’s so fond
of.
The fellow with the boat was named Gannik, and he was a talkative,
good-natured fellow. His boat was long and slender–more like a canoe
than a rowboat. Occasionally he paddled us down through the fens, but
most of the time he poled us along. I didn’t care much for the idea of
having someone standing up in that narrow craft, but he seemed to know
what he was doing, so I didn’t make an issue of it.
I did want to get back to the Vale, but my main reason for leaving
Braca so abruptly had been a desire to get Pol away from the young
Drasnian who’d been teaching her the secret language. I could retain
my equanimity so long as Pol’s suitors gathered around her in groups,
but seeing her sitting off to one side alone with one of those young
men made me nervous. Pol had uncommon good sense, but– I’m sure you
get my drift.
I brooded about that as Gannik poled us on south through that soggy
marshland. Polgara was eighteen years old now, and it was definitely
time for me to have that little talk with her. She and Beldaran had
grown up without a mother, so there’d been no one around to explain
certain things to her. Beldaran quite obviously did know about those
things, but I wasn’t entirely certain that Pol did. Grandchildren are
very nice, but unanticipated ones might be just a little
embarrassing.
The border between Drasnia and Algaria wasn’t really very well defined
when it passed through the fens. The Drasnians called that vast swamp
Mrin Marsh, and the Algars referred to it as Aldurfens. It was all the
same bog, though. We were about three days south of Braca when Pol saw
one of those aquatic creatures that live in such places.
“Is that an otter or a beaver?” she asked Gannik when a small, round,
sleek head popped above the water ahead of us.
“That’s a fen ling he replied.
“They’re like otters, but a little bigger.
They’re playful little rascals. Some people trap them for their fur,
but I don’t think I’d care to do that. It just doesn’t seem right to
me for some reason. I like to watch them play.”
The fen ling had very large eyes, and he watched us curiously as Gannik
poled his boat through the large pond that appeared to be the
creature’s home. Then it made that peculiar chittering sound that the
fen lings make. It sounded almost as if he were scolding us.
Gannik laughed.
“We’re scaring the fish,” he said, “and he’s telling us about it.
Sometimes it seems they can almost talk.”
Vordai, the witch of the fens, came to that selfsame conclusion some
years later, and she dragooned me into doing something about it.
We finally reached that part of the swamp that was fed by the channels
at the mouth of the Aldur river, and Gannik poled us to the higher
ground lying to the east of the swamp. Pol and I thanked him and went
ashore.
It was good to get my feet on dry ground again.
“Are we going to change form again?” Pol asked me.
“In a bit. We’ve got something to talk about first, though.”
“Oh, what’s that?”
“You’re growing up, Pol.”
“Why, do you know, I believe you’re right.”
“Do you mind? There are some things you need to know.”
“Such as?”
That’s where I started floundering. Pol stood there with a vapid,
wide-eyed expression on her face, letting me dig myself in deeper and
deeper. Polgara can be very cruel when she puts her mind to it.
Finally I stopped. Her expression was just a little too vacant.
“You already know about all this, don’t you?” I accused her.
“About what, father?”
“Stop that. You know where babies come from. Why are you letting me
embarrass the both of us?”
“You mean they don’t hatch out under cabbage leaves?” She reached out
and patted me on the cheek.
“I know all about it, father. I helped to deliver Beldaran’s baby,
remember? The midwives explained the whole procedure to me. It did
sort of stir my curiosity, I’ll admit.”
“Don’t get too curious, Pol. There are certain customary formalities
before you start experimenting.”
“Oh? Did you go through those formalities in Mar Amon–every single
time?”
I muttered a few swear words under my breath and then slipped into the
form of a wolf. At least a wolf can’t blush, and my face had been
getting redder and redder as I had gone along.
Polgara laughed that deep rich laugh I hadn’t heard very often and
blurred into the shape of the tufted owl.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Beldin had returned from his visit to Mallorea when Pol and I reached
the Vale. I was a bit surprised that he’d made it back so soon. He’s