David and Leigh Eddings – Belgarath the Sorcerer

Ashabine Oracles before Torak corrupts them into in comprehensibility

“Urvon’s got a copy. I can always take his away from him.”

“Torak burned Urvon’s copy. Don’t you people even talk to each

other?”

“I don’t have anything to say to Urvon.”

“Or to Zedar, either, I gather. This bickering between the three of

you is going to make my job much, much easier.”

“You aren’t the important one, Belgarath. You’ve had your turn as the

Child of Light, and I think you blundered it away. You should have

killed Zedar when you had the chance.”

“You definitely need instructions, Ctuchik. Zedar’s part in all of

this isn’t over yet. He’s still got things to do, and if he doesn’t do

them, we come right back to that third possibility again. Some of your

Grolims have been seized by the spirit of your Necessity. Get good

copies of what they’re saying, and don’t tamper with them. Torak’s

erasing whole pages of the Ashabine Oracles, so the Prophecies of your

western Grolims might very well end up being all you’ll have to work

with. This isn’t a good area for experimentation. Certain things have

to happen, and we both have to know about them. I don’t have time to

come down here every few centuries to educate you.”

“I know my responsibilities, Belgarath. You do your work, and I’ll do

mine.”

“I can hold up my end of it,” I told him. Then I stood up and smiled

benignly at him.

“It’s been absolutely wonderful talking with you, old boy, and we’ll

have to do it again one of these days.”

“My pleasure, old chap,” he replied with a thin little smile.

“Stop by any time.”

“Oh, I will, Ctuchik, I will. Incidentally, don’t try to follow me,

and don’t send anybody to get in my way–not anybody you care anything

about, anyway.”

“I don’t really care for anybody, old man.”

“You ought to try it sometime, Ctuchik. It might sweeten your

disposition.”

Then I went out and closed the door behind me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I flew due west from Rak Cthol, then .-went wolf and skirted the

eastern border of Maragor, climbed up through the Tolnedran Mountains

to the southern end of the Vale. All in all, I was rather pleased with

myself. Things had gone well at Rak Cthol.

It was early evening when I reached my tower.

“How did it go?” Beldin asked me when I joined him and Pol.

“Not bad.” I said it in an offhand sort of way. Boasting’s very

unbecoming, after all.

“What happened, father?” Pol asked in that suspicious tone she always

takes when I have been out of her sight for more than five minutes. I

wish Polgara would trust me just once. Of course, that would probably

stop the sun.

I shrugged.

“I went to Rak Cthol.”

“Yes, I know. And–?”

“I talked to Ctuchik.”

“And–?”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“Father, get to the point!”

“Actually, I led him down the garden path. I told him a great many

things he already knew just as an excuse to get close enough to him to

test his capabilities. He’s actually not all that good.” I sat down

in my favorite chair.

“Is supper ready yet?” I asked her.

“It’s still cooking. Talk, father. What really happened?”

“I slipped into his city and paid him a call in the middle of the

night. I made a large issue of telling him to keep his Murgos out of

the western kingdoms, and then I raised the possibility that if the

Murgos irritated the Alorns too much, Riva might use the Orb against

them. That can’t happen, of course, but I think the notion worried

Ctuchik. He seems to be very gullible in some ways. I’m sure he

believes that I’m a fussy old windbag who runs around repeating the

obvious. Then I raised the possibility that if somebody did something

that he wasn’t supposed to do, it might just let pure, random chance

enter into the picture.”

“And he believed you?” Beldin asked incredulously.

“He seemed to. At least he considered it enough to worry about it.

Then we discussed the Ashabine Oracles. Both Ctuchik and Urvon are

trying to slip people into Torak’s house at Ashaba to get copies, but I

got the impression that Torak’s controlling those copies rather

jealously, and Zedar’s doing his best to keep his brothers’ spies away

from Ashaba. The three of them hate each other with a passion that’s

almost holy.”

“What’s Ctuchik look like?” Beldin asked me.

“I’ve seen that piebald Urvon a few times, but I’ve never actually seen

Ctuchik.”

“He’s tall, skinny, and he’s got a long, white beard. He looks like a

walking corpse.”

“Peculiar.”

“What is?”

“Old Burnt-face seems to be attracted to ugliness. Ctuchik sounds

hideous, and that speckled Urvon’s no prize. Zedar’s not so bad, I

guess –unless you want to take the ugliness of his soul into

account.”

“You’re not really in a position to talk, uncle,” Pol reminded him.

“You didn’t have to say that, Pol. What now, Belgarath?”

I scratched at my beard.

“I think we’d better get the twins and see if we can contact the

Master. We need some advice here. The Angaraks absolutely must have

uncorrupted copies of the Oracles, and Torak’s doing everything he

possibly can to keep that from happening.”

“Can we do that?” Pol asked me.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted, “but I think we’d better try. Zedar might

have a clean copy, but I’d hate to hang the fate of the world on a

maybe.”

As it turned out, it was surprisingly easy to get in touch with Aldur.

I think it might have been because we were in an interim stage between

the time when we were guided by the Gods and the time when the

Prophecies took over. At any rate, a simple

“Master, we need you.” brought Aldur’s presence into my tower. He was

a bit filmy and indistinct, but he was there.

He went immediately to Polgara, which shouldn’t have surprised me.

“My beloved daughter,” he said to her, lightly touching her cheek.

Would you believe that I felt a momentary surge of jealousy at that

point? Polgara was my daughter, not his. We all get strange when we

get older, I guess. I choked back my instinctive protest, and I think

I had a little epiphany at that point. Jealousy is a symptom of love,

I suppose–a primitive form, but love nonetheless. I loved my

dark-haired, steely-eyed daughter, and since love–and hate–are at the

very core of what I am, Polgara won the whole game right then and

there. We argued for another three thousand years or so, but all I was

doing was fighting a rear guard action. I’d already lost.

“You know what Torak’s doing at Ashaba, don’t you, Master?”

Beldin asked.

“Yes, my son,” Aldur replied sadly.

“My brother is distraught, and he thinks to change what must happen by

changing the word that tells him of it.”

“If he goes too far and changes the Oracles too much, his Angaraks

won’t know what they’re supposed to do,” I said in a worried tone.

“Are we going to have to take steps?”

“Nay, my son,” the Master replied.

“True copies do exist, though my brother might wish otherwise. The

Necessity that drives him will not be so thwarted. Belzedar is with my

brother, and, though he knows it not, he is still in some measure

driven by our Necessity. He hath ensured that the words of that other

Necessity are safe and whole.”

“That’s a relief,” Beldin said.

“If we had to start taking care of both sets of instructions, it might

get burdensome. I think we’re going to have our hands full just taking

care of our own.”

“Set thy mind at rest, my son,” Aldur told him.

“The steps that lead to the ultimate meeting unfalteringly proceed.”

“We’ve identified two of the prophets who’ve giving us our

instructions, Master,” I advised him.

“Their words are being faithfully set down.”

“Excellent, my son.”

Pol looked slightly worried.

“Are there others, Master?” she asked.

“The Alorns know how important those prophecies are, but I don’t think

the Tolnedrans or the Arends do. We could be missing something

significant.

Are there other speakers?”

He nodded.

“They are of less import, however, my daughter, and are more in the

nature of verification. Put thy mind at ease. Failing all else, we

may appeal to the Dals for aid. The Seers at Kell are seeking out all

the prophecies–both the instruction of our Necessity and that of

Torak’s.”

“Astonishing,” Beldin said.

“The Dals are actually doing something useful for a change.”

“They must, gentle Beldin, for they, too, have a task in this matter–a

task of gravest significance. We must not hinder them. The path they

follow is obscure, but it will in the fullness of time bring them to

the selfsame place whither our path leads us. All is proceeding as it