“Accident? How can there be accidents when we’re all under the control of a prophecy?”
“You’re forgetting something, Belgarion,” Beldin said. “This whole business started with an accident. That’s what divided the Prophecies in the first place. You can read prophecies until your hair turns gray, but there’s always room for random chance to step in and disrupt things.”
“You’ll note that my brother is a philosopher,” Belgarath said, “always ready to look on the dark side of things.”
“Are you two really brothers?” Ce’Nedra asked curiously. “Yes,” Beldin told her, “but in a way that you could never begin to understand. It was something that our Master impressed upon us.”
“And Zedar was also one of your brothers?” She suddenly stared in horror at Belgarath.
The old man set his jaw. “Yes,” he admitted.
“But you‑ “
“Go ahead and say it, Ce’Nedra,” he said. “There’s nothing you can possibly say to me that I haven’t already said to myself.”
“Someday,” she said in a very small voice, “someday when this is all over, will you let him out?”
Belgarath’s eyes were stony. “I don’t think so, no.”
“And if he does let him out, I’ll go find him and stuff him right back in again,” Beldin added.
“There’s not much point in chewing over ancient history,” Belgarath said. He thought a moment, then said, “I think it’s time for us to have another talk with the young lady from Kell.” He turned to Toth. “Will you summon your mistress?” he asked.
The giant’s face was not happy. When he finally nodded, it was obviously with some reluctance.
“l’m sorry, my friend,” Belgarath said to him, “but it’s really necessary.”
Toth sighed and then he sank to one knee and closed his eyes in an oddly prayerful fashion. Once again, as it had happened back on the Isle of Verkat and again at Rak Hagga, Garion heard a murmur as of many voices. Then there came that peculiar, multicolored shimmering in the air not far from Urvon’s shoddy throne. The air cleared, and the unwavering form of the Seeress of Kell appeared on the dais. For the first time, Garion looked closely at her. She was slender and somehow looked very vulnerable, a helplessness accentuated by her white robe and her blindfolded eyes. There was, however, a serenity in her face ‑the serenity of someone who has looked full in the face of Destiny and has accepted it without question or reservation. For some reason, he felt almost overcome with awe in her radiant presence.
“Thank you for coming, Cyradis,” Belgarath said simply. “I’m sorry to have troubled you. I know how difficult it is for you to do this, but there are some answers I need before we can go any further.”
“I will tell thee as much as I am permitted to say, Ancient One,” she replied. Her voice was light and musical, but there was, nonetheless, a firmness in it that spoke of an unearthly resolve. “I must say unto thee, however, that thou must make haste. The time for the final meeting draws nigh.”
“That’s one of the things I wanted to talk about. Can you be any more specific about this appointed time?”
She seemed to consider it as if consulting with some power so immense that Garion’s imagination shuddered back from the very thought of it. “I know not time in thy terms, Holy Belgarath,” she said simply, “but only for so long as a babe lieth beneath his mother’s heart remains ere the Child of Light and the Child of Dark must face each other in the Place Which Is No More, and my task must be completed.”
“All right,” he said. “That’s clear enough, I guess. Now, when you came to us at Mal Zeth, you said that there was a task here at Ashaba that needed to be accomplished before we could move on. A great deal has happened here, so I can’t pinpoint exactly what that task was. Can you be a bit more specific?”
“The task is completed, Eternal One, for the Book of the Heavens sayeth that the Huntress must find her prey and bring him low in the House of Darkness in the sixteenth moon. And lo, even as the stars have proclaimed, it hath come to pass.”
The old man’s face took on a slightly puzzled expression.
“Ask further, Disciple of Aldur,” she told him. “My time with you grows short.”
“I’m supposed to follow the trail of the Mysteries,” he said, “ but Zandramas cut certain key passages out of the copy of the Ashabine Oracles she left here for me to find.”
“Nay, Ancient One. It was not the hand of Zandramas which mutilated thy book, but rather the hand of its author.”
“Torak?” he sounded startled.
“Even so. For know thou that the words of prophecy come unbidden, and ofttimes their import is not pleasing unto the prophet. So it was with the master of this house.”
“But Zandramas managed to put her hands on a copy that hadn’t been mutilated?” he asked.
The seeress nodded.
“Are there any other copies that Burnt‑face didn’t tamper with?” Beldin asked intently.
“Only two,” she replied. “One is in the house of Urvon the Disciple, but that one lieth under the hand of Nahaz, the accursed. Seek not to wrest it from him, lest ye die.”
“And the other?” the hunchback demanded.
“Seek out the clubfooted one, for he will aid thee in thy search.”
“That’s not too helpful, you know.”
“I speak to thee in the words that stand in the Book of the Heavens and were written ere the world began. These words have no language but speak instead directly to the soul.”
“Naturally,” he said. “All right. You spoke of Nahaz. Is he going to line our path with demons all the way across Karanda?”
“Nay, gentle Beldin. Nahaz hath no further interest in Karanda, and his legions of darkness abide no longer there and respond to no summons, however powerful. They infest instead the plains of Darshiva where they do war upon the minions of Zandramas.”
“Where is Zandramas now?” Belgarath asked her.
“She doth journey unto the place where the Sardion lay hidden for unnumbered centuries. Though it is no longer there, she hopes to find traces of it sunk into the very rocks and to follow those traces to the Place Which Is No More.”
“Is that possible?”
Her face grew very still. “That I may not tell thee,” she replied. Then she straightened. “I may say no more unto thee in this place, Belgarath. Seek instead the mystery which will guide thee. Make haste, however, for Time will not stay nor falter in its measured pace.” And then she turned toward the black altar standing before the dais where Zith was coiled, still muttering and hissing in irritation. “Be tranquil, little sister,” she said, “for the purpose of all thy days is now accomplished, and that which was delayed may now come to pass.” She then seemed, even though blindfolded, to turn her serene face toward each of them, pausing briefly only to bow her head to Polgara in a gesture of profound respect. At last she turned to Toth. Her face was filled with anguish, but she said nothing. And then she sighed and vanished.
Beldin was scowling. “That was fairly standard,” he said. “I hate riddles. They’re the entertainment of the preliterate.”
“Stop trying to show off your education and let’s see if we can sort things out,” Belgarath told him. “We know that this is all going to be decided one way or the other in nine more months. That was the number I needed.”
Sadi was frowning in perplexity. “How did we arrive at that number?” he asked. “To be perfectly frank, I didn’t understand very much of what she said.”
“ She said that we have only as much time as a baby lies in its mother’s womb,” Polgara explained. “That’s nine months.”
“Oh,” he said. Then he smiled a bit sadly. “That’s the sort of thing I don’t pay too much attention to, I guess.”
“What was that business about the sixteenth moon?” Silk asked. “I didn’t follow that at all.”
“This whole thing began with the birth of Belgarion’s son,” Beldin told him. “We found a reference to that in the Mrin Codex. Your friend with the snake had to be here at Ashaba sixteen moons later.”
Silk frowned, counting on his fingers. “It hasn’t been sixteen months yet,” he objected.
“Moons, Kheldar,” the hunchback said. “Moons, not months. There’s a difference, you know.”
“Oh. That explains it, I guess.”
“Who’s this clubfoot who’s supposed to have the third copy of the Oracles?” Belgarath said.
“It rings a bell somehow,” Beldin replied. “Let me think about it.”
“What’s Nahaz doing in Darshiva?” Garion asked.
“Apparently attacking the Grolims there,” Belgarath replied. “We know that Darshiva is where Zandramas originally came from and that the church in that region belongs to her. If Nahaz wants to put the Sardion in Urvon’s hands, he’s going to have to stop her. Otherwise, she’ll get to it first.”