A root cellar behind the house yielded a store of vegetables and Belgarath and Beldin brought a cask of beer in the brewhouse. While the chickens were roasting, Polgara rummaged through the canisters and bins in the kitchen. She found flour and a number of other staples, and she rolled up her sleeves in a businesslike way, mixed up a large batch of dough, and began to knead it on a well-scrubbed cutting board near the fire. “We can have some biscuits tonight, I think,” she said, “and I’ll bake some fresh bread in the morning.”
The supper was the best Garion had eaten in months. There had been banquets and adequate meals in inns and the like, but there was a certain indefinable quality to his Aunt Pol’s cooking that no other cook in the world could hope to match. After he had eaten more perhaps than was normally good for him, he pushed his plate away with a sigh and leaned back in his chair.
“I’m glad you decided to leave some for the rest of us,” Ce’Nedra said in a slightly snippy tone.
“Are you cross with me for some reason?” he asked her.
“No, I suppose not, Garion. I’m just a little irritated, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“A chicken bit me.” She pointed at the remains of a roasted hen lying on a large platter. “That one,” she added. She reached out, wrenched a drumstick off the chicken and bit into it rather savagely with her small white teeth. “There,” she said in a vengeful tone. “How do you like that!”
Garion knew his wife, so he knew better than to laugh. After supper, they all lingered at the table in a kind of contentment as the storm outside abated. Suddenly, there was a light, almost diffident rap on the door. Garion sprang to his feet, reaching over his shoulder for his sword.
“I don’t mean to disturb you,” a querulous old voice from the other side of the door. “I just wanted to be you have everything you need.” Belgarath rose from his chair, went to the door, and opened it.
“Holy Belgarath,” the man outside said with a bow of the profoundest respect. He was very old, with snowy white hair and a thin, lined face.
He was also a Grolim.
Belgarath stared at him warily. “You know me?” he asked.
“Of course. I know you all. I’ve been waiting for you. May I come in?”
Wordlessly, Belgarath stepped aside for him, and the aged Grolim tottered into the room, aided by a twisted cane. He bowed to Polgara. “Lady Polgara,” he murmured. Then he turned to Garion. “Your Majesty,” he said, “may I beg your forgiveness?”
“Why?” Garion replied. “You’ve never done anything to me.”
“Yes I have, your Majesty. When I heard about what had happened in the City of Endless Night, I hated you. Can you forgive that?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. It was only natural for you to feel that way. You’ve had a change of heart, I take it?”
“It was changed for me, King Belgarion. The New God of Angarak will be a kindlier, gentler God than was Torak. I live now only to serve that God and I abide against the day of his coming.”
“Sit down, my friend,” Belgarath told him. “I assume you’ve had a religious experience of some kind?”
The old Grolim sank into a chair with a beatific smile on his lined face. “My heart has been touched, Holy Belgarath,” he said simply. “I had devoted all of my life to the service of Torak in the temple in this village. I grieved more than you can know when I learned of His death, for I served Him without question. Now I have removed His likeness from the Temple wall and I decorate the altar with flowers instead of the blood of sacrificial victims. Bitterly I repent the times when I myself held the knife during the rite of sacrifice.”
“And what was it that so changed you?” Polgara asked him.
“It was a voice that spoke to me in the silences of my soul, Lady Polgara, a voice that filled me with such joy that it seemed that all the world was bathed in light.”
“And what did the voice say to you?”
The old priest reached inside his black robe and withdrew a parchment sheet. “I took great care to inscribe the words exactly as the voice spoke them to me,” he said, “for such was the instruction I received. A man may misconstrue what is told, or change it if it is not to his liking or if he fails to understand.” He smiled gently. “What I have written is for the benefit of others, though, for the words are engraved upon my heart far more indelibly than upon this sheet.” He unrolled the parchment and read from it in a quavering voice. “ ’Behold:’ “ he read, “ ‘In the days which shall follow the meeting of the Child of Light and the Child of Dark in the City of Endless Night shall a great despair fall over the Priests of the Dark God, for He shall have been laid low and shall come no more among His people. But lift up thine heart, for thy despair is but the night which shall be banished by the rising of a new sun. For verily I say to thee, Angarak shall have a new birth with the coming of her true God—He who was purposed to lead her since the Beginning of Days. For lo, the Dark God was born out of nothingness the instant of the EVENT which divided all creation, and was not He who was foreordained to guide and protect Angarak. In the last meeting of the Child of Dark and the Child of Light shall the true God of Angarak be revealed, ye shall render up unto Him your hearts and your decision.’
“And the course which Angarak shall follow shall be determined by the CHOICE, and once the CHOICE is made, not be unmade and shall prevail eternally for good ill. For harken, two shall stand in the Place Which Is More, but only one shall be chosen. And the Child of Light and the Child of Dark shall surrender up the burden spirits which guide them to the two who shall stand in expectation of the CHOICE. And should the CHOICE fall to tone hand, the world shall be drowned in darkness, but it fall to the other hand, shall all be bathed in light, that which was ordained since before the beginning of shall come to pass.
“Abide in hope, therefore, and treat thy fellow creatures and with love, for this is pleasing to the true God, should He prevail and be chosen, He shall bless thee lay but a gentle yoke upon thee.’ “ The old Grolim lowered the sheet and bowed his head prayerfully. “Thus spoke the voice which filled my heart with joy and banished my despair,” he said simply.
“We’re grateful that you shared this with us,” Belgarath told him. “Might we offer you something to eat?”
The Grolim shook his head. “I do not eat meat any more,” he said. “I would not offend my God. I have cast away my dagger and will shed no more blood for all the days of my life.” He rose to his feet. “I will leave you now,” he said. “I came but to reveal to you the words the voice spoke to me, and to assure you that one at least in all of Angarak shall pray for your success.”
“We thank you,” Belgarath said sincerely. He went to the door and held it open for the gentle old man.
“That was fairly specific, wasn’t it?” Beldin said after the Grolim had left. “It’s the first time I heard a prophecy that got straight to the point.”
“You mean to say that he’s really a prophet?” Silk asked.
“Of course he is. It’s an almost classic case. He had all the symptoms—the ecstasy, the radical change of personality, all of it.”
“There’s something wrong here, though,” Belgarath said, frowning. “I’ve spent eons reading prophecies, and what he said didn’t have the same tone as any that I’ve ever come across—either ours or the others.” He looked at Garion. “Can you get in touch with your friend?” he asked. “I need to talk with him.”
“I can try,” Garion replied. “He doesn’t always come when I call, though.”
“See if you can reach him. Tell him that it’s important.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Grandfather.” Garion sat down and closed his eyes. “Are you in there?” he asked.
“Please don’t shout, Garion, “ the voice responded in a pained tone. “It hurts my ears. “
“Sorry,” Garion apologized. “I didn’t realize I was talking so loud. Grandfather wants to talk with you.”
“All right. Open your eyes, Garion. I can’t see when they’re closed. “