DAVID EDDINGS – SORCERESS OF DARSHIVA

As had happened occasionally in the past, Garion felt himself shunted off into some quiet corner of his mind, and dry voice took over. “All right, Belgarath,” it said with Garion’s lips. “What is it this time?”

“I’ve got a couple of questions, “ the old man replied.

“There‘s nothing new about that. You’ve always got questions. “

“Did you hear what the Grolim said?”

“Naturally.”

“Was it you? I mean, were you the voice that came to him?”

“No, as a matter of fact, I wasn’t. “

“Then it was the other spirit?”

“No. It wasn’t him either. “

“Then who was it?”

“Sometimes I can’t believe that Aldur chose you as his first disciple. Are your brains packed in wool?”

“You don’t have to be insulting. “ Belgarath sounded a bit injured, but Beldin laughed an ugly, cackling kind of laugh.

“All right,” the voice sighed, “I’ll go through it carefully. Try not to miss too much. My counterpart and I came into existence when Destiny was divided. Have you got that much?”

“I knew that already. “

“And you even managed to remember it? Amazing.”

“Thanks, “ Belgarath said in a flat tone.

“I’m working with Garion’s vocabulary. He’s a peasant, he can be a little blunt sometimes. Now, doesn’t it seem that when Destiny is reunited, there should be a new My counterpart and I will have served our purpose, there won’t be any further need for us. Millions of years between us have warped our perceptions a bit.” Belgarath looked startled at that.

“Think, old man,” the voice told him. “I’m not suited to deal with a united universe. I’ve got too many old prejudices. The new voice can start out fresh without any preconceptions. It’s better that way, believe me.”

“I think I’m going to miss you.”

“Don’t get sentimental on me, Belgarath. I don’t think I bear that.”

“Wait a minute. This new voice will come into existence the meeting, right?”

“At the instant of the meeting, actually. “

“Then how did it speak to the old Grolim, if it’s not in existence yet?”

“Time doesn’t really mean that much to us, Belgarath. We can move backward and forward in it without any particular difficulty.”

“You mean the voice was speaking to him from the future?”

“Obviously. “ Garion felt a faint, ironic smile cross his lips. “How do you know I’m not speaking to you from the past?”

Belgarath blinked.

“Now we’ve got you,” Beldin said triumphantly. “We’re going to win, aren’t we?”

“We can hope so, but there’s no guarantee.”

“The voice that spoke to the Grolim represents a kindlier God, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. “

“If the Child of Dark wins, the New God isn’t going to be very kindly, is he?”

“No.”

“Then the simple fact that the voice came to him from out of the future—after the choice—indicates that the Child of Light is going to win, doesn’t it?”

The voice sighed. “Why do you always have to complicate things, Beldin? The voice that spoke to the Grolim is the possibility of the new spirit. It’s simply reaching back in time to make certain preparations so that things will be ready in the eventuality that it comes out on top. The Choice still hasn’t been made yet, you know.”

“Even the possibility of existence has that kind of power?”

“Possibility has enormous power, Beldin—sometimes even more than actuality.”

“And the possibility of the other spirit could be making its own preparations as well, couldn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised. You have an enormous grasp of the obvious.”

“Then we’re right back where we started from. We ‘re still going to have two spirits wrestling across time and the universe for dominance.”

“No. The Choice will eliminate one of the possibilities once and for all.”

“I don’t understand,” Beldin confessed.

“I didn’t think you would.”

“What preparations was this new voice making?” Polgara asked suddenly.

“The Grolim who came to you here will be the prophet and the first Disciple of the New God—assuming that the Child of Light is chosen, of course. “

“A Grolim?”

“The decision wasn’t mine to make. The new God will be a God of Angarak, though, so it does make sense, I suppose.”

“That might take a bit of getting adjusted to. “

“You have as many prejudices as I do, Polgara,” the voice laughed, “but I think in the long run, you’re more adaptable—and certainly more so than these two stubborn old men are. You’ll come to accept it in time. Now, if there aren’t any more questions, I still have some things to attend to—in another part of time.”

And then the voice was gone.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The sun was just going down, staining the purple cloudbank to the west with a jaundiced yellow as it broke through an opening in the approaching storm. Garion crested a long hill and looked down into the next valley. There was a complex of buildings there, a complex so familiar that he dropped onto his haunches and stared at it in amazement for a moment. Then he rose on all fours again and moved cautiously through the tall grass toward the farmstead. He saw no smoke, and the large gate was open, but he didn’t see any point in taking chances. Farmers have an automatic aversion to wolves, and Garion did not particularly want to dodge arrows shot at him from concealment.

He stopped at the edge of the cleared area surrounding the farm, dropped to his belly in the grass, and looked at the farm for quite some time. It seemed to be deserted. He ran forward and slunk cautiously through the open gate. The compound was quite nearly as large as Faldor’s farm, half a world away. He slipped through an open shed door and stood inside v with one forepaw slightly raised as his nose and ears intently sought for any evidence that he was not alone. The farmstead was silent, save for the complaining moan of an udder-heavy cow lowing to be milked in the barn across the central yard. The smells of people were here, of course, but they were all many days old.

Garion slipped out of the shed and trotted cautiously from door to door, opening each in turn by twisting the handle with his jaws. The place in many respects was so strikingly familiar that it brought him a sharp pang of a homesickness he thought he had long since put behind him. The storage rooms were all almost the same as at Faldor’s. The smithy was so like Durnik’s that Garion could almost hear the steely paring of his friend’s hammer on the anvil. He was quite certain that he could close his eyes and pad unerringly across the yard to the kitchen.

Methodically, he entered each room around the lower floor of the farmstead, then scrambled up the stairs leading to the gallery with his toenails scratching at the wooden steps.

All was deserted.

He returned to the yard and poked an inquiring nose into the barn. The cow bawled in panic, and Garion backed out through the door to avoid causing her further distress.

“Aunt Pol,” he sent his thought out.

“Yes, dear?”

“There’s nobody here, and it’s a perfect place.”

“Perfect is an extravagant word, Garion.”

“Wait until you see it.”

A few moments later, Belgarath trotted through the gateway, sniffed, looked around, and blurred into his own form. “It’s like coming home, isn’t it?” He grinned.

“I thought so myself,” Garion replied.

Beldin came spiraling in. “It’s about a league to the river,” he said even as he changed. “If we move right along, we can make it by dark.”

“Let’s stay here instead,” Belgarath said. “The river banks might be patrolled, and there’s no point in creeping around in the dark if we don’t have to.”

The hunchback shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

Then Polgara, as pale and silent as a ghost, drifted over the wall, settled on the tailgate of a two-wheeled cart in the center of the yard, and resumed her own form. “Oh, my,” she murmured, stepping down and looking around. “You were right, Garion. It is perfect.” She folded her cloak across her arm and crossed the yard to the kitchen door.

About five minutes later, Durnik led the others into the yard. He also looked around, then suddenly laughed. “You’d almost expect Faldor himself to come out that door,” he said. “How’s it possible for two places so far apart to look so much alike?”

“It’s the most practical design for a farm, Durnik,” Belgarath told him, “and sooner or later, practical people the world over are going to arrive at it. Can you do something about that cow? We won’t get much sleep if she bawls all night long.”

“I’ll milk her right away.” The smith slid down from his saddle and led his horse toward the barn.

Belgarath looked after him with an affectionate expression. “We may have to drag him away from here in the morning,” he noted.

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