“Now do you suppose you could explain all this rigama-role?” Belgarath asked.
“I asked everybody the same question, Grandfather. The people standing with you can hear that sound. The people over there can’t.”
“Of course they can. It kept me awake half the night.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re so dense this morning.” Beldin grunted. “Good experiment, Garion. Now, why don’t you explain it to our fuzzy-headed friend?”
“It’s not difficult, Grandfather,” Garion said deprecatingly. “It’s probably so simple that you’re overlooking it. The only people who can hear the sound are those with what you used to call ‘talent.’ Ordinary people can’t.”
“I’ll be honest, Belgarath,”Silk said. “I can’t heara sound.”
“And I’ve been hearing it ever since we first caught sight of Kell,” Durnik added.
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“Now isn’t that interesting?” Beldin said to Belgarath. “Shall we take it a few steps further, or did you want to go back to bed?”
“Don’t be absurd,” Belgarath replied absendy.
“All right, then,” Betdin continued, “we’ve got a sound that ordinary people can’t hear, but that we can. I can think of another right offhand, as well, can’t you?”
Belgarath nodded. “The sound of someone using sorcery.”
“This is not a natural sound, then,” Durnik mused. He suddenly laughed. “I’m glad you worked this out, Garion. I was right on the verge of tearing up the floor.”
“What on earth for?” Polgara asked him.
“I thought the noise was coming from a water pipe somewhere.”
“This isn’t sorcery, though,” Belgarath said. “It doesn’t sound the same and it doesn’t feel the same.”
Beldin was scratching thoughtfully at his matted beard. “How does this idea strike you?” he said to Belgarath. “The people here have enough concentrated power to deal with any Grolim or group of Grolims who might come along, so why go to the trouble of laying down that curse of theirs?”
“I don’t quite follow you.”
” A large proportion of Grolims are sorcerers, right? So they ‘d be able to hear this sound. What if that enchantment is there to keep the Grolims far enough away so that they won’t hear it?”
“Aren’t you getting a little exotic, Beldin?” Zakath asked skeptically.
“Not really. Actually, I’m simplifying. A curse designed to keep away people you’re not really afraid of doesn’t make sense. Everybody’s always thought that the curse was there to protect Kell itself, and that doesn’t make any sense either. Isn’t it simpler to assume that there’s something more important that has to be protected?”
“What is there about this sound that would make the Dais so concerned about having it overheard?” Velvet asked, sounding perplexed.
“All right,” Beldin said. “What is a sound?”
“Not that again.” Belgarath sighed.
“I’m not talking about the noise in the woods. A sound is just a noise unless it’s meaningful. What do we call a meaningful sound?”
“Talk, isn’t it?” Silk ventured.
“Exactly.”
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KELL
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“I don’t understand,” Ce’Nedra confessed. “What are the Dais saying that they want to keep secret? Nobody understands what they’re saying anyway.”
Beldin spread his hands helplessly, but Durnik was pacing up and down, his face creased with thought. “Maybe it’s not so much what they’re saying, but how.”
“And you accuse me of being obscure,” Beldin said to Bel-garath. “What are you getting at, Durnik?”
“I’m groping,” the smith admitted. “The noise, or sound-whatever you want to call it—isn’t a signal that somebody’s turning people into frogs.” He stopped. “Can we really do that?” he asked.
“Yes,” Beldin said, “but it’s not worth the trouble. Frogs multiply at a ferocious rate. I’d rather have one person who irritated me instead of a million or so aggravating frogs.”
“All right, then,” Durnik continued. “It’s not the noise that sorcery makes.”
“Probably not,” Belgarath agreed.
“And I think Ce’Nedra’s right. Nobody really understands what the Dais are saying—except for other Dais. Half the time I can’t follow what Cyradis is saying from one end of a sentence to the other.”
“What does that leave?” Beldin asked intently, his eyes alight. “I’m not sure. I’ve got the feeling though that ‘How’ is more important than ‘What.’ ” Durnik suddenly looked slightly embarrassed. “I’m talking too much,” he confessed. “I’m sure that some of the rest of you have more important things to say about this than I do.”
“I don’t really think so,” Beldin told him. “I think you’re right on the edge of it. Don’t lose it.”
Durnik was actually sweating now. He covered his eyes with one hand, trying to collect his thoughts. Garion noticed that everyone in the room was almost breathlessly watching his old friend labor with a concept that was probably far beyond the grasp of any of the rest of them.
“There has to be something that the Dais are trying to protect,” the smith went on, “and it has to be something that’s very simple—for them at least—but something they don’t want anybody else to understand. I wish Toth were here. He might be able to explain it.” Then his eyes went very wide. “What is it, dear?” Polgara asked.
“It can’t be that!” he exclaimed, suddenly very excited. “It couldn’t be!”
“Durnik!” she said in exasperation.
“Do you remember when Toth and I first began to talk to each other—in gestures, I mean?” Durnik was suddenly talking very fast and he was almost breathless. “We’d been working together, and a man who works with someone else begins to know exactly what the other one is doing—and even what he’s thinking.” He stared at Silk. “You and Garion and Pol use that finger-language,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You’ve seen the gestures Toth makes. Would the secret language be able to say all that much with just a few waves of the hand—the way he does it?”
Garion already knew the answer.
Silk’s voice was puzzled. “No,” he said. “That would be impossible.”
“But I know exactly what he’s trying to say,” Durnik told them. “The gestures don’t mean anything at all. He does it just to make me—to give me some rational explanation for what he’s really doing.” Durnik’s face grew awed. “He’s been putting the words directly into my mind—without even talking. He has to, because he can’t talk. What if that’s what this murmuring we hear is? What if it’s the sound of the Dais talking to one another? And what if they can do it over long distances?”
“And overtime, too,” Beldin said in a startled voice. “Do you remember what your big, silent friend said when we first got here? He said that nothing the Dais have ever done has ever been forgotten and that every Dal alive knows everything that every Dal who’s ever lived knew.”
“You’re suggesting an absurdity, Beldin,” Belgarath scoffed.
“No. Not really. Ants do it. So do bees.”
“We aren’t ants—or bees.”
“I can do almost anything a bee can do.” The hunchback shrugged. “Except make honey—and you could probably build a fairly acceptable anthill.”
“Will one of you please explain what you’re talking about?” Ce’Nedra asked crossly.
“They’re hinting at the possibility of a group mind, dear,” Polgara said quite calmly. “They’re not doing it very well, but that’s what they’re groping toward.” She gave the two old men a condescending sort of smile. “There are certain creatures— usually insects—that don’t have very much intelligence individually, but as a group they’re very wise. A single bee isn’t too
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bright, but a beehive knows everything that’s ever happened to it.”
The she-wolf had come padding in, her toenails clicking on the marble floor, with the puppy scampering along behind her. “Wolves do it, as well,” she supplied, indicating that she had been listening at the door.
“What did she say?” Silk asked.
“She said that wolves do the same thing,” Garion translated. Then he remembered something. “I was talking with Hettar once, and he said that horses are the same way. They don’t think of themselves as individuals—only as parts of the herd.”
‘ ‘Would it really be possible for people to do something like that?” Velvet asked incredulously.
“There’s one way to find out,” Polgara replied.
“No, Pol,” Belgarath said very firmly. “It’s too dangerous. You could be drawn into it and never be able to get back out.”
“No, father,” she replied quite calmly. “The Dais may not let me in, but they won’t hurt me or keep me in if I want to leave.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.” And she closed her eyes.
CHAPTER SIX
They stood watching her apprehensively as she lifted her flawless face. Eyes closed, she concentrated. Then a strange expression came to her features.
“Well?” Belgarath asked.
“Quiet, father. I’m listening.”
He stood drumming his fingers impatiently on the back of a chair, and the others watched breathlessly.
At last Polgara opened her eyes with a vaguely regretful sigh. “It’s enormous,” she said very quietly. “It has every thought these people have ever had—and every memory. It even remembers the beginning, and every one of them shares in it.”