“Tomorrow I’m going to meet Zandramas.”
“Why, do you know? I think you’re right.” ‘
“Please don’t do that. This is serious.”
“Sorry, Garion. I’m feeling whimsical today.”
“I’m afraid that the only way we’re going to be able to stop her is to kill her, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to do that. Torak was one thing, but Zandramas is a woman.”
“Well, she was. I think her gender has become irrelevant now, though—even to herself.”
“I still don’t think I’ll be able to do it.”
“There will be no need, Belgarion,” Cyradis assured him. “Another fate doth lie in store for Zandramas, no matter what my choice may be. Thou wilt not be required to shed her blood.”
A vast wave of relief came over Garion. “Thank you, Holy Seeress,” he said. ‘ ‘I Ve been afraid to face up to that. It’s good to know that it’s not one of the tasks I Ve got ahead of me. Oh, by the way, Grandfather, my friend up here—” He tapped his forehead “—has been visiting again. Last night he told me that my final task will be to choose my successor. I don’t suppose I could get you to help me, could I?”
“No, Garion, I’m afraid not. I don’t think I’m supposed to, am I, Cyradis?”
“Nay, Ancient Belgarath. That task lieth on the Child of Light alone.”
“I was afraid you might look at it that way,” Garion said glumly.
“Oh, one thing, Garion,” Belgarath said. “The one you choose has a fair chance of becoming a God. Don’t choose me. I ‘m not suited for the job.”
The others drifted in singly or in pairs. As each one entered, Garion considered their faces, trying to picture each of his friends as a divinity. Aunt Pol? No, that didn’t seem right somehow, and that automatically excluded Durnik. He could not deprive her of her husband. Silk? That idea very nearly caused Garion to collapse in helpless laughter. Zakath? It had some possibilities. Zakath was an Angarak, and the new God would be the God of that race. Zakath was a bit unpredictable, however. Until recently, he had been obsessed with power. A sudden onset of Godhood might unsettle his mind and make him revert. Garion sighed. He’d have to think about it some more.
The servants brought in breakfast, and Ce’Nedra, obviously remembering her promise of the previous night, fixed a plate for the puppy. The plate contained eggs, sausage, and a generous dollop of jam. The she-wolf looked away with a shudder.
They deliberately avoided the subject of tomorrow’s meeting as they ate. The meeting was inevitable now, so there was no point in talking about it.
Belgarath pushed back his plate with a look of contentment on his face. “Don’t forget to thank the king for his hospitality,” he told Garion.
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And then the she-wolf came over and laid her head in the old man’s lap. Belgarath looked startled. The wolf had usually avoided him. “What is it, little sister?” he asked her.
Then, to everyone’s astonishment, the wolf actually laughed and spoke quite plainly in the language of humans.” Your brains have gone to sleep, old wolf,” she said to Belgarath. “I thought you’d nave known me weeks ago. Does this help?” A sudden blue nimbus surrounded her. “Or this?” She shimmered, and then the wolf was gone. Standing in its place was a tawny-haired, golden-eyed woman in a brown dress.
“Mother!” Aunt Pol exclaimed.
“You’re no more observant than your father, Polgara,” Po-ledra said reprovingly. “Garion has known for quite some time now.”
Belgarath, however, was staring in horror at the puppy.
“Oh, don’t be silly, old man,” his wife told him, “You know that we’re mated for life. The puppy was weak and sick, so the pack had to leave him behind. I cared for him, that’s all.”
The smile on the face of theSeeressof Kell was gentle. “This is the Woman Who Watches, Ancient Belgarath,” she said. “Now is thy company complete. Know, however, that she is ever with thee, as she has always been.”
Part Three
THE HIGH
PLACES OF KORIM
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Garion had seen his grandmother—or her image-several times, but the similarity of her features to Aunt Polls seemed uncanny. There were differences, of course. Aunt Pol’s hair, except for that white lock at her brow, was dark, almost black, and her eyes were a deep, deep blue. Poledra, on the other hand, had tawny hair, hovering nearly on the verge of being as blond as Velvet’s, and her eyes were as golden as the eyes of a wolf. The features of the two women, however, were almost identical, as had been, the one time Garion had seen her image, the features of Aunt Pol’s sister, Beldaran. Belgarath, his wife, and his daughter had withdrawn to the far side of the room, and Beldin, his tears glistening through his scowl, had placed himself squarely between them and the others in the room to guard their privacy during their reunion.
“Who is she?” Zakath asked Garion in puzzlement.
203
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THE HIGH PLACES OF KORIM
205
“She’s my grandmother,” Garion replied simply, “Belgar-ath’s wife.”
“I didn’t know he had a wife.”
“Where did you think Aunt Pol came from?”
“I guess I hadn’t thought of that.” Zakath looked around, noting that both Ce’Nedra and Velvet were dabbing at their eyes with wispy little handkerchiefs.
“Why is everyone so misty-eyed?” he asked.
“We all thought that she had died in childbirth when Aunt Pol and her sister Beldaran were born.”
“And how long ago was that?”
“Aunt Pol is over three thousand years old.” Garion shrugged.
Zakath began to tremble. “And Belgarath’s been grieving all that time?-”
“Yes.” Garion didn’t really want to talk just then. All he wanted to do was to drink in the radiant faces of his family. The word came to him unbidden, and he suddenly remembered that bleak tune after he had first learned that Aunt Pol was not, strictly speaking, his aunt. He had felt then so terribly alone— an orphan in the most dreadful sense of the word. It had taken years, but now everything was all right. His family was nearly complete. Belgarath, Poledra, and Aunt Pol did not speak, for speech was largely unnecessary. Instead they simply sat in chairs drawn closely together gazing into each other’s faces and holding hands. Garion couid only faintly begin to understand the intensity of their emotions. He did not, however, feel cut off from them, but rather seemed somehow to share their joy.
Durnik crossed the room to the rest of them. Even solid, practical Durnik’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “Why don’t we leave them alone?” he suggested. “It’s a good time to get the packing done anyway. We have a ship to catch, you know.”
“She said you knew,” Ce’Nedra said accusingly to Garion when they had returned to their room.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“She asked me to keep it to myself.”
“That doesn’t apply to your own wife, Garion.”
“It doesn’t?” he asked in feigned surprise. “When did they pass that rule?”
“I just made it up,” she admitted. “Oh, Garion,” she said then, throwing her arms about his neck and kissing him, “I do love you.”
“I certainly hope so. Shall we pack?”
The corridors of the royal palace here in Perivor were cool as Garion and Ce’Nedra returned to the central room, and the arched embrasures admitted golden morning sunlight as if even the elements were bestowing a benediction on what was, after all, a special, even sacred, day.
When they had all gathered once again, Belgarath and his wife and daughter had composed themselves enough so that they welcomed company.
“Would you like to have me introduce them, mother?” Aunt Pol asked.
“I know all of them, Polgara,” Poledra replied. “IVe been with you for quite some time, remember?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to see if you could figure it out for yourself. You disappointed me just a bit, Polgara.”
“Mother,” Aunt Pol protested, “not in front of the children.”
They both laughed that same warm, rich laugh. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Polgara said then, “this is my mother, Poledra.”
They crowded around the tawny-haired legend. Silk extravagantly kissed her hand. “I suppose, Lady Poledra,” he said slyly, “we should congratulate Belgarath. All things considered, I think you got the worst of that bargain. You daughter’s been trying to reform him for about three eons now without much notable success.”
Poledra smiled. “One has perhaps greater resources at one’s command than one’s daughter, Prince Kheldar.” She lapsed, it seemed, unconsciously into her previous mode of speech.
“All right, Poledra,” Beldin growled, stumping forward, “what really happened? After the girls were born, our Master came to us and told us that you were no longer with us. We ail thought he meant that you had died. The twins cried for two straight months, and that left me to try to cope with the babies. What really happened?”