And then, since it was the only source of light in this dim grotto, Garion’s almost indifferent eyes were drawn inevitably to the Sardion. It was not a pretty stone. It was streaked with pale orange and milky white in alternating stripes banded closely together, and it was now stained with the wavering blue light emanating from the Orb. It was as smooth and polished as the Orb. The Orb had been polished by the hand of Aldur, but who had polished the Sardion? Some God unknown? Some shaggy clan of the brutish precursors of man squatting in dull-eyed patience over the stone, devoting generation after generation to the single incomprehensible task of rubbing the orange and white surface smooth with calloused and broken-nailed hands that were more like paws than human appendages? Even such unthinking creatures would have felt the power of the stone, and, feeling it to be a God—or at the very least, some object descended from a God—might not their mindless polishing have been some obscure act of worship?
Then Garion let his eyes wander over the faces of his companions, the familiar faces of those who had, in response to destinies that had been written large in the stars since the-beginning of days, accompanied him to this place on this particular day. The death of loth had answered the one unanswered question, and now all was in place.
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Cyradis, her face still tearstained and marked by her grief, stepped to the altar to face them. “The time draws nigh,” she said in a clear, unwavering voice. “Now must the choices of the Child of Light and the Child of Dark be made. All must be in readiness when the instant of my Choice arrives. Know ye both that your choices, once made, cannot be unmade.”
‘ ‘My choice was made at the beginning of days-,” Zandramas declared. “Adown all the endless corridors of time hath the name of Belgarion’s son echoed, for he hath touched Cthrag Yaska, which spurneth all other hands save the hand of Belga-rion himself. In the instant that Geran touches Cthrag Sardius, will he become an omnipotent God, higher than all the rest, and he shall have lordship and dominion over all of creation. Stand forth, Child of Dark. Take thy place before the altar of Torak to await the Choice of the Seeress of Kelt. In the instant that she chooses thee, reach forth thy hand and seize thy destiny.”
It was the last clue. Now Garion knew what the choice he had made in die deep silences of his mind had been, and he knew why it was so perfectly right. Reluctantly, Geran walked toward the altar, stopped and then turned, his small face grave.
“And now, Child of Light,” Cyradis said, “the time hath come for thee to make thy choice. Upon which of thy companions wilt thou lay the burden?”
Garion had little sense of the melodramatic. Ce’Nedra, and even on occasion Aunt Pol, were, he knew, quite capable of extracting the last ounce of theatricality from any given situation, whereas he, a solid, practical Sendar, was more inclined toward matter-of-fact unostentation. He was quite certain, however, that Zandramas somehow knew what his choice should be. He also knew that, despite her reluctant agreement to leave the Choice in the hands of the Seeress of Kell, the black-robed sorceress was still perfectly capable of some desperate final ploy. He had to do something to throw her off balance so that she would hesitate at the crucial moment. If he appeared to be on the verge of making the wrong choice, the Sorceress would exult and she would think that she had finally won. Then, at the last possible instant, he could make the correct choice. The Child of Dark’s momentary chagrin might well freeze her hand and give him time to block her. Carefully, he noted her position and that of Geran and Otrath. Geran stood perhaps ten feet in front of the altar with Zandramas no more than a few feet from him. Otrath was cowering back against the rough stone wall at the back of the grotto.
It would have to be exactly right. He would have to build up an almost unbearable suspense in the mind of Zandramas, then dash her hopes all at once. Rather artfully, he drew his face into an expression of agonized indecision. He wandered among his friends, his face filled with a purely feigned bafflement. He Slopped from time to time to look deeply into their faces, even going so far as to occasionally half raise his hand as if on the very verge of choosing the wrong person. Each time he did that, be clearly felt a wild surge of glee coming from Zandramas. She was not even attempting to hide her emotions. Better and better. His enemy by now was no longer even rational.
“What are you doing?” Polgara whispered when he stopped in front of her.
*Tll explain later,” he murmured. “It’s necessary—and important. You Ve got to trust me, Aunt Pol.” He moved on. When be reached Belgarath, he felt a momentary apprehension emanating from Zandramas. The Eternal Man was certainly someone to be reckoned with, and should the eminence of the Child of Light be added to that—and the potential for divinity, as well—the old man could be a serious adversary.
“Will you move on with it, Garion?” his grandfather muttered.
“I’m trying to push Zandramas off balance,” Garion whispered. “Please watch her closely after I choose. She might try something.”
“Then you know who it’s going to be?”
“Of course. I’m trying not to think about it, though. I don’t want her to pick it out of my mind.”
The old man made a face. “Do it your way, Garion. Just don’t drag it out too long. Let’s not irritate Cyradis as well as Zandramas.”
Garion nodded and moved past Sadi and Velvet, letting his mind push out toward that of Zandramas as he did. Her emotions were veering around wildly now, and it was clear that she was at a fever pitch. To draw things out any further would serve no purpose. He stopped at last in front of Silk and Eriond. “Keep your face straight,” he warned the rat-faced little man. “Don’t let Zandramas see any change of expression no matter what I seem to be doing.”
“Don’t make any mistakes here, Garion,” Silk warned. “I’m not looking for a sudden promotion of any kind.”
Garion nodded. It was nearly over now. He looked at Eriond, a young man who was almost his brother. ‘ ‘I ‘m sorry about this,
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Eriond,” he apologized in a low murmur. “You probably won’t want to thank me for what I’m about to do.”
“It’s all right, Belgarion.” Eriond smiled. “I’ve known it was going to happen for quite some time now. I’m ready.”
And mat clinched it. Eriond had answered the ubiquitous question “Are you ready?” for probably the last time. Eriond, it appeared, was—and probably had been since the day he was bom. Everything now slipped into place to fit together so tightly that nothing could ever take it apart again.
“Choose, Belgarion,” Cyradis urged.
“I have, Cyradis,” Garion said simply. He stretched out his hand and laid it on Eriond’s shoulder. “Here is my choice. Here is the Child of Light.”
‘ ‘Perfect!” Belgarath exclaimed.
“Done!” the voice in Garion’s mind agreed.
Garion felt a peculiar wrench followed by a kind of regretful emptiness. He was no longer the Child of Light. It was Eriond’s responsibility now, but Garion knew that he still had one last responsibility of his own. He turned slowly, trying to make it look casual. The expression on the light-speckled face of Zan-dramas was a mixture of rage, fear, and frustration. It confirmed mat what Garion had just done had been the right thing. He had made the proper choice. He had never actually done what he tried to do next before, although he had seen and felt Aunt Pol do it many times. This was not, however, a time for random experimentation. Carefully, he sent his mind out again, looking this time not so much for overall emotional responses from Zan-dramas as for specifics. He had to know exactly what she was going to try to do before she could put it into motion.
The mind of the Sorceress of Darshiva was filled with a confused welter of thoughts and emotions. The wild hope Garion’s subterfuge had raised in her seemed to have done its work. Zan-dramas floundered, unable to concentrate now on her next step. But step she must. Garion perceived that she simply could not leave the matter wholly in the hands of the Seeress of Kell.
“Go thou then, Child of Light, to stand beside the Child of Dark that I may choose between ye,” Cyradis said.