“For all of my life, Eriond,” Zakath promised, leading the sobbing girl back to the others.
“Now, Belgarion,” Eriond continued, “give me my brother’s Orb from off the hilt of Iron-grip’s sword. It’s time to finish what was started here.”
“Of course,” Garion replied. He reached back over his shoulder and put his hand on the pommel of his sword. ‘ ‘Come off,” he told the Orb. The stone came free in his hand, and he held it out to the young God.
Eriond took the glowing blue stone and turned to look at the
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Sardion and then down at the Orb in his hand. There was something inexplicable in his face as he looked at the two stones that were at the center of all division. He raised his face for a moment, his expression now serene. “So be it then,” he said finally.
And men to Garion’s horror, he gripped the Orb even more tightly and pushed his hand quite deliberately, Orb and all, into the glowing Sardion.
The reddish stone seemed to flinch. Like Ctuchik in his last moment, it first expanded, then contracted. Then it expanded one last time. And then, like Ctuchik, it exploded—and yet that explosion was tightly confined, enclosed somehow within some unimaginable globe of force that came perhaps from Eriond’s will or from the power of the Orb or from some other source. Garion knew that had that force not been in place, all the world would have been torn apart by what was happening in this tightly confined place.
Even though it was partially muffled by Eriond’s immortal and indestructible body, the concussion was titanic, and they were all hurled to the floor by its force. Rocks and pebbles rained down from the ceiling, and the entire pyramidal islet that was all that was left of Korim shuddered in an earthquake even more powerful than that which had destroyed Rak Cthol. Confined within the grotto, the sound was beyond belief. Without thinking, Garion rolled across the surging floor to cover Ce’Nedra and Geran with his armored body, noting as he did so that many of his companions were also protecting loved ones in the same fashion.
The earth continued its convulsive shuddering, and what lay confined on the altar now with Eriond’s hand still buried within h was no longer the Sardion but an intense ball of energy a thousand times brighter than the sun.
Then Eriond, his face still calm, removed the Orb from the center of the incandescent ball that once had been the Sardion. As if the removal of Aldur’s Orb had also removed the constraint mat had held the Sardion in one shape and place, the blazing fragments of Cthrag Sardius blasted upward through the roof of the grotto, ripping the top off the shuddering pyramid and sending the huge stone blocks out in all directions as if they were no more than pebbles.
The suddenly revealed sky was filled with a light brighter than the sun, a light that extended from horizon to horizon. The
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fragments of the Sardion streamed upward to lose themselves in that light.
Zandramas wailed, an inhuman, animallike sound. The faint outline that was all that was left of her was writhing, twisting. ‘Wo.'” she cried, “It cannot be! You promised!” Garion did not know, could not know, to whom she spoke. She extended her hands to Eriond in supplication. “Help me, God of An-garak!” she cried. “Do not let me fall into the hands of Mordja or the foul embrace of the King of Hell! Save me!”
And then her shadowy husk split apart, and the swirling lights that had become her substance streamed inexorably upward to follow the fragments of the Sardion into that vast light in the sky.
What was left of the Sorceress of Darshiva fell to the floor like a discarded garment, shriveled and tattered like a rag no longer of any use to anyone.
The voice that came from Eriond’s lips was very familiar to Garion. He had been listening to it for all his life.
“Point,” it said in a detached, emotionless tone, as if merely stating a fact. “Point and game.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The sudden silence in the grotto was almost eerie. Gar-ion rose and helped Ce’ Nedra to her feet. * ‘Are you all right?” he asked her, his voice hushed. Ce’Nedra nodded absently. She was examining their little boy, a look of concern on her smudged face. Garion looked around. “Is everyone all right?” he asked.
“Is that earthquake finished yet?” Silk demanded, still covering Velvet’s body with his own.
“It’s passed, Kheldar,” Eriond told him. The young God turned and gravely handed the Orb back to Garion.
“Aren’t you supposed to keep it?” Garion asked him. “I thought—”
“No, Garion. You’re still the Guardian of the Orb.”
For some reason, that made Garion feel better. Even in the midst of what had just happened, he had felt an empty sense of loss. Somehow he had become convinced that he would be obliged to give up the jewel now. Covetousness was not a part
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of Canon’s nature, but over the years the Orb had become more a friend than a possession.
“May we not go forth from this place?” Cyradis asked, her voice filled with a deep sadness. “I would not leave my dear companion alone and untended.”
Durnik touched her shoulder gently, and then they all turned and silently left the shattered grotto.
They emerged from the portal into the light that was more than the light of day. The intense brilliance that had even penetrated the dim grotto behind them had faded to the point where it was no longer blinding. Garion looked around. Though the time of day was certainly different, there was that peculiar sense that he had been through all of this before. The storm and lightning that had raged over the Place Which Is No More had passed. The clouds had rolled back, and the wind that had swept the reef during the fight with the dragon and the demon Mordja had subsided to a gentle breeze. Following the death of Torak at Cthol Mishrak, Garion had felt in a strange way that he had been witnessing the dawn of the first day. Now it was noon—years later, to be sure—but somehow the noon of that selfsame day. What had begun at Cthol Mishrak was only now complete. It was over, and he felt a vast sense of relief. He also felt a bit light-headed. The emotional and physical energy he had expended since the first light of this most momentous of days had crept slowly over a fogbound sea had left him weak and near to exhaustion. More than anything right now he wanted to get out of his armor, but the thought of the amount of effort that would cost made him almost quail. He settled for wearily removing his helmet. He looked around again at the faces of his friends.
Although Geran could obviously walk now, Ce’Nedra had insisted on carrying him, and she kept her cheek pressed tightly to his, pulling back only long enough to kiss him from time to time. Geran did not seem to mind.
Zakath had placed his arm about the shoulders of the Seeress of Kell, and the look on his face rather clearly indicated that he had no real intention of ever removing it. Garion remembered with a smile how, in the first moments of their openly avowed love for each other, Ce’Nedra had continually wormed her way into a very similar embrace. He walked wearily over to where Eriond stood looking out across the sun-splashed waves. “Can I ask you something?” he asked.
“Of course, Garion.”
Garion looked pointedly at Zakath and Cyradis. “Is that more
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or less a part of the way things are supposed to be?” he asked. “What I’m getting at is that Zakath lost someone very dear to him when he was young. If he loses Cyradis now, it might destroy him. I wouldn’t want that to happen.”
“Put your mind at rest, Garion.” Eriond smiled. “Nothing will separate those two. It’s one of the things that are preordained. ”
“Good. Do they know?”
“Cyradis does. She’ll explain it to Zakath in time.”
“She’s still a seeress then?”
“No. That part of her life ended when Polgara removed her blindfold. She has looked into the future, though, and Cyradis has a very good memory.”
Garion thought about that for a moment, and then his eyes opened very wide. “Are you trying to say that the fate of the entire universe depended on the choice of an ordinary human being?” he asked incredulously.
“I’d hardly call Cyradis ordinary. She’s been preparing for that choice since infancy. But in a way you’re right. The Choice had to be made by a human being, and it had to be made without any help. Not even her own people could help Cyradis at mat moment.”