my Tree and my birds for extended periods of time, and I didn’t
like that very much. I already knew about most of what they were
telling me anyway, so it was all very tedious and monotonous for
me.
‘Keep your temper, Polgara,’ mother told me on one occasion when
I was right on the verge of an outburst.
‘But this is all so boring.’ I protested.
‘Think about something else, then.’
‘What should I think about?’
‘Have the twins teach you how to cook,’ she suggested. ‘Humans like
to stick theirfood in a fire before they eat it. It’s always seemed
like a waste of
time to me, but that’s the way they are.’
And so it was that I started to get two educations instead of one.
I learned all about translocation and about spices at almost the same
time. One of the peculiarities of our gift is the fact that imagination
plays a very large part in it, and I soon found that I could imagine
what a given spice would add to whatever dish I was preparing.
In this particular regard I soon even outstripped the twins. They
measured things rather meticulously. I seasoned food by instinct
a pinch, a dollop, or a handful of any spice always seemed to work
out just right.
‘That’s too much sage, Pol,’ Beltira protested when I dug my hand
into one of his spice-pots.
‘Wait, uncle,’ I told him. ‘Don’t criticize my cooking until you’ve
tasted it.’
And, as usual, the stew I was preparing came out perfect.
Beltira was a little sullen about that, as I recall.
And then there came a very important day in my life. It was the
day – night actually – when mother revealed the secret of changing
shape.
‘It’s really quite simple, Polgara,’ she told me. ‘All you really have to
do is form the image of the alternative shape in your mind and then fit
yourself into it.’
Mother’s idea of ‘simple’ and mine were miles apart, however.
‘The tail-feathers are too short,’ she said critically after my third
attempt. ‘Try it again.’
It took me hours to get the imagined shape right. I was almost on’
the verge of giving up entirely. If I got the tail right, the beak was
wrong – or the talons. Then the wing-feathers weren’t soft enough.
Then the chest wasn’t strong enough. Then the eyes were too small.
I was right at the edge of abandoning the whole notion when mother
said, ‘That looks closer. Now just let yourself flow into it.’ Mother’s
ability to see into my mind made her the best teacher I could possibly
have had.
As I started to slip myself into the image I’d formed, I felt as if
my body had turned into something almost liquid – like honey. I
literally seeped into that imaginary shape.
And then it was done. I was a snowy owl. Once again, mother’s
intimate contact with my mind simplified things enormously. There
are far too many things involved in flying for anyone to pick it up
immediately, so mother quite simply instilled all those minuscule
shifts and dexterity in my mind. I thrust with my soft wings, and I
was immediately airborne. I circled a few times, learning with every
silent sweep of my wings, and those circles grew inexorably wider.
There’s an ecstasy to flying that I won’t even try to describe. By
the time dawn began to stain the eastern horizon, I was a competent
bird, and my mind was filled with a joy I’d never known before.
‘You’d better go back to the tower, Pol,’ mother advised. ‘Owls aren’t
usuallyflying in the daytime.’
‘ Do I have to?’
‘Yes. Let’s not give our little secret away just yet. You’ll have to change
to your own form as well.’
‘Mother!’ I protested vehemently.
‘We can play again tomorrow night, Pol. Now go home and change back
before anyone wakes up.’
That didn’t make me too happy, but I did as I was told.
It was not long after that that Beldaran took me to one side. ‘Uncle
Beldin’s bringing father back to the Vale,’ she told me.
‘Oh? How do you know that?’
‘Mother told me – in a dream.’
‘A dream?’ That startled me.
‘She always talks to me in my dreams. I told you about that
already.’
I decided not to make an issue of it, but I reminded myself to
have a talk with mother about it. She always came to me when I
was awake, but for some reason she spoke to my sister in the hazy
world of dreams. I wondered why there was such a difference. I
,,also wondered why mother had told Beldaran about our vagrant
,father’s homecoming and hadn’t bothered to let me know about it.
It was early summer when uncle Beldin finally brought father
home. Over the course of the years since father had left the Vale,
‘uncle Beldin had kept track of him and had reported on his various
escapades, so I was not just too excited about his return. The idea
of admitting that a beer-soaked lecher was my father didn’t appeal
to me all that much.
He didn’t look too bad when he came up the stairs to the top of
Beldin’s tower, but I knew that appearances could be deceiving.
‘Father!’ Beldaran exclaimed, rushing across the floor to embrace
him. Forgiveness is a virtue, I suppose, but sometimes Beldaran
carried it to extremes.
I did something that wasn’t very nice at that point. My only excuse
was that I didn’t want father to get the mistaken impression that
his homecoming was a cause for universal rejoicing. I didn’t quite
hate him, but I definitely didn’t like him. ‘Well, Old Wolf,’ I said in
as insulting a tone as I could manage, ‘I see you’ve finally decided
to come back to the scene of the crime.’
*CHAPTER3
Then I proceeded to give my father a piece of my mind – several
pieces, actually. I told him – at length – precisely what I thought of
him, since I didn’t want him to mistakenly believe that Beldaran’s
sugary display of sweetness and light was going to be universal. I
also wanted to assert my independence, and I’m fairly sure I got
that point across to him. It wasn’t really very attractive, but I was
only thirteen at the time, so I still had a few rough edges.
All right, let’s get something out in the open right here and now.
I’m no saint, and I never pretended to be. I’ve been occasionally
referred to as ‘Holy Polgara’, and that’s an absolute absurdity. In
all probability the only people who’ll really understand my feelings
as a child are those who are twins themselves. Beldaran was the
absolute center of my life, and she had been since before we were
born. Beldaran was mine, and my jealousy and resentment knew no
bounds when father ‘usurped’ her affection. beldaran and her every
thought belonged to me, and he stole her! My snide comment about
the ‘scene of the crime’ started something that went on for eons. I’d
spend hours polishing those snippy little comments, and I treasured
each and every one of them.
Many of you may have noticed that the relationship between me
and my father is somewhat adversarial. I snipe at him, and he
winces. That started when I was thirteen years old, and it didn’t
take long for it to turn into a habit that’s so deeply engrained in me
that I do it automatically now.
One other thing as well. Those who knew Beldaran and me when
we were children have always assumed that I was the dominant
twin, the one who took the lead in all twinly matters. In actuality,
however, Beldaran was dominant. I lived almost entirely for her
approval, and in some ways I still do. There was a serene quality
about Beldaran that I could never match. Perhaps it was because
mother had instilled Beldaran’s purpose in her mind before we were
ever born. Beldaran knew where she was going, but I hadn’t the
foggiest notion of my destination. She had a certainty about her I
could never match.
Father endured my ill-tempered diatribe with a calm grace that
irritated me all the more. I finally even lapsed into some of the more
colorful aspects of uncle Beldin’s vocabulary to stress my discontent
– not so much because I enjoyed profanity, but more to see if I could
get some kind of reaction out of father. I was just a little miffed by
his calm indifference to my sharpest digs.
Then in the most off-hand way imaginable, father casually
announced that my sister and I would be moving into his tower to
live with him.
My language deteriorated noticeably at that point.
After father had left uncle Beldin’s tower, beldaran and I spoke
at some length in ‘twin’.
‘If that idiot thinks for one minute that we’re going to move in