blooms. I told myself I was only practicing, but that wasn’t entirely
true, I guess.
Then one morning in the late spring of my eighteenth year, mother
said, ‘Why don’t we just talk today, Pol?’
‘Of course.’ I sat down with my back against the Tree, waving
off a few birds. I knew that when mother said ‘talk’, she actually
meant for me to listen.
‘I think it might be time for you to let your father know what you’re
capable of doing, Polgara. He hasn’t fully grasped the idea of just how fast
you’re maturing. You have things to do, and he’s just going to get in your
way until he realizes that you’re not a child any more.’
‘I’ve mentioned that to him any number of times, mother, but I
can’t seem to get the idea across to him.’
‘Your father deals in absolutes, Pol. It’s very hard for him to grasp the
notion that things – and people – change. The easiest way to change his
mind is to demonstrate your abilities to him. You’ll have to do it eventually
anyway, and it’s probably best to do it now – before he gets his concept
of you set in stone in his mind.’
‘What’d be the best way to do it, mother? Should I invite him to
come outside and watch me show off?’
‘That’s just a little obvious, don’t you think? Wouldn’t it be better
just to do something during the normal course of events? An off-hand
demonstration would probably impress him more than something that had
clearly been carefully staged. just do something without making a fuss
about it. I know him, dear, and I know the best way to get his attention.’
‘I shall be guided by you in this, mother.’
‘Very funny, Polgara.’ Her tone wasn’t very amused, though.
I suppose we all have an urge to be theatrical, so my
demonstration of my ability was rather carefully staged. I deliberately let
father go hungry for a couple of days while I pretended to be deeply
engrossed in a book of philosophy. He raided my kitchen until he’d
exhausted the supply of everything remotely edible, and my father
has absolutely no idea of where I store things. Eventually, he had
to say something about his incipient starvation.
‘Oh, bother,’ I replied with studied preoccupation. Then, without
even looking up from the page I was reading I created a half-cooked
side of beef for him. It wasn’t quite as pretty as a flower, but I know
it got father’s attention.
*CHAPTER7
It snowed on the eve of our eighteenth birthday, one of those gentle
snows that settle softly to earth without making much fuss. Blizzards
are very dramatic, I suppose, but there’s something restful about a
quiet snow that just tucks the world in the way a mother tucks a
small child into bed after a busy day.
I awoke early, and after I’d built up the fire, I stood at one of the
windows brushing my hair and watching the last of the clouds move
ponderously off toward the northeast. The sun mounted above those
clouds to reveal a clean, white world unmarred by a single footprint.
I wondered if it had snowed on the Isle of the Winds as well and
what beldaran might be doing on ‘our’ day.
Father was still asleep, but that wasn’t really unusual, since he’s
never been an early riser. As luck had it, he wasn’t even snoring,
so my morning was filled with a blessed silence that was almost
like a benediction. I made a simple breakfast of porridge, tea, and
bread, ate, and hung the pot on one of the iron hooks in the fireplace
to keep it warm for father. Then I put on my fur cloak and went
out to face the morning.
It was not particularly cold, and the damp snow clung to every
limb of the widely scattered pines in the Vale as I trudged toward
the Tree and my regular morning appointment with mother. A
single eagle soared high over the Vale, flying for the sheer joy of it,
since no other birds or animals had ventured out yet. ‘Polgara!’ he
screamed his greeting to me, dipping his wings to show his
recognition. I waved to him. He was an old friend. Then he veered away,
and I continued on down the Vale.
The eternal Tree was dormant during the winter months, but he
was not really asleep. I could sense his drowsy awareness as I topped
the rise and looked down into his protected little valley.
‘You’re late, Pol,’ mother’s voice noted.
‘I was enjoying the scenery,’I explained, looking back at the single
line of tracks I’d left in the newly fallen snow. ‘What’s Beldaran
doing this morning?’
‘She’s still asleep. The Rivans held a ball in her honor last night, and
she and Iron-grip were up quite late.’
‘Were they celebrating her birthday?’
‘Not really. Alorns don’t make that muchfuss about birthdays. Actually
they were celebrating her condition.’
‘What condition?’
‘She’s going to have a baby.’
‘She’s what?’
‘Your sister’s pregnant, Polgara.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I just did.’
‘I meant, why didn’t you tell me earlier?’
‘What for? She’s mated now, and mated females produce young ones. I
thought you knew all about that.’
I threw up my hands in exasperation. Sometimes mother’s attitude
toward life drove me absolutely wild.
‘I don’t know that you need to tell him about this. He’d start getting
curious about how you came to find out about it. It’s easier just to keep
quiet about these things than it is to invent stories. I think we should
concentrate on something new this morning. Humans have a very
welldeveloped sense of the auful. The things thatfrighten them the most always
seem to lurk at the back of their minds, and it’s not very hard to tap into
those thoughts. Once you know what a man’s truly afraid of, he’ll cooperate
if you show it to him.’
‘Cooperate?’
‘He’ll do what you tell him to do, or tell you things that you want to
know. It’s easier than setting fire to his feet. Shall we get started?’
I was melancholy for the rest of the winter. Beldaran’s pregnancy
was but one more indication of our separation, and I saw no reason
to be happy about it. I sighed a great deal when I was alone, but I
made some effort to keep my feelings under wraps when father and
the twins were around, largely to keep mother’s ongoing presence
in my mind a secret.
en in the spring Algar and Anrak came to the Vale to bring us
the news and to escort us to the Isle of the Winds.
It took us the better part of a month to reach the Isle, and Riva
himself was waiting for us on the stone wharf that jutted out into
the harbor. I noted that Beldaran had finally persuaded him to
shave off his beard, and I viewed that as an improvement. Then we
mounted the stairs to the Citadel, and I was reunited with my sister.
She was awkward-looking, but she seemed very happy.
After they’d proudly shown us the nursery, we had a rather lavish
supper and then Beldaran and I finally got the chance to be alone.
She took me along the corridor that led from the royal apartments
to a polished door that opened into those rooms Beldaran and I had
shared before her wedding to Iron-grip. I noted that there had been
a number of modifications. The hanging drapes that covered the
bleak stone walls were almost universally blue now, and the golden
lambskin rugs had been replaced with white ones. The furnishings
were of heavy, dark-polished wood, and all the seats were deeply
cushioned. The fireplace was no longer just a sooty hole in the
wall, but was framed and mantled instead. Candles provided a soft,
golden light, and it all seemed very comfortable. ‘Do you like it,
Pol?’ Beldaran asked me.
‘It’s absolutely lovely,’ I replied.
‘These are your rooms now,’ she said. ‘They’ll always be here
when you need them. I do hope you’ll use them often.’
‘As often as I can.’ I assured her. Then I got down to business.
‘What’s it like?’ I asked her as we seated ourselves on a
wellcushioned divan.
‘Awkward,’ she replied. She laid one hand on her distended belly.
‘You have no idea of how often this gets in the way.’
‘Were you sick every morning? I’ve heard about that.’
‘Right at first, yes. It went away after a while, though. The
backache didn’t come until later.’
‘Backache?’
‘I’m carrying quite a bit of extra weight, Pol,’ she pointed
out, ‘and it’s in a very awkward place. About the best I can
manage right now is a stately waddle, and even that puts a lot of
pressure on my back. Sometimes it feels as if I’ve been this way
forever.’