such as I had never seen even before I looked at him who had
commanded me and had saved my life. I was very young, and I was
not at the time above thoughts of theft. Larceny even before
gratitude seethed in my grubby little soul.
Near a fire which burned, as I observed, without fuel sat a man (I
thought) who seemed most incredibly ancient. His beard was long
and full and white as the snow which had so nearly killed me – but
his eyes – his eyes were eternally young.
‘Well, boy,’ he said, ‘hast thou decided not to die?’
‘Not if it isn’t necessary,’ I said bravely,, still cataloguing the
wonders of the chamber.
‘Dost thou require anything?’ he asked. ‘I am unfamiliar with thy
kind.’
‘A little food,’ I told him. ‘I have not eaten in three days. And a
warm place to sleep. I shall not be much trouble, Master, and I can
make myself useful in payment.’ I had learned a long time ago how
to make myself agreeable to those who were in a position to do me
favors.
‘Master?’ he said and laughed, a sound so cheerful that it made
me almost want to dance. ‘I am not thy master, boy.’ He laughed
again, and my heart sang with the splendor of his mirth. ‘Let us see
to this thing of food. What dost thou require?’
‘A little bread perhaps,’ I said, ‘- not too stale.’
‘Bread?’ he said. ‘Only bread? Surely, boy, thy stomach is fit for
more than bread. If thou wouldst make thyself useful – as thou hast
promised – we must nourish thee properly. Consider, boy. Think of
all the things thou hast eaten in thy life. What in all this world would
most surely satisfy that vast hunger of thine?’
I could not even say it. Before my eyes swam the visions of
plump, smoking roasts, of fat geese swimming in their own gravy~ of
heaps of fresh-baked bread and rich, golden butter, of pastries in
thick cream, of cheese, and dark brown ale, of fruits and nuts and
salt to savor it all.
And he who sat by the glowing fire that burned, it seemed, air
alone laughed again, and again my heart sang. ‘Turn, boy,’ he said,
And I turned, and there on a table which I had not even seen
before lay everything which I had imagined.
– A hungry young boy does not ask where food comes from – he
eats. And so I ate. I ate until my stomach groaned. And through the
sound of my eating I could hear the laughter of the aged one beside
his fire, and my heart leapt within me at each laugh.
And when I had finished and drowsed over my plate, he spoke
again. Wilt thou sleep now, boy?’
‘A corner, Master,’ I said. ‘A little out-of-the-way place by the fire,
if it be not too much trouble.’
He pointed. ‘Sleep there, boy,’ he said, and at once I saw a bed
which I had seen no more than the table – a great bed with huge
pillows and comforters of softest down. And I smiled my thanks and
crept into the bed and, because I was young and very tired, I fell
asleep almost at once. But in my sleep I knew that he who had
brought me in from the storm and fed me and cared for me was
watching through the long snowy night, and I felt even more secure
in his care.
And that began my servitude. My Master never commanded
in the way other masters commanded their servants, but rather
suggested or asked. Amazingly, almost in spite of myself, I found
myself leaping to do his bidding. The tasks, simple at first, grew
harder and harder. I began to wish I had never come to this place.
Sometimes my Master would stop what he was doing to watch
my labors, a bemused expression on his face. Then he would sigh
and return to the things which he did and which I did not
understand.
The seasons turned, marching in their stately, ordered
progression as I labored endlessly at impossible tasks. Then, perhaps three
or maybe it was five – years after I had come to the tower and begun
my servitude, I was struggling one day to move a huge rock which
my Master felt was in his way It would not move though I heaved
and pushed and strained until I thought my limbs would crack.
Finally, in a fury, I concentrated all my strength and all my will upon
the boulder and grunted one single word. ‘Move,’ I said.
And it moved – not grudgingly with its huge, inert weight
sullenly resisting my strength – but quite easily, as if the touch of one
finger would be sufficient to send it bounding across the plain.
Well, boy,’ my Master said, startling me by his nearness, ‘I had
wondered how long it might be before this day arrived.’
‘Master,’ I said, confused, ‘what happened? How did the great
rock move so easily?’
‘It moved at thy command, boy. Thou art a man, and it is only a
rock.’
‘May other things be done so, Master?’
‘All things may be done so, boy. Put but thy will to that which
thou wouldst have come to pass and speak the word. It shall come to
pass even as thou wouldst have it. I have marveled, boy, at thine
insistence upon doing all things with thy back instead of thy will. I
had begun to fear for thee, thinking that perhaps thou mightest be
defective.’
I walked over to the rock and laid my hands on it again. ‘Move,’ I
commanded, bringing my will to bear on it, and the rock moved as
easily as before.
‘Does it make thee more comfortable touching the rock when
thou wouldst move it, boy?’ my Master asked, a note of curiosity in
his voice.
The question stunned me. I looked at the rock. ‘Move,’ I said
tentatively. The rock did not move.
‘Thou must command, boy, not entreat.’
‘Move!’ I roared, and the rock heaved and rolled off with nothing
but my will and the word to make it do so.
‘Much better, boy,’ my Master said. ‘Perhaps there is hope for thee
yet. What is thy name, boy?’
‘Garath,’ I told him, and suddenly realized that he had never
asked me before.
‘An unseemly name, boy. I shall call thee Belgarath.’
‘As it please thee, Master,’ I said. I had never ‘thee’d’ him before,
and I held my breath for fear that he might be displeased, but he
showed no sign that he had noticed. Then, made bold by my
success, I went further. ‘And how may I call thee, Master?’ I said.
‘I am called Aldur,’ he said, smiling.
I had heard the name before, and I immediately fell upon my face
before him.
‘Art thou ill, Belgarath?’ he asked.
‘Oh, great and powerful God,’ I said, trembling, ‘forgive mine
ignorance. I should have known thee at once.’
‘Don’t do that,’ he said irritably. ‘I require no obeisance. Rise to
thy feet, Belgarath. Stand up, boy. Thine action is unseemly.’
I scrambled up fearfully and clenched myself for the sudden
shock of lightning. Gods, as all knew, could destroy at their whim
those who displeased them.
‘And what dost thou propose to do with thy life now, Belgarath?’
he asked.
‘I would stay and serve thee, Master,’ I said, as humbly as I could.
‘I require no service,’ he said. ‘What canst thou do for me?’
‘May I worship thee, Master?’ I pleaded. I had never met a God
before, and was uncertain about the proprieties.
‘I do not require thy worship either,’ he said.
‘May I not stay, Master?’ I pleaded. ‘I would be thy Disciple and
learn from thee.’
‘The desire to learn does thee credit, but it will not be easy,’ he
warned.
‘I am quick to learn, Master,’I boasted. ‘I shall make thee proud of
me./
And then he laughed, and my heart soared..’Very well then,
Belgarath, I shall make thee my pupil.’
‘And thy Disciple also, Master?’
‘That we will see in time, Belgarath.’
And then, because I was very young and very proud of myself
and my new-found powers, I turned to a dried and brittle bush – it
was mid-winter at the time – and I spoke to it fervently. ‘Bloom,’ I
said, and the bush quite suddenly produced a single flower. I
plucked it and offered it to him. ‘For thee, Master,’ I said. ‘Because I
love thee.’
And he took the flower and smiled and held it between his hands.
‘I thank thee, my son,’ he said. It was the first time he had ever called
me that. ‘And this flower shall be thy first lesson. I would have thee
examine it most carefully and tell me all that thou canst perceive of it.’