And that task took me twenty years, as I recall. Each time I came
to him with the flower that never wilted or faded – how I grew to
hate that flower – and told him what else I had learned, he said, ‘is
that all, my son?’ and, crushed, I went back to my studies.
And there were many other things as well that took at least as
long. I examined trees and birds, fish and beasts, insects and vermin.
I devoted forty-five years to the study of grass alone.
In time it occurred to me that I was not aging as other men aged.
‘Master,’ I said one night in our chamber high in the tower as we
both labored with our studies, ‘why is it that I do not grow old?’
‘Wouldst thou grow old, my son?’ he asked. ‘I have never seen
much advantage in it myself.’
‘I don’t really miss it all that much, Master,’ I admitted, ‘but isn’t
it customary?’
‘Perhaps,’ he said bt not mandatory. Thou hast much yet to
learn, and one or ten or even a hundred lifetimes are not enough.
How old art thou, my son?’
‘I think I am somewhat beyond three hundred years, Master.’
‘A suitable age, my son, and thou hast persevered in thy studies.
Should I forget myself and call thee “Boy” again, pray correct me. It
is not seemly that the Disciple of a God should be called “Boy”.’
‘I shall remember that, Master,’ I said, almost overcome with JOY
that he had finally called me his Disciple.
‘I was certain that thou wouldst,’ he said. ‘And what is the object
of thy present study, my son?’
‘I would seek to learn why the stars fall, Master.’
‘A proper study, my son,’ he said, smiling.
‘And thou, Master,’ I asked. ‘What is thy study – if I be not
overbold to ask.’
‘I am concerned with this jewel,’ he said, pointing at a
moderatesized grey stone on the table before him. ‘It may be of some curiosity
in the fullness of time.’
* it was not until the Malloreon that we revealed the Orb’s off-world origin. At first it was
simply a rock Aldur had picked up in a riverbed and modified with the touch of his hand.
‘I am certain it shall, Master,’ I assured him. ‘If be worthy of thine
attention, it shall surely be a curiosity at least.’ And I turned back to
my study of the inconstant stars.
In time, others came to us, some by accident, as I had come, and
some by intent, seeking out my Master that they might learn from
him. Such a one was Zedar. I came upon him one golden day in
autumn near our tower. He had built a rude altar and was burning
the carcass of a goat upon it. The greasy smoke from his offering was
fouling the air, and he was prostrated before the altar, chanting some
outlandish prayer.
‘What are you doing?’ I demanded, quite angry since his noise
PREFACE
and the stink of his sacrifice distracted my mind from a problem I
had been considering for fifteen years.
‘Oh, puissant and all-knowing Cod,’he said, groveling in the dirt.
‘I have come a thousand leagues to behold thy glory and to worship
thee.
‘Puissant?’ I said. ‘Get up, man, and stop this caterwauling. I am
not a God, but a man, just as you are.’
‘Art thou not the great God, Aldur?’ he asked.
‘I am Belgarath,’ I said, ‘his Disciple. What is this foolishness?’ I
pointed at his altar and his smoking offering.
‘It is to please the God,’ he said, rising and dusting off his clothes.
‘Dost thou think he will find it acceptable?’
I laughed, for I did not like this stranger much. ‘I cannot think of a
single thing you might have done which would offend him more,’ I
said.
The stranger looked stricken. He turned quickly and reached out
as if he would seize the burning animal with his bare hands to hide
it.
‘Don’t be an idiot,’ I snapped. ‘You’ll burn yourself.,
‘It must be hidden,’ he said desperately. ‘I would die rather than
offend Mighty Aldur.’
‘Stand out of the way,’ I told him.
‘What?’
‘Get clear,’ I said, irritably waving him off. Then I looked at his
grotesque little altar, willed it away and said, ‘Go away,’ and it
vanished, leaving only a few tatters of confused smoke hanging in
the air.
He collapsed on his face again.
‘You’re going to wear out your clothes if you keep doing that,’ I
told him, ‘and my Master will not be amused by it.’
‘I pray thee,’ he said, rising and dusting himself off again, ‘mighty
Disciple of the most high Aldur, instruct me so that I offend not the
God.’
‘Be truthful,’ I told him, ‘and do not seek to impress him with
false show.’
‘And how may I become his Disciple as thou art?’
‘First you become his pupil,’ I said, ‘and that is not easy.’
‘What must I do to become his pupil?’ the stranger asked.
‘You must become his servant,’ I said, a bit smugly I must admit.
‘And then his pupil?’
‘In time,’ I said, smiling, ‘if he so wills.’
‘And when may I meet the God?’
And so I took him to the tower.
‘Will the God Aldur not wish to know my name?’ the stranger
asked.
‘Not particularly.’ I said. ‘If you prove worthy, he will give you a
name of his own choosing.’ Then I turned to the grey stone in the
wall and commanded it to open, and then we went inside.
MY Master looked the stranger over and then turned to me. “^y
hast thou brought this man to me, my son?’ he asked.
‘He besought me, Master,’ I said. ‘I felt it was not my place to say
him yea or nay. Thy will must decide such things. If it be that he
please thee not, I shall take him outside and bid him be no more and
so put an end to him and his interruption.’
‘That is unkindly said, my son,’ Aldur said sternly. ‘The Will and
the Word may not be used so.’
* An early indication of the prohibition against unmaking things.
‘Forgive me, Master,’ I said humbly.
‘Thou shalt instruct him, Belgarath,’ my Master said. ‘If it should
e t U est ap orm me.
‘I will, Master,’ I promised.
‘What is thy study currently?’
‘I examine the reason for mountains, Master,’ I said.
‘Lay aside thy mountains, Belgarath, and study man instead. It
may be that thou shalt find the study useful.’
‘As my Master commands,’ I said regretfully. I had almost found
the secret of mountains, and I was not much enthused about allowing
it to escape me. But that was the end of my leisure.
I instructed the stranger as my Master had bade me. I set him
impossible tasks and waited. To my mortification, within six months
he learned the secret of the Will and the Word. My Master named
him Belzedar and accepted him as a pupil.
An then came the others. Kira and Tira were twin shepherd boys
who had become lost and wandered to us one day – and stayed.
Makor came from so far away that I could not conceive how he had
even heard of my Master, and Din from so near that I wondered that
his whole tribe did not come with him. Sambar simply appeared one
day and sat down upon the earth in front of the tower and waited
until we accepted him.
And to me it fell to instruct each of them until he found the secret
of Will and the Word – which is not a secret, after all, but lies within
every man. And in time each of them became my Master’s pupil,
and he named them even as he had named me. Zedar became
Belzedar, Kira and Tira became Beltira and Belkira. Makor and Din
and Sambar became Belmakor and Beldin and Belsambar. To each of
our names our as er joine e sym o o e an or
and we became his Disciples.
* A note here for the linguistically obsessed. ‘Bel’ may or may not be ‘the symbol of the
Will and the Word’. It is more likely that it means ‘beloved’. ‘Bel’ is the masculine form,
and ‘Pol’ is the feminine. Polgara’s name derives directly from her father’s name, since it’s
a patronymic like ‘Ivan Ivanovitch’ (Ivan son of Ivan) or ‘Natasha Ivanova’ (Natasha,
daughter of Ivan) in Russian. Note that this principle does not apply to the name of Pol’s
sister, Beldaran, which perhaps indicates that Belgarath loved Beldaran more than he
loved Pol.
And we built other towers so that our labors and our studies
should not interfere with our Master’s work or each other’s.
At first I was jealous that my Master spent time with these others,