Polgara the Sorceress (23 page)

Arell quite nearly outdid herself with Larana’s wedding gown, a lacy fantasy in palest blue. Larana and I really hit it off when she confided to me that blue was her favorite color. I wholeheartedly approved of the girl’s good taste.

The wedding took place about noon on a sunny spring day, and the Hall of the Rivan King, suitably decorated for the happy occasion, was flooded with bright sunlight.

I’m not entirely sure who arranged that. I know that
I
didn’t.

There was the usual banquet after the wedding, but I’d visited the brewery before dawn and made some modifications in the favorite beverage of every Alorn who’s ever lived. The beer
tasted
like beer, and it looked and smelled
exactly like beer, but it didn’t produce the usual results. The wedding guests, as wedding guests always do, drank to excess, but nothing happened. There were no arguments, no fights, no falling down, no snoring in corners, and no throwing up. There
were
some monumental headaches the following morning, however. I was certainly not cruel enough to take
all
the fun out of drinking too much.

After the ceremony had taken place, I spent most of the rest of the day with my brother-in-law. Riva Iron-grip’s hair was almost snow-white by now, and he seemed to be in failing health. ‘It’s almost all finished now, isn’t it, Pol?’ he said a bit sadly.

‘I didn’t exactly follow that, Riva.’

‘My work’s almost all done, and I’m very tired. As soon as Larana produces an heir, I’ll be able to rest. Would you do me a favor?’

‘Of course.’

‘Have some workmen build a new crypt for Beldaran and me. I think we should sleep beside each other.’

The natural response to such a request would be to scoff with such idiocies as, ‘You aren’t going to need a burial place for a long time,’ and the like, but I loved and respected Iron-grip too much to insult him that way. ‘I’ll see to it,’ I promised.

‘Thank you, Pol,’ he said. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go to bed. It’s been a hectic day, and I’m very, very tired.’ Then he rose and with stooped shoulders, he quietly left the banquet hall.

Things went along smoothly on the Isle for several years after the wedding. There was a certain concern about the fact that Larana didn’t immediately blossom into motherhood, but I calmed everyone as best I could. ‘These things take time,’ I said.

I said it so often that I got sick of hearing it myself.

Then, in 2044 by the Alorn calendar, Cherek Bear-shoulders died, plunging all of Aloria into mourning. Cherek had been a titan, and his death left a huge vacancy.

That winter, Larana quietly advised us that she was with child, and we were all moderately thrilled by the news. Her son was born the following summer, and Daran named him
Cherek, in honor of his deceased paternal grandfather. After the ceremony when the infant’s hand was placed on the Orb and it responded in the usual way, we took him to Riva’s quarters to allow the king to see his grandson.

‘It’s all right, isn’t it, father?’ Daran asked, ‘naming him after
your
father, I mean?’

‘Father would be pleased,’ Riva said, his voice sounding very weary. He reached out, and I handed his grandson to him. He held the baby for quite some time with a gentle smile on his aged face. Then he drifted off to sleep.

He never woke up.

The funeral was solemn, but not really marred by excessive grief. Riva’s seclusion had removed him from public view, and many on the Isle were probably a bit surprised to discover that he’d still been alive.

After the funeral, I did some thinking. Daran and Kamion had things well in hand, and there was no real reason for me to remain.

And so, in the spring of 2046, I packed up all my things in preparation for my return to the Vale.

As luck had it – although luck probably had nothing to do with it – Anrak stopped by the Isle on one of those pointless voyages of his just as I was making my preparations to leave, and he volunteered to take me as far as Camaar. I’d never really understood Anrak. About half the time he didn’t even have a cargo when he put out to sea. His arrival gave me a perfect excuse to cut short the tedious business of farewells. Why
do
people always drag that out so much? After you’ve said ‘goodbye’ a couple of times, you’ve said it, haven’t you?

The weather was partially cloudy when Anrak’s sailors slipped the hawsers and raised the sails, and I stood on the aft deck watching the Isle of the Winds slowly receding behind us. I’d matured on the Isle. There’d been happy times and times filled with almost unbearable grief and pain, but that’s the nature of life, isn’t it?

The rocky island was still low on the horizon astern when a peculiar certainty came over me. I’d not only said farewell to friends and relatives when I’d boarded Anrak’s ship, but I’d also said goodbye to what most people would call a normal life. I was forty-six years old now, and if the lives of my father and my uncles were any indication of what lay ahead of me, I was entering unexplored country. I would come to know and love people and then watch them drop away one by one while I went on. There was a dreadful kind of loneliness implicit in that realization. Others would leave, but I would continue on down through all the uncertain, endless years stretching out before me.

‘Why so sad, Pol?’ Anrak, who was standing at the tiller not far away, asked me.

‘No particular reason.’

‘We’ll hit open water soon,’ he assured me. ‘That should
make you feel better.’ He looked out at shafts of sunlight moving majestically across the water.

‘I didn’t exactly follow that, Anrak.’

‘She’ll wash off your melancholy. She’s very good at that.’

‘She? She who?’

‘The sea, Pol. No matter how bad things get, she always takes the sorrow away and clears your head. Landsmen don’t understand that, but we do.’

‘You love the sea, don’t you, Anrak?’

‘Of course. She surprises me sometimes, and she’s occasionally bad-tempered, but most of the time she and I get along fairly well. I love her, Pol. She’s all the wife I’ve ever needed.’

I always remind myself of that conversation when I’m obliged to have dealings with that rogue, Captain Greldik. Greldik and Anrak, though separated by three thousand years, are cut from the same bolt of cloth, viewing the sea as a living thing with a personality all her own.

I bought a horse named Baron in Camaar. Baron was a good, sensible bay who was old enough to have outgrown that silliness so characteristic of younger horses, and he and I got along well. I wasn’t really in any hurry, so I didn’t push him, and Baron seemed to approve of that. We more or less strolled across the neat fields of southern Sendaria toward Muros. We stayed at village inns along the way, and when no inn was available, we slept outdoors. With the exception of that peculiarly cosmopolitan port at Camaar, southern Sendaria was in the domain of the Wacite Arends in those days, and I found the lilting brogue of the Wacite peasants rather charming. I
didn’t
find the repeated warnings of innkeepers and stablemen about robbers and outlaws on the road very entertaining, though. ‘But, me Lady,’ one officious village innkeeper warned when I told him that I was traveling alone, ‘ ‘tis fearful dangerous for a woman alone out there. Robbers be wicked men who’ll most likely want t’ take advantage of th’ fact that y’ have no protection, don’t y’ know.’

‘I can deal with them, good master innkeeper,’ I told
him quite firmly. These continual warnings were starting to make me tired.

The River Camaar branched about half-way to Muros, and the land beyond that fork in the river was as thickly forested as northern Arendia now is. For most people in the modern era the term ‘primeval forest’ has a poetic sound to it, calling up images of park-like surroundings inhabited by fairies, elves, and occasional trolls. The reality was far more gloomy. If you leave a tree to its own devices for fifteen hundred or so years, it just keeps growing. I’ve seen trees eighteen to twenty feet thick at the base, trees that go up a hundred and fifty feet before they sprout a limb. The limbs of that tree and its neighboring trees interlock to form a roof high overhead that blocks out the sun and sky and creates a permanent damp green twilight on the forest floor. The undergrowth is dense in most places, and wild creatures abound in the dim light – and wild men as well.

The Wacite Arends had brought the melancholy institution of serfdom with them when they’d migrated north of the Camaar River, and a serf who lives near a forest always has an option available to him if serfdom becomes too tedious. Once he’s taken up residence in the woods, however, the only occupation available to him is banditry in most cases, and travelers are his natural prey.

The two that I met on the muddy forest road to Muros late one afternoon were shabby, unshaven, and about half-drunk. They stepped out of the bushes bordering the road brandishing rusty butcher-knives. ‘I’ll be after takin’ th’ horse, Ferdish,’ one rogue said to the other.

‘Fair enough, Selt,’ Ferdish replied, scratching vigorously at one armpit and leering at me, ‘an’ I’ll be after takin’ th’ woman herself, don’t y’ know.’

‘Y’ always do, Ferdish,’ Selt noted. ‘Y’ve got quite an eye ferth’ ladies, I’ve noted.’

There were any number of things I could have done, of course, but I didn’t really care for their proprietary attitude, and I thought a bit of education might be in order here. Besides, there was something I wanted to try out – just to see if it’d actually work. ‘It’s all settled, then, gentlemen?’ I asked them rather casually.

‘All settled, me darlin’,’ Ferdish smirked at me. ‘Now, would y’ be so good as t’ get down so that Selt here kin try out his new mount whilst me an’ you have a bit of a frolic?’

‘You’re
sure
this is what you really want?’ I pressed.

‘It’s what we’re goin’ t’
have,
Lady-o,’ Selt laughed coarsely.

‘Oh, good,’ I said. ‘My beast and I are hungry, and we’ve been wondering who we were going to have for supper.’

The ragged pair stared at me uncomprehendingly.

‘I
do
want to thank you two for coming along just when my stomach was starting to rumble.’ I looked at them critically. ‘A bit scrawny, perhaps,’ I noted, ‘but travelers have to get used to short rations, I guess.’

Then I released my Will slowly to give them every opportunity to enjoy the transformation taking place before their very eyes. Baron, who’d been idly cropping at a clump of grass by the side of the road, raised his head, and his neck began to elongate even as scales, claws, wings, and other dragonish appurtenances started to appear. My own transformation was every bit as slow. My shoulders expanded, my arms grew longer, fangs started to protrude from between my lips, and my face took on an Eldrakish overcast. When the alteration was completed, my pair of shabby outlaws stood frozen in terror, gaping at a monstrous ogress with blazing eyes and clawed hands sitting astride a huge, smoking dragon. ‘Feeding time, Baron,’ I rasped in a harsh, guttural voice. ‘What do you think? Should we kill them first, or should we eat them alive?’

Ferdish and Selt, still frozen stock-still in horror, clung to each other, screaming.

Then Baron belched, and a great cloud of sooty fire came billowing out of his mouth.

‘Now, why didn’t I think of that?’ I growled. ‘What a wonderful idea, Baron. Go ahead and cook them a little before we eat them. It’s evening, after all, and we’ll both sleep better with a hot meal in our bellies.’

Ferdish and Selt must have suddenly remembered a pressing engagement elsewhere, because they left without even saying goodbye. As I remember, there was a lot of
screaming, stumbling, crashing in the brush, and the like, in their departure.

‘Shall we press on then, Baron?’ I suggested, and he and I continued our ambling stroll through the damp, gloomy forest.

Oh, don’t be so gullible. Of
course
I didn’t actually convert Baron and myself into those monsters. Ferdish and Selt weren’t worth that kind of effort, and illusion is just as effective as reality most of the time. Besides, to be perfectly honest about it, I hadn’t the faintest notion in those days of what an ogress or a dragon really looked like, so I just improvised.

We reached Muros the following day, and I purchased supplies. Then, the next morning at daybreak Baron and I struck out for the Sendarian mountains. If you absolutely must be alone in the wilderness, I strongly recommend the mountains. A kind of peace comes over me in high country that I feel in no other surroundings. To be perfectly honest, I loitered, frequently making my night’s encampment long before it was really necessary. I swam in icy mountain lakes, startling the local trout, I’m sure, and I browsed through thickets of berry-bushes when they presented themselves. It was with some regret that I came down out of the mountains and rode out onto that endless sea of grass that is the Algarian plain.

The weather held fair, and we arrived in the Vale a few days later. Father and the twins greeted me warmly, but uncle Beldin, as usual, was off in Mallorea keeping an eye on the enemy and trying to come up with a way to lure Urvon out of Mal Yaska.

It felt odd to be back in the Vale after the years I’d spent on the Isle of the Winds. I’d been at the center of things in the Citadel, and there was always something going on that needed my immediate attention. To be honest about it, I missed those affairs of state, and the remoteness of the Vale made it impossible for me to even know about them, much less take a hand. My father, who’s much more observant than he sometimes appears to be, noticed the signs of my
discontent. ‘Are you busy, Pol?’ he asked me one autumn evening after supper.

‘Not really,’ I replied, setting aside the medical text I’d been reading.

‘You’re having problems, aren’t you?’ he asked me, his white hair and beard ruddy in the firelight.

‘I can’t seem to get settled back down,’ I admitted.

He shrugged. ‘It happens. It usually takes me a year or so to get my feet back on the ground after I’ve been out in the world for a while. Study’s something you have to do every day. If you put it aside, you have to learn how all over again. Just be patient, Pol. It comes back after a while.’ He leaned back, looking reflectively into the fire. ‘We’re not like other people, Pol, and there’s no point in pretending that we are. We’re not here to get involved in running the world. That’s what kings are for, and for all of me they’re welcome to it.
Our
business is here, and what’s going on out there doesn’t really mean anything to us – at least it shouldn’t.’

‘We live in the world too, father.’

‘No, Pol, we don’t – at least not in the same world as the people out there live in.
Our
world’s a world of first causes and that inevitable string of EVENTS that’s been growing out of those causes from the moment the Purpose of the Universe was divided. Our only task is to identify – and influence – certain incidents that are so minute and unremarkable that ordinary people don’t even notice them.’ He paused. ‘What are you studying right now?’

‘Medical texts.’

‘Why? People are going to die anyway, no matter how much you try to prevent it. If one thing doesn’t carry them off, something else will.’

‘We’re talking about friends and family here, father.’

He sighed. ‘Yes, I know. That doesn’t alter the facts, though. They’re mortal; we aren’t – at least not yet. Set your hobby aside, Polgara, and get down to business. Here.’ He handed me a thick, heavy scroll. ‘This is your copy of the Mrin Codex. You’d better get started on it. There’ll probably be tests later on.’

‘Oh, father,’ I said, ‘be serious.’

‘I am. The tests that’ll grow out of
this
course of study are likely to have far-reaching consequences.’

‘Such as?’

‘Oh, I don’t know – the end of the world, possibly – or the coming of the one who’ll save it.’ He gave me an inscrutable look. ‘Be happy in your work, Pol,’ he told me as he returned to his own copy of the ravings of that idiot on the banks of the Mrin.

The next morning I put on my grey Rivan cloak, saddled Baron, and rode out into the blustery autumn day. The Tree, standing deep in eternity, had begun to deck himself out in his autumn finery, and he was absolutely glorious. The birds, probable descendants of my cheeky sparrow and lyric lark, swooped down to greet me as I approached. I’m not sure why, but I’ve never encountered a bird who didn’t call me by name when he first caught sight of me.

Mother didn’t respond when I sent my thought out to her, but I don’t think I’d really expected her to reply. Mother was still mourning the death of my sister.

I didn’t press the issue, since it was the Tree I’d come to visit. We didn’t speak, but then we never do. Our communion couldn’t have been put into words. I immersed myself in his sense of timelessness, absorbing his eternal presence, and in a somewhat gentler manner he confirmed father’s blunt assessment of the previous night. Father, Beldin, the twins, and I were
not
like other people, and our purpose was not like theirs.

After a time, I simply reached out my hand, laid it on the rough bark of the Tree, sighed, and returned to father’s tower and the waiting Mrin Codex.

Father and I made periodic visits to the Isle of the Winds during the next half-century or so – usually for meetings of the Alorn Council. There were new kings in Cherek, Drasnia, and Algaria, but father and I weren’t as close to them as we’d been to Bear-shoulders, Bull-neck, and Fleet-foot. Because fairly extended periods of time passed between our visits, I was keenly aware of the fact that Daran and Kamion were visibly older each time we went to the Isle.

My father’s hinted at this, but one of us had probably better come right out with it. Our situation is most peculiar, and it requires certain adjustments. As those we’ve come to know and love grow older, it’s absolutely necessary for us to distance ourselves from them. The alternative is quite probably madness. Endless grief will eventually destroy the human mind. We’re not heartless, but we
do
have duties, and those duties oblige us to protect our ability to function. As I watched Daran and Kamion become crotchety, querulous old men, I knew they’d eventually leave us and that there was nothing I could do about it.