CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
I suppose I should have been offended by the twins' insulting line of speculation, but I guess I really wasn't. I'd known Garion's friend for long enough now to have a pretty clear idea of his opinion of me, and I have tried to tamper with things on occasion. I guess it goes back to something I've said before; I'm not temperamentally equipped just to sit back and let destiny take its course. No matter how clever I think I am, though, Garion's friend is always about two jumps ahead of me. I should be used to that by now, I guess, but I'm not.
A part of the reason that I didn't get too excited about those unflattering observations was the fact that I was much more excited by the information that we'd finally reached the century during which the Godslayer would be born. I pestered poor Polgara unmercifully during the first three decades of the fifty-fourth century. I'd stop by every two or three months to find out if the heir's wife was pregnant, and I insisted on being present at every birth in that little family.
Pol was living in Medalia in central Sendaria at the time, and the current heir's name was Darral. I was very disappointed when, in 5329, Darral's wife, Alara, gave birth to a baby boy and the infant's birth wasn't accompanied by any of necessary signs and portents. He wasn't the Godslayer. Pol named him Geran, and it somehow seemed very right.
Maybe it was the fact that Darral was a stone-cutter that moved my daughter to relocate the family to the mountain village of Annath, just on the Sendarian side of the Algarian border, in 5334. There were extensive stone quarries in the area, so Darral could find steady work.
I had a few qualms about that. The name Annath seemed to send a chill through me for some reason. It wasn't that Annath was such a bad little town. It was much like every mountain village in the world. It had one street, which is normal for a town built at the bottom of a steep valley, and as it had grown, the houses of the new arrivals were simply added onto each end of that street. That made the town a little strung out, but that didn't bother anybody. People who live in the mountains are used to walking. The sides of the valley were covered with aspens, and that gave Annath a light and airy atmosphere. Some mountain towns are up to their ears in fir and spruce, and they're perpetually gloomy as a result. Annath wasn't like that, but it chilled me all the same.
I didn't have time to stand around shivering, though, because I had to go to Boktor for the birth of one of the members of the extended royal family of Drasnia. They named him Prince Kheldar, though he was far down in the line of succession, but his birth and his name filled the air around him with those signs and portents that I'd so sorely missed at the birth of Geran. The Mrin refers to him as the Guide, but the rest of the world knows him by the nickname his classmates at the academy of the Drasnian Intelligence Service gave him when he was a student there-Silk.
I was kept running for the next few years. The Guide was born in 5335, and so was the Blind Man--Relg the Ulgo zealot. Then, in 5336, the son of the Earl of Trellheim was born. They named him Barak, but the Mrin calls him the Dreadful Bear. In the following year, the Horse-Lord and the Knight Protector--Hettar and Mandorallen--came along.
The Companions were sprouting all around me, but where was the Godslayer?
Then in the spring of 5338, I received an urgent summons from Polgara. I hurried on up to Annath, thinking the worst, but there wasn't any emergency that I could see. Pol seemed quite calm when she met me near a stone quarry on the edge of town.
"What's the problem here, Pol?" I asked her.
"No problem, father," she replied with a slight shrug.
"I just need somebody to fill in for me for a few months. I have something to take care of."
"Oh? What's that?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss it."
"Are we going to play that tired old game again, Pol?"
"It's not a game, father, and if you're tired of it, I'll call the twins instead."
"You can't pull them out of the Vale now, Poll There's too much going on at the moment for them to go off and leave the Mrin!"
"And Uncle Beldin's keeping watch over Torak. That's important, too. I guess you're elected, father--whether you like it or not. You're not really doing anything important right now, are you? The midwives can deliver these various babies without your supervision. Look after Darral and the little boy. Old Man--and if you say
"Why me?" I'll snatch out your beard."
"I'm not your servant, Pol."
"No, you're not. You're the servant of something far more important, and so am I. I have an errand to take care of, and you're supposed to take over here while I'm gone."
"The Master didn't say anything to me about this."
"He's busy right now, so I'm passing the instructions on for him. Just do it, father. Don't argue with me."
Before I could think up any kind of reply, she blurred and was gone.
I swore for a while, and then I stamped down into the village. Geran, who was about nine or so, was waiting for me outside the solid house his father had built at the east end of Annath's single street.
"Hello, Grandfather,"
he greeted me.
"Did Aunt Pol talk with you?"
"Talk to would come closer, Geran," I replied sourly.
"Did she happen to mention to you where she's going?"
"Not that I remember, no, but there's nothing unusual about that.
Aunt Pol hardly ever tells us what she's going to do--or why."
"You've noticed that, I see. Where's your mother?"
"She stepped down to the baker's shop for a minute. Aunt Pol said that you'd be staying with us for a while, and Mother knows how fond you are of pastries."
"We all have our little weaknesses, I suppose."
"Mother should be back fairly soon," he said, "but as long as we're waiting anyway, do you suppose you could tell me a story?"
I laughed.
"I might as well," I said.
"Your aunt's nailed me to the ground here until she gets back, so we'll have lots of time for stories." I looked at him a bit more closely. Although, like most of the members of his family, he'd been born with that sandy-colored hair, Geran's hair was beginning to turn dark. He'd never be as big as Iron-grip had been, but I could already see certain resemblances.
A little word of caution here, if you don't mind. When you know that something's going to happen, you'll start trying to see signs of its approach in just about everything. Always try to remember that most of the things that happen in this world aren't signs. They happen because they happen, and their only real significance lies in normal cause and effect.
You'll drive yourself crazy if you start trying to pry the meaning out of every gust of wind or rain squall. I'm not denying that there might actually be a few signs that you won't want to miss. Knowing the difference is the tricky part.
I've always enjoyed the company of my grandsons. There's a peculiarly earnest quality about them that I find appealing. I'm not trying to say that they don't occasionally do things that are a bit foolish and sometimes downright dangerous--Garion's encounter with the wild boar in the woods outside Val Alorn sort of leaps to mind--but if you're willing to follow their occasionally faulty reasoning, you'll find that, in their own minds at least, most of the things they do are fully justified. The descendants of Iron-grip and Beldaran always have been very serious little boys.
A sense of humor might have rounded out their personalities, but you can't have everything.
Despite the fact that Polgara had ruthlessly dragooned me into watching over Geran, I'll admit that I enjoyed those months I spent with him. I'll never be the kind of fisherman Durnik is, but I know the basics-which is to say that I can bait a hook. But Geran was at that age in a young boy's life when catching fish becomes an all-consuming passion.
Years of observation have taught me that this particular passion crops up just before the boy suddenly realizes that there are two kinds of people in the world--boy-people and girl-people. In a general sort of way, most boys
approve of that.
If only they wouldn't behave as if they thought they'd invented it.
Anyway, Geran and I spent that spring and summer in search of the wily trout. There are other kinds of fish in the world, of course, but it's always seemed to me that trout are the most challenging. Moreover, if you're not too noisy about it, you can have some fairly serious conversations while you're waiting for the fish to start biting.
I particularly remember one truly miserable, but at the same time absolutely wonderful day my grandson and I spent huddled on a makeshift raft in the center of a small mountain lake with a drizzling rain hissing into the water around us. I'm not sure exactly why, but the trout were in a positive frenzy. Geran and I caught more fish that day than we'd normally catch in a week.
About mid-afternoon, when we were both soaked to the skin and the wicker basket we'd brought along "just in case we got lucky" was filled almost to the brim with silvery-sided trout, things began to slow down a bit.
"This is really a lot of fun, grandfather," my fishing partner noted.
"I
wish we could do it more often."
"Geran," I replied, "we've been out fishing every day for the past three weeks. You can't get much more often than that."
"Yes, but today we're catching them."
I laughed.
"That always seems to help," I agreed.
"We're not the same as other people, are we?" He asked then.
"Because we both like to fish? There are a lot of fishermen in the world, Geran."
"That's not what I mean. I'm talking about our family. It seems to me that there's something sort of different about us--something a little odd and . . . special." He made a small face and wiped the water off his nose on his sleeve.
"I didn't say that very well, did I? I'm not trying to say that we're really important or anything like that, but we're just not like other people--at least that's the way it seems to me. Aunt Pol never talks to me about it, but sometimes at night I can hear her talking with my father down in the kitchen before I go to sleep. She knows a lot of people, doesn't she?"
"Your aunt? Oh, yes, Geran. Your Aunt Pol knows people in just about every Kingdom in the West."
"What I can't understand is how she got to know all those kings and nobles and such. She almost never goes anywhere. You know what I think?"
"What's that, boy?"
"I think Aunt Pol's a lot older than she looks."
"She's what they call "well preserved," Geran. I wouldn't make a big issue of it, if I were you, though. Ladies are a little sensitive about how old they are."
"You're old, and it doesn't seem to bother you."
"That's because I never really grew up. I still know how to have fun.
That's what keeps you young. Your aunt thinks that having fun isn't important."
"She's very strange, isn't she? Sometimes I think she's the strangest woman in the world."
I broke down and laughed at that point.
"What's so funny?"
"Someday I'll explain it to you. You're right, though. Our family is special, but it's important for us all to behave as if we were ordinary. Your aunt will explain it to you when you're a little older."
"Does it make you feel good? Being special, I mean?"
"Not really. It's just something else that you have to carry around with you. It's not all that complicated, Geran. There's something very important that our family has to do, and there are people in the world who don't want us to do it."
"We'll do it anyway, though, won't we?" His boyish face was very determined.
"I think we probably will--but that's still a ways off yet. Are you going to pull that fish in? Or are you planning to just keep him on the line for the rest of the day?"
My grandson gave a small whoop and pulled in a trout that probably weighed about five pounds.
I think back on that day fairly often. All things considered, it was one of the better ones.
It was almost winter when Polgara returned. The leaves had changed color and then fallen to the ground, the sky had turned grey, and there was the smell of approaching snow when she came walking down the single street of Annath with a blue cloak wrapped about her and a look of satisfaction on her face.
I saw her coming and I went out to meet her.
"Back so soon, Pol?" I bantered.
"We hardly even had time to miss you. Now do you suppose you could tell me where you went and what you were doing?"
She shrugged.
"I had to go to Nyissa again. There were some people there I had to meet."
"Oh? Who?"
"Zedar, for one, and the current Salmissra, for another."
"Pol, stay away from Zedar! You're good, but not that good."
"It was required, father. Zedar and I have to know each other. It's one of those things."
"What's Zedar up to?" I demanded.
"I can't see why you've all been so excited about Zedar. Actually, he's rather pathetic. He's terribly shabby, he's not eating right, and he looks awfully unhealthy."
"Good. I wish him all the pleasures of ill-health. I'll even invent some new diseases for him, if what's currently available starts to bore him."
"You're a barbarian, father."
"You've noticed. What's he doing in Nyissa?"
"As far as I can tell, he's turned into a vagabond. He's sort of wandering around the world desperately looking for something--or somebody."
"Let's all hope that he doesn't find whatever or whomever it is."
"On the contrary, he absolutely has to. If he doesn't find it, you're going to have to find it yourself, and you wouldn't even know where to begin looking."
"Does he?"
"No. What he's looking for is going to find him."
And that was the first hint we had that Eriond was coming. Beldin and I talked about it once, and we sort of agreed that Eriond and Torak were mirror images of each other--Torak on one side, and Eriond on the other. Each of them was the exact opposite of his counterpart.
Sometimes I wonder if Torak knew that he was a mistake.
That in itself would justify my entire existence.
"Why did you have to talk to Salmissra?" I asked.
"To warn her," my daughter replied.
"She'll do something in a few years, and I'll have to do something to her in return. She won't like it much--and neither will I." Polgara sighed.
"It's going to be fairly dreadful, I'm afraid, but I won't have any choice." She suddenly threw her arms around me and buried her face in my shoulder.
"Oh, father," she wept, "why do I have to be the one who has to do it?"
"Because you're the only one who can, Pol." Then I patted her shoulder.
"There, there," I said.
"There, there."
The next couple of years were quiet, and that made me very edgy. The most momentous event in the history of the world was right on the verge of happening, and I wanted to get on with it. I'm not really very good at waiting.
Then, in 5340, Ran Borune XXIII was crowned Emperor of Tolnedra, and not long thereafter he was married to one of his cousins, a red-haired Dryad named Ce'Vanne. The twins found that highly significant, and they assured me that the marriage would result in the birth of the Queen of the World. If they were right, and they almost always were, this meant that when Geran reached adulthood and married, he'd become the father of the one we'd all been waiting for.
Not long after that, Beldin came back to the Vale.
"I see that you finally got tired of watching that cave," I said to him after he had come up the stairs to my tower.
"Not really," he replied.
"Some things have been happening, haven't they?"
"A few. We're getting closer to the birth of the Godslayer."
"I thought it might be something like that. A few months back I suddenly got a powerful urge to go out and have a look around. The Murgos have a new king, Taur Urgas, and he's as crazy as a loon. There's nothing ne
w or startling about that; all the Urgas are crazy. Taur Urgas carries it to extremes, though. I saw him once in Rak Goska, and I think he's going to figure in events."
"Is there any sign of his Mallorean counterpart yet?"
He nodded.
"His name's Zakath. He hasn't been crowned emperor yet, but I don't think it's going to be much longer. His father's in failing health. For an Angarak, Zakath's a remarkably civilized man. From what I gather, he's extremely intelligent, and his tutors were able to persuade his father to let him attend the university in Melcene. An educated Mallorean Emperor's going to be a novelty. How many of the companions have showed up so far?"
"Six that I know of. The Guide and the Blind Man were born in 5335, the Dreadful Bear in '36, and the Horse-Lord and the Knight Protector in '37."
"That's only five."
"I thought you already knew about the Man with Two Lives. He was born earlier--5330, I think. He's apprenticed to a blacksmith in Erat in central Sendaria."
"Any hints about the others?"
"The twins think that the present Tolnedran Emperor's going to produce the Godslayer's wife."
"That sort of nails things down, doesn't it? How's Pol?"
"Difficult, the same as always. She went to Nyissa a couple of years ago, and she met Zedar down there."
"And you let her?"
"Let is a term that doesn't apply when you're talking about Pol. You should know that by now, Beldin. Actually, she didn't bother to tell me where she was going. She told me afterward that she and Zedar have to know each other. She's getting instructions from someplace other than the Mrin."
"I'm sure she is. Oh, I almost forgot. There's a new king in Gar og Nadrak, too. His name's Drosta lek Thun, and he was only twelve when they put him on the throne."
"Did you see him?"
"No. I heard about it when I was in Rak Goska. Are the Algars going to do anything about their Crown Prince?"
"What do you mean, "do anything about him"?"
"He's a cripple, isn't he? I don't think the Algars are very likely to accept a defective as king."
"He'll probably be all right. Once he's on a horse, he's as good as any Algar alive." I scratched at my beard.
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