‘Well, Zandramas,’ Poledra said, ‘and is this the time thou hast chosen for our meeting? Shall we destroy each other now when we have come so close to the ultimate instant? If thou but await the Choice of Cyradis, thou wilt stand an even chance of obtaining that which thou hast so desperately sought. If thou shouldst confront me however, thou wilt cast the entire matter into the lap of pure chance. Wilt thou throw away thy half-chance of success in exchange for an absolute uncertainty?’
‘I am stronger than thou art, Poledra,’ Zandramas declared defiantly. ‘I am the Child of Dark.’
‘And I was the Child of Light. How much art thou willing to gamble on the possibility that I can still call forth the strength and power? Wilt thou gamble all, Zandramas? All?’
Zandramas’ eyes narrowed, and Garion could clearly feel the clenching of her will. Then, with a blasting surge of energy and a vast roar, she released it. An aura of darkness suddenly surrounded her, and she seized Garion’s son and lifted him. ‘Thus will I conquer, Poledra!’ she hissed. She closed her hand about the struggling boy’s wrist and pushed his Orb-marked hand out in front of her. ‘In the instant the hand of Belgarion’s son touches the Sardion, I will triumph.’ Implacably, step by step, she started forward.
Garion raised his sword and leveled its point at her. ‘Push her back,’ he commanded the Orb. A bolt of intense blue light shot from the sword-point, but it divided as it struck that dark aura, encasing the shadow but in no way interfering with Zandramas’ advance. ‘Do something!’ Garion shouted silently.
‘I can’t interfere,’ the voice told him.
‘Is that really the best thou canst do, Zandramas?’ Poledra asked calmly. Garion had often heard that same note in Aunt Pol’s voice, but never with quite such indominable determination. Poledra raised her hand almost indifferently and released her will. The surge and the sound nearly buckled Garion’s knees. The aura of dark surrounding Zandramas and Geran vanished. The Sorceress of Darshiva, however, did not falter, but continued her slow advance. ‘Wilt thou kill thy son, Belgarion of Riva?’ she asked, ‘For thou canst not strike at me without destroying him.’
‘I can’t do it!’ Garion cried out, his eyes suddenly full of tears. ‘I can’t!’
‘You must. You’ve been warned that this might happen. If she succeeds and puts your son’s hand on the Sardion, he will be worse than dead. Do what must be done, Garion.’
Weeping uncontrollably, Garion raised his sword. Geran looked him steadily in the face, his eyes unafraid.
‘NO!’ It was Ce’Nedra. She dashed across the floor of the grotto and threw herself directly in front of Zandramas. Her face was deathly pale. ‘If you intend to kill my baby, you’ll have to kill me, too, Garion,’ she said in a broken voice. She turned her back on Garion and bowed her head.
‘So much the better,’ Zandramas gloated. ‘Wilt thou kill thy son and thy wife both, Belgarion of Riva? Wilt thou carry that with thee to thy grave?’
Garion’s face twisted in agony as he gripped the hilt of his sword more firmly. With one stroke, he would destroy his very life.
Zandramas, still holding Geran, stared at him incredulously. ‘Thou wilt not!’ she excaimed. ‘Thou canst not!’
Garion clenched his teeth and raised his sword even higher.
Zandramas’ incredulity suddenly turned to fright. Her advance stopped, and she began to shrink back from that awful stroke.
‘Now, Ce’Nedra!’ Polgara’s voice cracked like a whip.
The Rivan Queen, who had been coiled like a spring beneath her apparent mute submission to her fate, exploded. With a single leap, she snatched Geran from the arms of Zandramas and fled with him back to Polgara’s side.
Zandramas howled and tried to follow, her face filled with rage.
‘No, Zandramas,’ Poledra said. ‘If thou turnest away, I will kill thee – or Belgarion will. Thou hast inadvertently revealed thy decision. Thy choice hath been made, and thou art no longer the Child of Dark, but are only an ordinary Grolim priestess. There is no longer any need for thee here. Thou art free now to depart – or to die.’
Zandramas froze.
‘Thus all thy subterfuge and evasion have come to naught, Zandramas. Thou hast no longer any choice. Wilt thou now submit to the decision of the Seeress of Kell?’
Zandramas stared at her, the expression on her star-touched face a mixture of fear and towering hatred.
‘Well, Zandramas,’ Poledra said, ‘what is it to be? Wilt thou die this close to thy promised exaltation?’ Poledra’s golden eyes were penetrating as she looked into the face of the Grolim priestess. ‘Ah, no,’ she said quite calmly, ‘I perceive that thou wilt not. Thou canst not. But I would hear the words from thine own mouth, Zandramas. Wilt thou now accept the decision of Cyradis?’
Zandramas clenched her teeth. ‘I will,’ she grated.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE THUNDER STILL cracked and rumbled outside, and the wind accompanying the storm that had been brewing since the earth had been made moaned in the passageway leading into the grotto from the amphitheater outside. In an abstract sort of way as he resheathed his sword, Garion recognized precisely what his mind was doing. It had happened so often in the past that he wondered why he had not expected it. The circumstances required that he make a decision. The fact that he no longer even considered the decision, but concentrated instead on a meticulous examination of his surroundings, indicated that he had already made his choice somewhere so deep in his mind that it did not even register on the surface. There was, he conceded, a very good reason for what he was doing. Dwelling upon an impending crisis or confrontation would only rattle him, lead him into that distracting series of ‘what if’s’ and make him begin to have those second thoughts which could quite easily lock him into an agonized indecision. Right or wrong, the choice had been made now, and to continue to worry at it would serve no purpose. The choice, he knew, was based not only upon careful reasoning but also on deep feelings. He had that serene inner peace which flowed from the knowledge that the choice, whatever it was, was right. Calmly, he turned his attention to the grotto itself.
The stones of the walls appeared, though it was hard to be sure in the pervading red light of the Sardion, to be a kind of basalt which had fractured into a myriad of flat surfaces and sharp edges. The floor was peculiarly smooth, either as a result of eons of patiently eroding water or of a single thought of Torak during His sojourn in this cave while He had contended with and ultimately rejected UL, His father. The trickle of water into the pool on the far side of the grotto was something of a mystery. This was the highest peak of the reef. Water should run down from here, not up to the hidden spring in the wall. Beldin could probably explain it – or Durnik. Garion knew that he needed to be alert in this strange place, and he did not want to break his concentration by pondering the ins and outs of hydraulics.
And then, since it was the only source of light in this dim grotto, Garion’s almost indifferent eyes were drawn inevitably to the Sardion. It was not a pretty stone. It was streaked with pale orange and milky white in alternating stripes banded closely together, and it was now stained with the wavering blue light emanating from the Orb. It was as smooth and polished as the Orb. The Orb had been polished by the hand of Aldur, but who had polished the Sardion? Some God unknown? Some shaggy clan of the brutish precursors of man squatting in dull-eyed patience over the stone, devoting generation after generation to the single incomprehensible task of rubbing the orange and white surface smooth with calloused and broken-nailed hands that were more like paws than human appendages? Even such unthinking creatures would have felt the power of the stone, and, feeling it to be a God – or at the very least, some object descended from a God – might not their mindless polishing have been some obscure act of worship?
Then Garion let his eyes wander over the faces of his companions, the familiar faces of those who had, in response to destinies that had been written large in the stars since the beginning of days, accompa
nied him to this place on this particular day. The death of Toth had answered the one unanswered question, and now all was in place.
Cyradis, her face still tear-stained and marked by her grief, stepped to the altar to face them. ‘The time draws nigh,’ she said in a clear, unwavering voice. ‘Now must the choices of the Child of Light and the Child of Dark be made. All must be in readiness when the instant of my Choice arrives. Know ye both that your choices, once made, cannot be unmade.’
‘My choice was made at the beginning of days,’ Zandramas declared. ‘Adown all the endless corridors of time hath the name of Belgarion’s son echoed, for he hath touched Cthrag Yaska, which spurneth all other hands save the hand of Belgarion himself. In the instant that Geran touches Cthrag Sardius, will he become an omnipotent God, higher than all the rest, and he shall have lordship and dominion over all of creation. Stand forth, Child of Dark. Take thy place before the altar of Torak to await the Choice of the Seeress of Kell. In the instant that she chooses thee, reach forth thy hand and seize thy destiny.’
It was the last clue. Now Garion knew what the choice he had made in the deep silences of his mind had been, and he knew why it was so perfectly right. Reluctantly, Geran walked toward the altar, stopped and then turned, his small face grave.
‘And now, Child of Light,’ Cyradis said, ‘the time hath come for thee to make thy choice. Upon which of thy companions wilt thou lay the burden?’
Garion had little sense of the melodramatic. Ce’Nedra, and even on occasion Aunt Pol, were, he knew, quite capable of extracting the last ounce of theatricality from any given situation, whereas he, a solid, practical Sendar, was more inclined toward matter-of-fact unostentation. He was quite certain, however, that Zandramas somehow knew what his choice should be. He also knew that, despite her reluctant agreement to leave the choice in the hands of the Seeress of Kell, the black-robed sorceress was still perfectly capable of some desperate final ploy. He had to do something to throw her off balance so that she would hesitate at the crucial moment. If he appeared to be on the verge of making the wrong choice, the Sorceress would exult and she would think that she had finally won. Then, at the last possible instant, he could make the correct choice. The Child of Dark’s momentary chagrin might well freeze her hand and give him time to block her. Carefully, he noted her position and that of Geran and Otrath. Geran stood perhaps ten feet in front of the altar with Zandramas no more than a few feet from him. Otrath was cowering back against the rough stone wall at the back of the grotto.
It would have to be exactly right. He would have to build up an almost unbearable suspense in the mind of Zandramas, then dash her hopes all at once. Rather artfully, he drew his face into an expression of agonized indecision. He wandered among his friends, his face filled with a purely feigned bafflement. He stopped from time to time to look deeply into their faces, even going so far as to occasionally half-raise his hand as if on the very verge of choosing the wrong person. Each time he did that, he clearly felt a wild surge of glee coming from Zandramas. She was not even attempting to hide her emotions. Better and better. His enemy by now was no longer even rational.
‘What are you doing?’ Polgara whispered when he stopped in front of her.
‘I’ll explain later,’ he murmured. ‘It’s necessary – and important. You’ve got to trust me, Aunt Pol.’ He moved on. When he reached Belgarath, he felt a momentary apprehension emanating from Zandramas. The Eternal Man was certainly someone to be reckoned with, and should the eminence of the Child of Light be added to that – and the potential for divinity as well – the old man could be a serious adversary.
‘Will you move on with it, Garion?’ his grandfather muttered.
‘I’m trying to push Zandramas off-balance,’ Garion whispered. ‘Please watch her closely after I choose. She might try something.’
‘Then you know who it’s going to be?’
‘Of course. I’m trying not to think about it, though. I don’t want her to pick it out of my mind.’
The old man made a face. ‘Do it your way, Garion. Just don’t drag it out too long. Let’s not irritate Cyradis as well as Zandramas.’
Garion nodded and moved past Sadi and Velvet, letting his mind push out toward that of Zandramas as he did. Her emotions were veering around wildly now, and it was clear that she was at a fever-pitch. To draw things out any further would serve no purpose. He stopped at last in front of Silk and Eriond. ‘Keep your face straight,’ he warned the rat-faced little man. ‘Don’t let Zandramas see any change of expression no matter what I seem to be doing.’
‘Don’t make any mistakes here, Garion,’ Silk warned. ‘I’m not looking for a sudden promotion of any kind.’
Garion nodded. It was nearly over now. He looked at Eriond, a young man who was almost his brother. ‘I’m sorry about this, Eriond,’ he apologized in a low murmur. ‘You probably won’t want to thank me for what I’m about to do.’
‘It’s all right, Belgarion,’ Eriond smiled. ‘I’ve known it was going to happen for quite some time now. I’m ready.’
And that clinched it. Eriond had answered the ubiquitous question, ‘Are you ready?’ for probably the last time. Eriond, it appeared, was – and probably had been since the day he was born. Everything now slipped into place to fit together so tightly that nothing could ever take it apart again.
‘Choose, Belgarion,’ Cyradis urged.
‘I have, Cyradis,’ Garion said simply. He stretched out his hand and laid it on Eriond’s shoulder. ‘Here is my choice. Here is the Child of Light.’
‘Perfect!’ Belgarath exclaimed.
‘Done!’ the voice in Garion’s mind agreed.
Garion felt a peculiar wrench followed by a kind of regretful emptiness. He was no longer the Child of Light. It was Eriond’s responsibility now, but Garion knew that he still had one last responsibility of his own. He turned slowly, trying to make it look casual. The expression on the light-speckled face of Zandramas was a mixture of rage, fear, and frustration. It confirmed that what Garion had just done had been the right thing. He had made the proper choice. He had never actually done what he tried to do next before, although he had seen and felt Aunt Pol do it many times. This was not, however, a time for random experimentation. Carefully, he sent his mind out again, looking this time not so much for overall emotional responses from Zandramas as for specifics. He had to know exactly what she was going to try to do before she could put it into motion.
The mind of the Sorceress of Darshiva was filled with a confused welter of thoughts and emotions. The wild hope Garion’s subterfuge had raised in her seemed to have done its work. Zandramas floundered, unable to concentrate now on her next step. But step she must. Garion perceived that she simply could not leave the matter wholly in the hands of the Seeress of Kell.
‘Go thou then, Child of Light, to stand beside the Child of Dark that I may choose between ye,’ Cyradis said.
Eriond nodded. Then he turned and crossed the grotto to stand beside Geran.
‘It’s done, Cyradis,’ Poledra said. ‘All the choices have been made but yours. This is the appointed place and the appointed day. The moment for you to perform your task has arrived.’
‘Not quite yet, Poledra,’ Cyradis said, her voice trembling with anxiety. ‘The signal that the instant of the Choice hath come must be delivered from from the book of the heavens.’
‘But you cannot see the heavens, Cyradis,’ Garion’s grandmother reminded her. ‘We stand beneath the earth. The book of the heavens is obscured.’
‘I need not go to the book of the heavens. It will come to me.’
‘Consider, Cyradis,’ Zandramas urged in a wheedling tone. ‘Consider my words. There is no possible choice but Belgarion’s son.’
Garion’s mind suddenly became very alert. Zandramas had made a decision. She knew what she was going to do, but she had somehow managed to conceal it from him. He almost began to admire his enemy. She had prepared each of her moves from the very beginning – and
each of her defenses in this place as well – with an almost military precision. As each defense failed, she withdrew to the next. That was why he could not pick her thought from her mind. She already knew what she was going to do, so there was no need for her to even think about it. He could feel, however, that her next move had something to do with Cyradis herself. That was Zandramas’ last line of defense. ‘Don’t do that, Zandramas,’ he told the Sorceress. ‘You know it’s not the truth. Leave her alone.’
‘Then choose, Cyradis,’ the Sorceress commanded.
‘I may not. The instant hath not yet arrived.’ The face of Cyradis was twisted with an inhuman agony.
Then Garion felt it. Wave upon wave of indecision and doubt were emanating from Zandramas, all focusing on the blindfolded Seeress. This was the final desperate attempt. Failing to attack them successfully, Zandramas was now attacking Cyradis. ‘Help her, Aunt Pol,’ Garion threw the thought out desperately. ‘Zandramas is trying to keep her from making the Choice.’
‘Yes, Garion,’ Polgara’s voice came back calmly, ‘I know.’
‘Do something!’
‘It’s not time yet. It has to come at the moment of the Choice. If I try to do anything earlier, Zandramas will feel it and take steps to counteract me.’
‘Something’s happening outside,’ Durnik said urgently. ‘There’s a light of some kind coming down the corridor.’
The Malloreon: Book 05 - Seeress of Kell Page 33