"You can't know Torak's mind," Aunt Pol said, "and it's dangerous to open yourself to him, He can poison you without your even knowing what's happening."
"I don't think there's any danger of that, Pol," Wolf said. "Anheg's mind is well-trained enough to avoid the traps in Torak's book, They're pretty obvious after all."
"You're an observant young man, Garion," Anheg said gravely. "You've done me a service today, and you can call on me at any time for service in return. Know that Anheg of Cherek is your friend." He extended hs right hand, and Garion took it into his own without thinking.
King Anheg's eyes grew suddenly wide, and his face paled slightly. He turned Garion's hand over and looked down at the silvery mark on the boy's palm.
Then Aunt Pol's hands were also there, firmly closing Garion's fingers and removing him from Anheg's grip.
"It's true, then," Anheg said softly.
"Enough," Aunt Pol said. "Don't confuse the boy." Her hands were still firmly holding Garion's. "Come along, dear," she said. "It's time to finish packing." And she turned and led him from the room.
Garion's mind was racing, What was there about the mark on his hand that had so startled Anheg? The birthmark, he knew, was hereditary. Aunt Pol had once told him that his father's hand had had the same mark, but why would that be of interest to Anheg? It had gone too far, His need to know became almost unbearable. He had to know about his parents, about Aunt Pol - about all of it. If the answers hurt, then they'd just have to hurt. At least he would know.
The next morning was clear, and they left the palace for the harbor quite early. They all gathered in the courtyard where the sleighs waited.
"There's no need for you to come out in the cold like this, Merel," Barak told his fur-robed wife as she mounted the sleigh beside him.
"I have a duty to see my Lord safely to his ship," she replied with an arrogant lift of her chin.
Barak sighed. "Whatever you wish," he said.
With King Anheg and Queen Islena in the lead, the sleighs whirled out of the courtyard and into the snowy streets.
The sun was very bright, and the air was crisp. Garion rode silently with Silk and Hettar.
"Why so quiet, Garion?" Silk asked.
"A lot of things have happened here that I don't understand," Garion said.
"No one can understand everything," Hettar said rather sententiously.
"Chereks are a violent and moody people," Silk said. "They don't even understand themselves."
"It's not just the Chereks," Garion said, struggling with the words. "It's Aunt Pol and Mister Wolf and Asharak - all of it. Things are happening too fast. I can't get it all sorted out."
"Events are like horses," Hettar told him. "Sometimes they run away. After they've run for a while, though, they'll start to walk again, Then there'll be time to put everything together."
"I hope so," Garion said dubiously and fell silent again.
The sleighs came round a corner into the broad square before the temple of Belar. The blind woman was there again and Garion realized that he had been half-expecting her. She stood on the steps of the temple and raised her staff. Unaccountably, the horses which pulled the sleighs stopped, trembling, despite the urgings of the drivers.
"Hail, Great One," the blind woman said. "I wish thee well on thy journey."
The sleigh in which Garion was riding had stopped closest to the temple steps, and it seemed that the old woman was speaking to him. Almost without thinking he answered, "Thank you. But why do you call me that?"
She ignored the question. "Remember me," she commanded, bowing deeply. "Remember Martje when thou comest into thine inheritance."
It was the second time she'd said that, and Garion felt a sharp pang of curiosity. "What inheritance?" he demanded.
But Barak was roaring with fury and struggling to throw off the fur robe and draw his sword at the same time. King Anheg was also climbing down from his sleigh, his coarse face livid with rage.
"No!" Aunt Pol said sharply from nearby. "I'll tend to this." She stood up. "Hear me witch-woman," she said in a clear voice, casting back the hood of her cloak. "I think you see too much with those blind eyes of yours. I'm going to do you a favor so that you'll no longer be troubled by the darkness and these disturbing visions which grow out of it."
"Strike me down if it please thee, Polgara," the old woman said. "I see what I see."
"I won't strike you down, Martje," Aunt Pol said. "I'm going to give you a gift instead." She raised her hand in a brief and curious gesture.
Garion saw it happen quite plainly, so there was no way that he could persuade himself that it had all been some trick of the eye. He was looking directly at Martje's face and saw the white film drain down off her eyes like milk draining down the inside of a glass.
The old woman stood frozen on the spot as the bright blue of her eyes emerged from the film which had covered them. And then she screamed. She held up her hands and looked at them and screamed again. There was in her scream a wrenching note of indescribable loss.
"What did you do," Queen Islena demanded.
"I gave her back her eyes," Aunt Pol said, sitting down again and rearranging the fur robe about her.
"You can do that?" Islena asked, her face blanching and her voice weak.
"Can't you? It's a simple thing, really."
"But," Queen Porenn objected, "with her eyes restored, she'll lose that other vision, won't she?"
"I imagine so," Aunt Pol said, "but that's a small price to pay, isn't it?"
"She'll no longer be a witch, then?" Porenn pressed.
"She wasn't a very good witch anyway," Aunt Pol said. "Her vision was clouded and uncertain. It's better this way, She won't be disturbing herself and others with shadows anymore." She looked at King Anheg who sat frozen in awe beside his half-fainting queen. "Shall we continue?" she asked calmly. "Our ship is waiting."
The horses, as if released by her words, leaped forward, and the sleighs sped away from the temple, spraying snow from their runners.
Garion glanced back once. Old Martje stood on the steps of the temple looking at her two outstretched hands and sobbing uncontrollably.
"We've been been privileged to witness a miracle, my friends," Hettar said.
"I gather, however, that the beneficiary was not very pleased with it," Silk said dryly. "Remind me not to offend Polgara. Her miracles seem to have two edges to them."
Chapter Twenty-one
The low-slanting rays of the morning sun glittered on the icy waters of the harbor as their sleighs halted near the stone quays. Greldik's ship rocked and strained at her hawsers, and a smaller ship also waited with seeming impatience.
Hettar stepped down and went over to speak to Cho-Hag and Queen Silar. The three of them talked together quietly and seriously, drawing a kind of shell of privacy about them.
Queen Islena had partially regained her composure and sat in her sleigh straight-backed and with a fixed smile on her face. After Anheg had gone to speak with Mister Wolf, Aunt Pol crossed the Icy wharf and stopped near the sleigh of the Queen of Cherek.
"If I were you, Islena," she said firmly, "I'd find another hobby. Your gifts in the arts of sorcery are limited, and it's a dangerous area for dabbling. Too many things can go wrong if you don't know what you are doing.
The queen stared at her mutely.
"Oh," Aunt Pol said, "one other thing. It would be best, I think, if you broke off your connections with the Bear-cult. It's hardly proper for a queen to have dealings with her husband's political enemies."
Islena's eyes widened. "Does Anheg know?" she asked in a stricken voice.
"I wouldn't be suprised," Aunt Pol said. "He's much more clever than he looks, you know. You'rewalking very close to the edge of treason. You ought to have a few babies. They'd give you something useful to do with your time and keep you out of trouble. That's only a suggestion, of course, but you might think it over. I've enjoyed our visit, dear. Thank you for your hospitality." And with t
hat she turned and walked away.
Silk whistled softly. That explains a few things," he said.
"Explains what?" Garion asked.
"The High Priest of Belar's been dabbling in Cherek politics lately. He's obviously gone a bit further than I'd thought in penetrating the palace."
"The queen?" Garion asked, startled.
"Islena's obsessed with the idea of magic," Silk said. "The Bear-cultists dabble in certain kinds of rituals that might look sort of mystical to someone as gullible as she is." He looked quickly toward where King Rhodar was speaking with the other kings and Mister Wolf. Then he drew a deep breath. "Let's go talk to Porenn," he said and led the way across the wharf to where the tiny blond Queen of Drasnia stood looking out at the icy sea.
"Highness," Silk said deferentially.
"Dear Kheldar," she said, smiling at him.
"Could you give some information to my uncle for me?" he asked.
"Of course."
"It seems that Queen Islena's been a bit indiscreet," Silk said. "She's been involved with the Bear-cult here in Cherek."
"Oh dear," Porenn said. "Does Anheg know?"
"It's hard to say," Silk told her. "I doubt if he'd admit it if he did. Garion and I happened to hear Polgara tell her to stop it."
"I hope that puts an end to it," Porenn said. "If it went too far, Anheg would have to take steps. That could be tragic."
"Polgara was quite firm," Silk said. "I think Islena will do as she was told, but advise my uncle. He likes to be kept aware of this kind of thing."
"I'll tell him about it," she said.
"You might also suggest that he keep his eyes on the local chapters of the cult in Boktor and Kotu," Silk suggested. "This kind of thing isn't usually isolated. It's been about 50 years since the last time the cult had to be suppressed."
Queen Porenn nodded gravely. "I'll see to it that he knows," she said. "I've got some of my own people planted in the Bear-cult. As soon as we get back to Boktor, I'll talk with them and see what's afoot."
"Your people? Have you gone that far already?" Silk asked in a bantering tone. "You're maturing rapidly, my Queen. It won't be long until you're as corrupt as the rest of us."
"Boktor is full of intrigue, Kheldar," the queen said primly. "It isn't just the Bear-cult, you know. Merchants from all over the world gather in our city, and at least half of them are spies. I have to protect myself - and my husband."
"Does Rhodar know what you're up to?" Silk asked slyly.
"Of course he does," she said. "He gave me my first dozen spies himself - as a wedding present.
"How typically Drasnian," Silk said.
"It's only practical, after all," she said. "My husband's concerned with matters involving other kingdoms. I try to keep an eye on things at home to leave his mind free for that kind of thing. My operations are a bit more modest than his, but I manage to stay aware of things." She looked at him slyly from beneath her eyelashes. "If you ever decide to come home to Boktor and settle down I might just be able to find work for you."
Silk laughed. "The whole world seems to be full of opportunities lately," he said.
The queen looked at him seriously. "When are you coming home, Kheldar?" she asked. "When will you stop being this vagabond, Silk, and come back where you belong? My husband misses you very much, and you could serve Drasnia more by becoming his chief advisor than all this flitting about the world."
Silk looked away, squinting into the bright wintry sun. "Not just yet, your Highness," he said. "Belgarath needs me too, and this is a very important thing we're doing just now. Besides, I'm not ready to settle down yet. The game is still entertaining. Perhaps someday when we're all much older it won't be anymore - who knows?"
She sighed. "I miss you too Kheldar," she said gently.
"Poor, lonely little queen," Silk said, half-mockingly.
"You're impossible," she said, stamping her tiny foot.
"One does one's best." He grinned.
Hettar had embraced his father and mother and leaped across to the deck of the small ship King Anheg had provided him. "Belgarath," he called as the sailors slipped the stout ropes that bound the ship to the quay, "I'll meet you in two weeks at the ruins of Vo Wacune."
"We'll be there," Mister Wolf replied.
The sailors pushed the ship away from the quay and began to row out into the bay. Hettar stood on the deck, his long scalp lock flowing in the wind. He waved once, then turned to face the sea.
A long plank was run down over the side of Captain Greldik's ship to the snow covered stones.
"Shall we go on board, Garion?" Silk said. They climbed the precarious plank and stepped out onto the deck.
"Give our daughters my love," Barak said to his wife.
"I will, my Lord," Merel said in the same stiffly formal tone she always used with him. "Have you any other instructions?"
"I won't be back for some time," Barak said. "Plant the south fields to oats this year, and let the west fields lie fallow. Do whatever you think best with the north fields. And don't move the cattle up to the high pastures until all the frost is out of the ground."
"I'll be most careful of my husband's lands and herds," she said.
"They're yours too," Barak said.
"As my husband wishes."
Barak sighed. "You never let it rest, do you, Merel?" He said sadly.
"My Lord?"
"Forget it."
"Will my Lord embrace me before he leaves?" she asked.
"What's the point?" Barak said. He jumped across to the ship and immediately went below.
Aunt Pol stopped on her way to the ship and looked gravely at Barak's wife. Then, without warning, she suddenly laughed.
"Something amusing, Lady Polgara?" Merel asked.
"Very amusing, Merel," Aunt Pol said with a mysterious smile.
"Might I be permitted to share it?"
"Oh, you'll share it, Merel," Aunt Pol promised, "but I wouldn't want to spoil it for you by telling you too soon." She laughed again and stepped onto the plank that led to the ship. Durnik offered his hand to steady her, and the two of them crossed to the deck.
Mister Wolf clasped hands with each of the kings on turn and then nimbly crossed to the ship. He stood for a moment on the deck looking at the ancient, snow-shrouded city of Val Alorn and the towering mountains of Cherek rising behind.
"Farewell, Belgarath," King Anheg called.
Mister Wolf nodded. "Don't forget about the minstrels," he said.
"We won't," Anheg promised. "Good luck."
Mister Wolf grinned and then walked forward toward the prow of Greldik's ship. Garion, on an impulse, followed him. There were questions which needed answers, and the old man would know if anyone would.
"Mister Wolf," he said when they had both reached the high prow.
"Yes, Garion?"
He was not sure where to start, so Garion approached the problem obliquely. "How did Aunt Pol do that to old Martje's eyes?"
"The Will and the Word," Wolf said, his long cloak whipping about him in the stiff breeze. "It isn't difficult."
"I don't understand," Garion said.
"You simply will something to happen," the old man said, "and then speak the word. If your will's strong enough, it happens."
"That's all there is to it?" Garion asked, a little disappointed.
"That's all," Wolf said.
"Is the word a magic word?"
Wolf laughed, looking out at the sun glittering sharply on the winter sea. "No," he said. "There aren't any magic words. Some people think so, but they're wrong. Grolims use strange words, but that's not really necessary. Any word will do the job. It's the Will that's important, not the Word. The Word's just a channel for the Will."
"Could I do it?" Garion asked hopefully.
Wolf looked at him. "I don't know, Garion," he said. "I wasn't much older than you are the first time I did it, but I'd been living with Aldur for several years. That makes a difference, I suppose."
/> "What happened?"
"My Master wanted me to move a rock," Wolf said. "He seemed to think that it was in his way. I tried to move it, but it was too heavy. After a while I got angry, and I told it to move. It did. I was a little suprised, but my Master didn't think it so unusual."
"You just said, 'move?' That's all?" Garion was incredulous.
"That's all." Wolf shrugged. "It seemed so simple that I was suprised I hadn't thought of it before. At the time I imagined that anybody could do it, but men have changed quite a bit since then. Maybe it isn't possible anymore. It's hard to say, really."
"I always thought that sorcery had to be done with long spells and strange signs and things like that," Garion said.
"Those are just the devices of tricksters and charlatans," Wolf said. "They make a fine show and impress and frighten simple people, but spells and incantations have nothing to do with the real thing, It's all in the Will. Focus the Will and speak the Word, and it happens. Sometimes a gesture of sorts helps, but it isn't really necessary. Your Aunt has always seemed to want to gesture when she makes something happen. I've been trying to break her of that habit for hundreds of years now."
Garion blinked. "Hundreds of years?" he gasped. "How old is she?"
"Older than she looks," Wolf said. "It isn't polite to ask questions about a lady's age, however."
Garion felt a sudden, shocking emptiness. The worst of his fears had been confirmed. "Then she isn't really my Aunt, is she?" he asked sickly.
"What makes you say that?" Wolf asked.
She couldn't be, could she? I always thought that she was my father's sister, but if she's hundreds and thousands of years old, it would be impossible."
"You're much to fond of that word, Garion," Wolf said. "When you get right down to it, nothing - or at least very little - is actually impossible."
"How could she be? My Aunt I mean?"
"All right," Wolf said. "Polgara was not strictly speaking your father's sister. Her relationship to him is quite more complex. She was the sister of his grandmother - his ultimate grandmother, it there is such a term - and of yours as well, of course."
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