"I gather that it wouldn't be."
"That is difficult to say. Great benefit might come to her if she tried."
"I'd hardly call going blind a benefit."
"But I am not blind."
"I thought that's what die enchantment was all about."
"Oh, no. I cannot see the world around me, but that is because I see something else—something that fills my heart with joy."
"Oh? What's that?"
"I see the face of God, ray friend, and will until the end of my days."
CHAPTER THREE
It was always there. Even when they were in deep, cool forests they could feel it looming over them, still and white and serene. The mountain filled their eyes, their thoughts, and even their dreams. Silk grew increasingly irritable as they rode day after day toward that gleaming white enormity. "How can anyone possibly get anything done in this part of the world with that thing there filling up half the sky?" he burst out one sunny afternoon.
"Perhaps they ignore it, Kheldar," Velvet said sweetly.
"How can you ignore something that big?" he retorted. "I wonder if it knows how ostentatious—and even vulgar—it is."
"You're being irrational," she said. "The mountain doesn't care how we feel about it. It's going to be there long after we're all gone." She paused. "Is that what bothers you, Kheldar? Coming across something permanent in the middle of a transient life?"
"The stars are permanent," he pointed out- "So's dirt, for that matter, but they don't intrude the way that beast does." He looked at Zakath. "Has anybody ever climbed to the top of it?" he asked.
"Why would anybody want to?"
"To beat it. To reduce it." Silk laughed. "That's even more irrational, isn't it?"
Zakath, however, was looking speculatively at the looming presence that filled die southern sky. "I don't know, Kheldar," he said. "I've never considered the possibility of fighting a mountain before. It's easy to beat men. To beat a mountain, though—now that's something else.”
"Would it care?" Eriond asked. The young man so seldom spoke that he seemed at times to be as mute as Toth. He had of late, however, seemed even more withdrawn. "The mountain might even welcome you." He smiled gently. "I'd imagine it gets lonesome. It could even want to share what it sees with anyone brave enough to go up there and look."
Zakath and Silk exchanged a long, almost hungry look. "You'd need ropes," Silk said in a neutral sort of tone.
"And probably certain kinds of tools, as well," Zakath added. "Things that would dig into the ice and hoid you while you climbed up higher.”
"Durnik could figure those out for us."
“Will you two stop that?” Polgara said tartly.”We have other things to think about right now."
"Just speculation, Polgara," Silk said lightly. "This business of ours won't last forever, and when it's over—well, who knows?"
They were all subtly changed by the mountain. Speech seemed less and less necessary, and they all thought long thoughts, which, during quiet times around the campfire at night, they tried to share with each other. It became somehow a time of cleansing and healing, and they ah" grew closer together as they approached that solitary immensity.
One night Garion awoke with a light as bright as day in his eyes. He slipped out from under the blankets and turned back the flap of the tent. A full moon had arisen, and it filled the world with a pale luminescence. The mountain stood stark and white against the starry blackness of the night sky, glowing with a cool incandescence that seemed almost alive.
A movement caught his eye. Aunt Pol emerged from the tent she shared with Durnik. She wore a white robe that seemed almost a reflection of the moon-washed mountain. She stood for a moment in silent contemplation, then turned slightly. "Dur-nik," she murmured softly, "come and look."
Durnik emerged from the tent. He was bare-chested, and his silver amulet glittered in the moonlight. He put his arm about Polgara's shoulders, and the two of them stood drinking in the beauty of this most perfect of nights.
Garion was about to call out to them, but something stayed his tongue. The moment they were sharing was too private to be intruded upon. After quite some time, Aunt Pol whispered something to her husband, and, smiling, the two of them turned and went hand in hand back into their tent.
Quiedy Garion let the tent flap drop and went back to his blankets.
Slowly, as they continued in a generally southwesterly direction, the forest changed. When they were still in the mountains, the trees had been evergreens interspersed here and there with aspens. As they approached the lowlands at the base of the huge mountain, they increasingly came across groves of beech and elm. And then at last they entered a forest of ancient oaks.
As they rode beneath the spreading branches in sun-dappled shade, Garion was sharply reminded of the Wood of the Dryads in southern Tolnedra. One glance at his little wife's face revealed that the similarity was not lost on her either. A kind of dreamy contentment came over her, and she seemed to be listening to voices that only she could hear.
It was about noon on a splendid summer day that they overtook another traveler, a white-bearded man dressed hi clothing made from deerskin. The handles of the tools protruding from the lumpy bundle on the back of his pack mule proclaimed him to be a gold hunter, one of those vagrant hermits who haunt wildernesses the world over. He was riding a shaggy mountain pony so stumpy that its rider's feet nearly touched the ground on either side. "I thought I heard somebody coming up from behind," the gold hunter said as Garion and Zakath, both in their mail shirts and helmets, drew alongside him. "Don't see many in these woods—what with the curse and all."
"I thought the curse only worked on Grolims," Garion said.
"Most believe it doesn't pay to take chances. Where are you bound?"
"To Kell," Garion replied. There was no real point in making a secret of it.
"I hope you’ve been invited. The folk at Kell don't welcome strangers who just take it upon themselves to go there."
"They know we're coming."
"Oh. It's all right then. Strange place, Kell, and strange people. Of course living right under that mountain the way they do would make anybody strange after a while. If it's all right, I'll ride along with you as far as the tumoff to Balasa a couple miles on up ahead."
"Feel free," Zakath told him. "Aren't you missing a good time to be looking for gold, though?"
“Got myself caught up in the mountains last winter," the old fellow replied. "Supplies ran out on me. Besides, I get hungry for talk now and then. The pony and the mule listen pretty good, but they don't answer very well, and the wolves up there move around so much that you can't hardly get a conversation started with them." He looked at the she-wolf and then astonishingly spoke to her in her own language. "How is it with you, mother?" he asked. His accent was abominable, and he spoke haltingly, but his speech was undeniably that of a wolf.
"How remarkable," she said with some surprise. Then she responded to the ritual greeting. "One is content."
"One is pleased to hear that. How is it that you go with the man-things?"
"One has joined their pack for a certain time."
"Ah."
"How did you manage to learn the language of wolves?" Garion asked in some amazement.
"You recognized it, then." The old fellow sounded pleased about that for some reason. He leaned back in his saddle. "Spent most of my life up there where the wolves are," he explained. "It's only polite to learn the language of your neighbors." He grinned. *"Ib be honest about it, though, at first I couldn't make much out of it, but if you listen hard enough, it starts to come to you. Spent a winter in a den with a pack of them about five years back. That helped quite a bit."
"They actually let you live with diem?" Zakath asked.
"It took them awhile to get used tome," the old man admitted, "but I made myself useful, so they sort of accepted me."
"Useful?"
"The den was a little crowded, and I got them there tools."
He jerked his thumb at his pack mule. "I dug the den out some larger, and they seemed to appreciate it. Then, after a while, I took to watching over the pups while the rest was out hunting. Good pups they was, too. Playful as kittens. Some time later I tried to make up to a bear. Never had much luck with that. Bears arc a standoffish bunch. They keep to theirselves most of the time, and deer are just too skittish to try to make friends with. Give me wolves every time."
The old gold hunter's pony did not move very fast, so the others soon caught up with them.
"Any luck?" Silk asked the old gold hunter, his nose twitching with interest.
"Some," the white-bearded man answered evasively.
"Sorry," Silk apologized. "I didn't mean to pry."
"That's all right, friend. I can see that you're an honest man."
Velvet muffled a slightly derisive chuckle.
"It's just a habit I picked up," the fellow continued. "It's not really too smart to go around telling everybody how much gold you've managed to pick up."
"I can certainly understand that."
"I don't usually carry that much with me when I come down into the low country, though—only to pay for what I need. I leave the rest of it hid back up there in the mountains."
"Why do you do it then?" Dumik asked. "Spend all your time looking for gold, I mean? You don't spend it, so why bother?"
"It's something to do." The fellow shrugged. "And it gives me an excuse to be up there in the mountains. A man feels sort of frivolous if he does that without no reason." He grinned again. "Then, too, there's a certain kind of excitement that comes with finding a pocket of gold in a streambed. Like some say, finding is more fun than spending, and gold's sort of pretty to look at."
"Oh, it is indeed," Silk agreed fervently.
The old gold hunter glanced at the she-wolf and then looked at Belgarath. "I can see by the way she's acting that you're the leader of this group," he noted.
Belgarath looked a bit startled at that.
"He's learned the language," Garion explained.
"How remarkable," Belgarath said, unconsciously echoing the comment of the wolf.
"I was going to pass on some advice to these two young fellows, but you're the one who probably ought to hear it."
"I'll certainly listen."
"The Dais are a peculiar sort, friend, and they've got some peculiar superstitions. I won't go so far as to say they think of
these woods as sacred, but they do feel pretty strongly about them. I wouldn't advise cutting any trees—and don't, whatever you do, kill anything or anybody here.” He pointed at the wolf. "She knows about that already. You’ve probably noticed that she won't hunt here. The Dais don't want this forest profaned with blood. I'd respect that, if I were you. The Dais can be helpful, but if you offend their beliefs, they can make things mighty difficult for you."
"I appreciate the information," Belgarath told him.
"It never hurts a man to pass on things he's picked up," the old fellow said. He looked up the track. "Well," he said. "This is as far as I go. That's the road to Balasa just on up ahead. It's been nice talking with you." He doffed his shabby hat politely toPolgara, then looked at the wolf. "Be well, mother," he said, then he thumped his heels against his pony's flanks. The pony broke into an ambling sort of trot and jolted around a bend in the road to Balasa and out of sight.
"What a delightful old man," Ce'Nedra said.
"Useful, too," Polgara added. "You'd better get in touch with Uncle Beldin, father," she said to Belgarath. "Tell him to leave the rabbits and pigeons alone while we're in this forest."
"I'd forgotten about that," he said. "I'll take care of it right now." He lifted his face and closed his eyes.
"Can that old fellow really talk with wolves?" Silk asked Garion.
"He knows the language," Garion replied.”He doesn't speak it very well, but he knows it."
"One is sure he understands better than he speaks," the she-wolf said.
Garion stared at her, slightly startled that she had understood the conversation.
. "The language of the man-things is not difficult to learn," - she said. "As the man-thing with the white fur on his face said, one can learn rapidly if one takes the trouble to listen. One would not care to speak your language, however," she added critically. "The speech of the man-things would place one's tongue in much danger of being bitten.”
A sudden thought came to Garion then, accompanied by an absolute certainty that the thought was entirely accurate. "Grandfather," he said.
"Not now, Garion. I'm busy."
"I'll wait."
"Is it important?"
"I think so, yes."
Belgarath opened his eyes curiously. "What is it?" he asked.
"Do you remember that conversation we had in Tol Honeth— the morning it was snowing?"
"I think so."
"We were talking'about the way everything that happened seemed to have happened before.”
"Yes, now I remember."
"You said that when the two prophecies got separated, things sort of stopped—that the future can't happen until they get back together again. Then you said that until they do, we'd all have to keep going through the same series of events over and over again."
"Did I really say that?" The old man looked a bit pleased. "That's sort of profound, isn't it? What's the point of this, though? Why are you bringing it up now?”
"Because I think it just happened again." Garion looked at Silk. "Do you remember that old gold hunter we met in Gar og Nadrak when the three of us were on our way to Cthol Mish-rak?"
Silk nodded a bit dubiously.
"Wasn't the old fellow we just talked with almost exactly the same?"
"Now that you mention it. . ." Silk's eyes narrowed. "All right, Belgarath, what does it mean?"
Belgarath squinted up at the leafy branches overhead. "Let me think about it for a minute," he said. "There are some similarities, all right," he admitted. "The two of them are the same kind of people, and they both warned us about something. I think I'd better get Beldin back here. This might be very important.”
It was no more than a quarter of an hour later when the blue-banded hawk settled out of the sky and blurred into the misshapen sorcerer. "What's got you so excited?" he demanded crossly.
"We just met somebody," Belgarath replied.
“Congratulations.”
"I think this is serious, Beldin." Belgarath quickly explained his theory of recurring events.
"It's a little rudimentary," Beldin growled, "but there's nothing remarkable about that. Your hypotheses usually are." He squinted. "It's probably fairly accurate though—as far as it goes."
"Thanks," Belgarath said dryly. Then he went on to describe the two meetings, the one in Gar og Nadrak and the other here. "The similarities are a little striking, aren't they?"
"Coincidence?"
"Shrugging things off as coincidence is the best way I know of to get in trouble.”
, "All right. For the sake of argument, let's say it wasn't coincidence." The dwarf squatted in the dirt at the roadside, his face twisted in thought. “Why don't we take this theory of yours a step farther?" he mused. "Let's look at the notion that these repetitions crop up at significant points in the course of events."
"Sort of like signposts?" Durnik suggested.
"Exactly. I couldn't have found a better term myself. Let's suppose that these signposts point at really important things that are right on the verge of happening—that they're sort of like warnings.”
"I'm hearing a lot of 'notions' and 'supposes,' " Silk said skeptically. "I think you're off into the realm of pure speculation."
"You're a brave man, Kheldar," Beldin said sardonically. "Something could be trying to warn you about a potential catastrophe, and you choose to ignore the warning. That's either very brave or very stupid. Of course I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt by using the word 'brave' instead of the other one."
"One for h
is side," Velvet murmured.
Silk flushed slightly. "But how do we know what it is that's going to happen?" he objected.
“We don't,” Belgarath said. “The circumstances just call for some extra alertness, is all. We've been warned. The rest is up to us."
They took some special precautions when they set up their encampment that evening. Polgara prepared supper quickly, and the fire was extinguished as soon as they had finished eating. Garion and Silk took the first watch. They stood atop a knoll behind the camp, peering into the darkness.
"I hate this," Silk whispered.
"Hate what?"
"Knowing that something is going to happen without knowing what it is. I wish those two old men would keep their speculations to themselves."
"Do you really like surprises?"
“A surprise is better than living with this sense of dread. My nerves aren't what they used to be."
"You're too high-strung sometimes. Look at all the entertainment you're getting out of anticipation."
"I'm terribly disappointed in you, Garion. I thought you were a nice, sensible boy.”
"What did I say?"
"Anticipation. In this situation, that's just another word for 'worry,' and worry isn't good for anybody."
"It's just a way to get us ready in case something happens."
"I'm always ready, Garion. That's how I’ve managed to live so long, but right now I feel almost as tightly wound as a lute string."
"Try not to think about it."
, "Of course," Silk retorted sarcastically. "But doesn't that defeat the purpose of the warning? Aren't we supposed to think about it?"
The sun had not come up yet when Sadi came back "to their camp, moving very quiedy and going from tent to tent with a whispering warning. "There's somebody out there," he warned after he had scratched on the flap of Garion's tent.
Garion rolled out from under his blankets, his hand automatically reaching for his sword. He paused (hen. The old gold hunter had warned them against the shedding of blood. Was this the event for which they had been waiting? But were they supposed to obey the prohibition, or to step over it in response to some higher need? There was not time now to stand locked in indecision, however. Sword in hand, Garion rushed from the tent.
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