Rivan Codex Series

by Eddings, David

  "It's fruit juice, sir," the young woman with the dark hair assured him earnestly. "It's very fresh. It was pressed only this morning."

  "Don't you let it set long enough to ferment?"

  "You mean when it goes bad? Oh, no. We throw it out when that happens."

  Hegroaned. "What about ale? Or beer?"

  "What are those?"

  "I knew there was going to be something wrong with this place," the dwarf growled to Belgarath.

  Polgara, however, had a beatific smile on her face.

  "What was that all about?" Silk asked Velvet after the Dal-asian women had left. "Ail that chitchat, I mean?"

  "Groundwork," she replied mysteriously. "It never hurts to open channels of communication."

  "Women," He sighed, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.

  Garion and Ce'Nedra exchanged a quick look, both of them remembering how often each of them had said approximately the same thing in the same tone early in their marriage. Then they both laughed.

  "What's so funny?" Silk asked suspiciously.

  "Nothing, Kheldar," Ce'Nedra replied. "Nothing at all."

  Garion slept poorly that night. The murmuring in his ears was just enough of a distraction to bring him back from the edge of sleep over and over again. He arose the next morning sandy-eyed and out of sorts.

  In the large round central room he found Durnik. The smith had his ear pressed against the wall near the fountain. -

  "What's the trouble?" Garion asked him.

  "I'm trying to pinpoint that noise," Durnik said. "It might be something in the plumbing. The water in this fountain has to come from somewhere. Probably it's piped in, and then the pipe runs under the floor or up through the walls."

  "Would water running through a pipe make that sort of noise?"

  Dumik laughed. "You never know what sort of sounds are going to come out of the plumbing, Garion. I saw a whole town abandoned once. They all thought the place was haunted. The noise turned out to be coming from the municipal water supply."

  Sadi came into the room once again wearing his iridescent silk robe.

  "Colorful," Garion observed. For the past several months, the eunuch had been wearing a tunic, hose, and Sendarian half-boots.

  Sadi shrugged. "For some reason I feel homesick this morning." He sighed. "I think I could live out my life in perfect contentment if I never saw another mountain. What are you doing, Goodman Durnik? Still examining the construction?"

  "No. I'm trying to track down die source of that noise."

  "What noise?"

  "Surely you can hear it."

  Sadi cocked his head to one side. "I hear some birds just outside the window," he said, "and there's a stream somewhere nearby, but that's about all."

  Garion and Durnik exchanged a long, speculative look. "Silk couldn't hear it yesterday either," Durnik recalled.

  "Why don't we get everybody up?" Garion suggested.

  "That might make some of them a little unhappy, Garion."

  "They'll get over it. I think this might be important."

  There were some surly looks directed at Garion as the others filed in.

  "What's this all about, Garion?" Belgarath asked in exasperation.

  "It's what you might call an experiment, Grandfather."

  "Do your experiments on your own time."

  "My, aren't we cross this morning?" Ce'Nedra said to the old man.

  "I didn't sleep very well."

  "That's strange. J slept like a baby."

  "Durnik," Garion said, "would you stand over there, please?" He pointed to one side of the room. "And Sadi, you over there." He pointed to the other side. "This will only take a few minutes,” he told them all. "I"m going to whisper a question to each of you, and I want you to answer yes or no."

  "Aren't you being just a bit exotic?" Betgarath asked sourly.

  "I don't want to contaminate the experiment by giving all of you the chance to talk it over."

  "It's a sound scientific principle," Beldin approved. "Let's humor him. He's stirred up my curiosity."

  Garion went from person to person, whispering a single question: "Can you hearthat murmuring sound?" Depending on the answer, he asked each of them to join either Sadi or Durnik. It did not take long, and the result confirmed Garion's suspicions. Standing with Durnik were Belgarath, Polgara, Beldin, and— somewhat surprisingly—Eriond. Standing with Sadi were Silk, Velvet, Ce'Nedra, and Zakath.

  "Now do you suppose you could explain all this rigama-role?" Belgarath asked.

  "I asked everybody the same question, Grandfather. The people standing with you can hear that sound. The people over there can't."

  "Of course they can. It kept me awake half the night."

  "Maybe that's why you're so dense this morning." Beldin grunted. "Good experiment, Garion. Now, why don't you explain it to our fuzzy-headed friend?"

  "It's not difficult, Grandfather," Garion said deprecatingly. "It's probably so simple that you're overlooking it. The only people who can hear the sound are those with what you used to call 'talent.' Ordinary people can't."

  "I'll be honest, Belgarath,"Silk said. "I can't heara sound."

  "And I've been hearing it ever since we first caught sight of Kell," Durnik added.

  "Now isn't that interesting?" Beldin said to Belgarath. "Shall we take it a few steps further, or did you want to go back to bed?"

  "Don't be absurd," Belgarath replied absendy.

  "All right, then," Betdin continued, "we've got a sound that ordinary people can't hear, but that we can. I can think of another right offhand, as well, can't you?"

  Belgarath nodded. "The sound of someone using sorcery."

  "This is not a natural sound, then," Durnik mused. He suddenly laughed. "I'm glad you worked this out, Garion. I was right on the verge of tearing up the floor."

  "What on earth for?" Polgara asked him.

  "I thought the noise was coming from a water pipe somewhere."

  "This isn't sorcery, though," Belgarath said. "It doesn't sound the same and it doesn't feel the same."

  Beldin was scratching thoughtfully at his matted beard. "How does this idea strike you?" he said to Belgarath. "The people here have enough concentrated power to deal with any Grolim or group of Grolims who might come along, so why go to the trouble of laying down that curse of theirs?”

  "I don't quite follow you."

  “ A large proportion of Grolims are sorcerers, right? So they 'd be able to hear this sound. What if that enchantment is there to keep the Grolims far enough away so that they won't hear it?”

  "Aren't you getting a little exotic, Beldin?" Zakath asked skeptically.

  "Not really. Actually, I'm simplifying. A curse designed to keep away people you're not really afraid of doesn't make sense. Everybody's always thought that the curse was there to protect Kell itself, and that doesn't make any sense either. Isn't it simpler to assume that there's something more important that has to be protected?"

  "What is there about this sound that would make the Dais so concerned about having it overheard?" Velvet asked, sounding perplexed.

  "All right," Beldin said. "What is a sound?"

  "Not that again." Belgarath sighed.

  "I'm not talking about the noise in the woods. A sound is just a noise unless it's meaningful. What do we call a meaningful sound?"

  "Talk, isn't it?" Silk ventured.

  "Exactly."

  "I don't understand," Ce'Nedra confessed. "What are the Dais saying that they want to keep secret? Nobody understands what they're saying anyway."

  Beldin spread his hands helplessly, but Durnik was pacing up and down, his face creased with thought. "Maybe it's not so much what they're saying, but how."

  "And you accuse me of being obscure," Beldin said to Bel-garath. "What are you getting at, Durnik?"

  "I'm groping," the smith admitted. "The noise, or sound-whatever you want to call it—isn't a signal that somebody's turning people into frogs." He stopped. "Can we really do
that?" he asked.

  "Yes," Beldin said, "but it's not worth the trouble. Frogs multiply at a ferocious rate. I'd rather have one person who irritated me instead of a million or so aggravating frogs."

  "All right, then," Durnik continued. "It's not the noise that sorcery makes."

  "Probably not," Belgarath agreed.

  "And I think Ce'Nedra's right. Nobody really understands what the Dais are saying—except for other Dais. Half the time I can't follow what Cyradis is saying from one end of a sentence to the other."

  "What does that leave?" Beldin asked intently, his eyes alight. "I'm not sure. I've got the feeling though that 'How' is more important than 'What.' " Durnik suddenly looked slightly embarrassed. "I'm talking too much," he confessed. "I'm sure that some of the rest of you have more important things to say about this than I do."

  "I don't really think so," Beldin told him. "I think you're right on the edge of it. Don't lose it.”

  Durnik was actually sweating now. He covered his eyes with one hand, trying to collect his thoughts. Garion noticed that everyone in the room was almost breathlessly watching his old friend labor with a concept that was probably far beyond the grasp of any of the rest of them.

  "There has to be something that the Dais are trying to protect," the smith went on, "and it has to be something that's very simple—for them at least—but something they don't want anybody else to understand. I wish Toth were here. He might be able to explain it.” Then his eyes went very wide. "What is it, dear?" Polgara asked.

  "It can't be that!" he exclaimed, suddenly very excited. "It couldn't be!"

  "Durnik!" she said in exasperation.

  "Do you remember when Toth and I first began to talk to each other—in gestures, I mean?" Durnik was suddenly talking very fast and he was almost breathless. "We'd been working together, and a man who works with someone else begins to know exactly what the other one is doing—and even what he's thinking." He stared at Silk. "You and Garion and Pol use that finger-language," he said.

  "Yes."

  "You've seen the gestures Toth makes. Would the secret language be able to say all that much with just a few waves of the hand—the way he does it?"

  Garion already knew the answer.

  Silk's voice was puzzled. "No," he said. "That would be impossible."

  "But I know exactly what he's trying to say," Durnik told them. "The gestures don't mean anything at all. He does it just to make me—to give me some rational explanation for what he's really doing." Durnik's face grew awed. "He's been putting the words directly into my mind—without even talking. He has to, because he can't talk. What if that's what this murmuring we hear is? What if it's the sound of the Dais talking to one another? And what if they can do it over long distances?"

  "And overtime, too," Beldin said in a startled voice. "Do you remember what your big, silent friend said when we first got here? He said that nothing the Dais have ever done has ever been forgotten and that every Dal alive knows everything that every Dal who's ever lived knew."

  "You're suggesting an absurdity, Beldin," Belgarath scoffed.

  "No. Not really. Ants do it. So do bees."

  "We aren't ants—or bees."

  "I can do almost anything a bee can do." The hunchback shrugged. "Except make honey—and you could probably build a fairly acceptable anthill."

  "Will one of you please explain what you're talking about?" Ce'Nedra asked crossly.

  "They're hinting at the possibility of a group mind, dear," Polgara said quite calmly. "They're not doing it very well, but that's what they're groping toward." She gave the two old men a condescending sort of smile. "There are certain creatures— usually insects—that don't have very much intelligence individually, but as a group they're very wise. A single bee isn't too bright, but a beehive knows everything that's ever happened to it."

  The she-wolf had come padding in, her toenails clicking on the marble floor, with the puppy scampering along behind her. "Wolves do it, as well," she supplied, indicating that she had been listening at the door.

  "What did she say?" Silk asked.

  "She said that wolves do the same thing," Garion translated. Then he remembered something. "I was talking with Hettar once, and he said that horses are the same way. They don't think of themselves as individuals—only as parts of the herd."

  “Would it really be possible for people to do something like that?" Velvet asked incredulously.

  "There's one way to find out," Polgara replied.

  "No, Pol," Belgarath said very firmly. "It's too dangerous. You could be drawn into it and never be able to get back out."

  "No, father," she replied quite calmly. "The Dais may not let me in, but they won't hurt me or keep me in if I want to leave.”

  "How do you know that?"

  "I just do." And she closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER SIX

  They stood watching her apprehensively as she lifted her flawless face. Eyes closed, she concentrated. Then a strange expression came to her features.

  "Well?" Belgarath asked.

  "Quiet, father. I'm listening."

  He stood drumming his fingers impatiently on the back of a chair, and the others watched breathlessly.

  At last Polgara opened her eyes with a vaguely regretful sigh. "It's enormous," she said very quietly. "It has every thought these people have ever had—and every memory. It even remembers the beginning, and every one of them shares in it."

  "And so did you?" Belgarath asked her.

  "For a moment, father. They let me catch a glimpse of it. There are parts of it that are blocked off, though."

  "We might have guessed that," Beldin said, scowling. "They're not going to provide access to anything that would give us the slightest advantage. They've been perched on that fence since the beginning of time."

  Polgara sighed again and sat on a low divan.

  "Are you all right, Pol?" Durnik asked with some concern.

  "I'm fine, Durnik," she replied. "It's just that for a moment I saw something I've never experienced before, and then they asked me to leave."

  Silk's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you think they'd object if we left this house and had a look around?"

  "No. They won't mind."

  "I'd say that's our next step then," the little man suggested. "We know that the Dais are the ones who are going to make the final choice—at least Cyradis is—but this oversoul of theirs is probably going to provide her some direction."

  "That's a very interesting term, Kheldar," Beldin noted.

  "What is?"

  "Oversoul. How did you come up with it?"

  "I've always had a way with words."

  "There may be some hope for you after all. Someday we'll have to have a long talk.”

  "I shall place myself at your disposal, Beldin," Silk said with a florid bow. "Anyway," he continued, "since the Dais are going to decide things, I think we ought to get to know them better. If they're leaning in the wrong direction, maybe we can sway them back."

  "Typically devious," Sadi murmured, "but probably not a bad idea. We should split up, though. We'll be able to cover more ground that way."

  "Right after breakfast," Belgarath agreed.

  "But, Grandfather," Garion protested, impatient to be off.

  "I'm hungry, Garion, and I don't think well when I'm hungry-"

  "That might explain a lot," Beldin noted blandly. "We should

  have fed you more often when you were younger."

  "You can be terribly offensive sometimes, do you know that?"

  "Why, yes, as a matter of fact I do." The same group of young women brought breakfast to them, and Velvet drew aside the large-eyed girl with the glossy brown hair and spoke with her briefly. Then the blond girl returned to the table. "Her name is Onatel," she reported, "and she's invited Ce'Nedra and me to visit the place where she and the other

  young women work. Young women talk a great deal, so we might pick up something useful.”

  "Wasn't Onatel the nam
e of that seeress we met on the Isle of Verkat?" Sadi asked.

  "It's a common name among Dalasian women," Zakath told him. "Onatel was one of their most honored seeresses."

  "But the Isle of Verkat is in Cthol Murgos," Sadi pointed out.

  "It's not all that strange," Belgarath said. "We've had some fairly strong hints that the Dais and the slave race of Cthol Murgos are closely related and keep in more or less constant contact. This is just some additional confirmation."

  The morning sun was warm and bright as they emerged from the house and strolled off in various directions. Garion and Zak-ath had removed their armor and left their swords behind, al-though Garion prudently carried the Orb in a pouch tied to his belt. The two of them walked across a dewy lawn toward a group of larger buildings near the center of the city.

  "You're always very careful with that stone, aren't you, Gar-ion?" Zakath asked.

  "I'm not sure that careful is the exact word," Garion replied, "but then again, maybe it is—in a broader sense. You see, die Orb is very dangerous, and I don't want it hurting people by accident."

  "What does it do?"

  "I'm not really sure. I’ve never seen it do anything to anybody—except possibly Torak—but that might have been the sword."

  "And you're the only one in the world who can touch the Orb?"

  "Hardly. Eriond carried it around for a couple of years. He kept trying to give it to people. They were mostly Alorns, so they knew better than to take it."

  "Then you and Eriond are the only people who can touch it?"

  "My son can," Garion said. "I put his hand on it right after he was born. It was very happy to meet him."

  "A stone? Happy?"

  "It's not like other stones." Garion smiled. "It can be a little silly now and then. It gets carried away by its own enthusiasm. I have to be very careful about what I think sometimes. If it decides I really want something, it might just take independent action." He laughed. "Once I was speculating about the time when Torak cracked the world, and it proceeded to tell me how to patch it."

  "You're not serious!"

  "Oh, yes. It has no conception of the word 'impossible.' If I really wanted it to, it could probably spell out my name in stars." He felt a small twitch in the pouch at his belt. "Stop that!" he said sharply to the Orb. "That was just an example, not a request."