Polgara the Sorceress (79 page)

Father laughed uproariously when I gave him a slightly embellished account of my adventure in the land of the Snake People.

‘You did very well, Pol,’ he approved when I’d finished. ‘Were you really that fond of Salmissra, though?’

‘She wasn’t at all like most of the others, father,’ I told him a bit sadly. ‘I believe she was quite a bit like the one who had Gorek assassinated. I think I felt much the same about this one as you did about the other one. She’s very vulnerable, and once I showed her that I was her friend, she was very affectionate. She even cried when I left.’

‘I didn’t think anybody named Salmissra even knew how to cry.’

‘You’re wrong, father. They all do. They’ve learned not to let it show is all. Oh, I saw movement on the south caravan route on my way here.’

‘Yes. The Murgos have reopened trade with Tolnedra. That’s a polite way of saying that we’re going to go back to seeing spies every time we turn around again. You’d better go on to Cherek and let the twins come back home and start digging into the Mrin again. If anybody’s going to make sense out of it, it’ll be them.’

‘First thing in the morning, father,’ I told him. ‘Oh, that whatever-it-was you had growing in your cooking pot is in that bucket by the head of the stairs. I’d take it out and bury it, if I were you. I think it’s getting very close to coming alive, and I don’t believe you’d want it crawling into bed with you.’

And so I went on back to Emgaard to take up my task again, and the twins went back to the Vale to take up theirs. My sojourn in Nyissa had been something of the order of a vacation, but every vacation comes to an end eventually, and it was good to get back to work again.

Then, in 5300, the twins made another breakthrough, and they confidently announced that this was the century of the Godslayer. I spoke at some length with Geran, who was by now quite elderly, and with his son, Darion, a stone-cutter. Geran, as I said, was quite old, and he was just a little vague. I don’t think he really understood when I told him that we were going to have to move to Sendaria.

‘I think it’d be kinder if we left him here, Aunt Pol,’ Darion told me. ‘He won’t leave mother’s grave anyway, and I don’t think he’d understand why it’s necessary. Why don’t we just say that we’re going on a trip and let it go at that? After a month or so, he probably won’t even
remember us. I’ll get someone to stay with him here, and he’ll be all right.’

I didn’t like it, but Darion was probably right. Geran was doddering on the edge of senility right now, and I knew of no quicker way to kill him than to uproot him at his age.

Darion, his wife Esena, and their ten-year-old son, Darral, went with me to Val Alorn, and we took ship for Darine and traveled on down to Medalia, where I bought us a house and set Darion up in business as a stone-cutter. The products that came out of his shop were tombstones, for the most part, and that’s a gloomy sort of business. Darral learned his father’s trade, and when he was sixteen or so, he married Alara, the daughter of a local dry goods merchant.

Father pestered us almost continually until, in 5329, Alara finally gave birth to a baby boy. Father’s face fell the first time he looked at the baby, Geran. ‘He’s not the one, Pol,’ he reported.

‘That’s not my fault, father,’ I told him. ‘Oh, by the way, in just a few years, I’m going to be moving Darral and his family.’

‘Oh?’

‘Medalia’s right on the main road between Darine and Muros, and there are just a few too many strangers passing through town for my comfort. I want a place that’s just a little more remote.’

‘Oh? Where have you decided to settle?’

‘It’s a little village up in the mountains.’

‘What’s the name of the place?’

‘Annath, father. It’s right next to the Algarian border, and there’s a big stone-quarry there, so Darral should be able to find work that doesn’t involve tombstones.’

Did you perhaps notice that my explanation of the decision to move my little family to Annath was slightly less than candid? I thought you might have noticed that. I’ve found over the years that it’s not really a good idea to give my father
too
much information. Father has an overpowering urge to dabble in things, and his dabbling frequently ends up being disastrous. I suspect that my father thinks of himself as an artist, but his definition of art and mine are worlds apart.

Actually, I’d never even seen Annath, and my decision to move there was based entirely on its proximity to the Algarian border. Mother had told me that Geran was destined to marry an Algarian girl named Ildera, and I thought it might be a good idea if the two of them were to grow up in the same general vicinity.

As it turned out, though, our move was delayed by old Darion’s final illness, which was unfortunately quite protracted. I dislike lingering illnesses even more than I hate those sudden heart stoppages. A decent illness would run its course in a week or ten days, and the patient would then recover or die. Death has little dignity if it’s either too quick or too slow. Anyway, Darion hung on until 5334, and after his funeral, a change of scene was definitely in order. Everything in Medalia reminded us of our loss.

Darral sold his stoneworks and our house, and we packed up such possessions as we wanted to keep in a pair of wagons and left Medalia early on a summer morning with Darrel driving one wagon and me driving the other.

Yes, as a matter of fact, I
do
know how to drive a team of horses. Why do you keep asking these silly questions? We’ll never reach the end of this if you keep interrupting me like that.

It was summer, as I recall, and summer’s a nice time to travel in the mountains. There was no real hurry, so we took our time. At one point, Darral reined in his team, looking speculatively at a mountain stream that was gurgling over smooth round stones and joyously plunging into deep quiet pools. ‘What do you think, Aunt Pol?’ he called back to me. ‘This might be a good place to camp for the night, and we really ought to rest the horses.’

‘It’s only noon, Darral,’ Alara pointed out.

‘Well, this is a good place, and we
have
pushed the horses pretty hard. It’s all been uphill, you know.’ He sounded sincerely concerned about the horses, and he seemed to be making a special point of not looking at the stream. I knew the signs, of course. I’d seen them often enough back in Emgaard. I looped the reins of my team around the brake handle of my wagon and climbed down. ‘Over there,’ I said, pointing at a mossy little area under some low-hanging cedar trees. ‘Before you get started, unhitch the horses, water them, and stake them out in that meadow. Then build a fire-pit and gather enough firewood for supper
and
for breakfast.’

‘I sort of thought – ’

‘I’m sure you did, dear. Get the work done first, and
then
you can go play.’

He gave me a sort of sheepish look and then absolutely flew into his chores.

‘What did you mean by that, Aunt Pol?’ Alara asked me. ‘Darral’s a grown man now. He doesn’t play any more.’

‘Oh,
really?
You have a lot to learn, Alara. Take a look at your husband’s face. He hasn’t worn that expression since he was about nine years old.’

‘What’s he going to do?’

‘He’s going to offer to provide supper, dear.’

‘We’ve got dried beef and flour and peas and all in the back of your wagon.’

‘Yes, I know. He’ll say that he’s tired of the same old thing every night, though.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘He wants to go fishing, Alara. That little steam’s seducing him for all it’s worth, and he’s not resisting very hard.’

‘He can’t catch enough fish to feed us all in one afternoon.’

‘Well, he might, and there’s always tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Her face grew indignant. ‘That’s absurd! We’ll never get to Annath if he stops every time we come to some little brook.’

‘You’d probably better get used to it, Alara. I think it runs in the family. Tomorrow morning, one of the horses will be lame, or a wagon wheel will have to be greased – and of course it’ll be too late to start out by the time he’s finished.’

‘How long will this last?’

‘That probably depends entirely on how the fish are biting. I’d give it about three days – unless Old Twister has some relatives here in these mountains.’

‘Who’s Old Twister?’

So, while Darral was furiously chopping firewood, I told her about Gelane’s years-long campaign to catch that wily old trout in the stream outside Emgaard. It passed the time, and it put Alara in a much better humor. Alara was a serious young lady, and laughing was good for her. Darral finished with his firewood, cut himself and his son some willow saplings to use for poles and went off to entertain the fish. ‘Oh, one thing, dear,’ I said to Alara. ‘Don’t, whatever you do, reach for a knife if they happen to bring home some fish.’

‘Why would I reach for a knife, Aunt Pol?’

‘Exactly. That’s the fundamental rule you’ve always got to keep out in plain sight. You’ve got to establish it right from the start.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Look him right in the face, cross your arms, and say, “You caught them, so you clean them.” Never deviate from that, even if he’s managed to fall and break his arm.
He
cleans the fish. You don’t. He may pout about it, but don’t weaken. If you relent even once, you’ll betray all of womankind.’

She laughed. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you, Aunt Pol?’

‘Not even one little bit. Don’t
ever
clean a fish. Tell him that it’s against your religion or something. Believe me,
dear, if you ever clean so much as
one
fish, you’ll be doing it for the rest of your life.’.

Darral and his little son Geran actually caught fish in that small stream – enough at any rate to still the yearning almost all men fall prey to when they happen across fast water. It took them two days to do it, though, which is a fairly standard period of time for it. Then we moved on, plodding through the mountains toward our destination.

The mountain gorge where Annath lay ran from north to south, and we reached it about mid-afternoon on a glorious summer day. I was struck by the similarity of the village to Emgaard. Mountain towns are almost always strung out along the banks of a stream, and that puts them at the bottom of a gorge. I suppose you
could
build a village on a hilltop, but you won’t be popular with the women of the town if you do, since the chore of carrying water inevitably falls to the women. Women like to be close to a stream, and most women would be happier if the stream ran
through
the kitchen.

I liked what I saw about the village, but I
did
feel an apprehensive chill the first time it came into view. Something rather dreadful was going to happen here in Annath.

Virtually everyone in town turned out when our wagons rolled down the single street. People in small towns do that, you know.

‘Where wuz it y’ wuz a-goin’, stranger?’ a grizzled old codger with a woodsy dialect asked Darral.

‘Right here, friend,’ Darral replied, ‘and I think we can drop that “stranger”. My family and I’ve come here to settle permanently, so I’m sure we’ll all get to know each other.’

‘An’ whut might yer name be?’

Darral grinned at him. ‘Well, it
might
be “Belgarath” or maybe “Kal Torak”. Would you be inclined to believe me if I offered you one of those?’

‘Not hordly,’ the old fellow chuckled.

‘Oh, well,’ Darral sighed. ‘It was worth a try, I guess. Actually, my name’s Darral, and this is my wife Alara. The lady driving the other wagon’s my Aunt Pol, and the little boy sleeping beside her is my son, Geran.’

‘I’m proud t’ make yer acquaintance, Darral,’ the old
fellow said. ‘My name’s Farnstal, an’ I’m usual th’ one as greets strangers – mostly on accounta I’m a nosey old coot. Th’ inn’s on down th’ street a piece, an’ y’ kin settle in thar till y’ makes more permanent arrangements. What might be yer trade, Darral?’

‘I’m a stone-cutter – from over near Sulturn. I used to spend all my time chiseling tombstones, but that’s gloomy work, so I decided to find something more cheerful to do.’

‘If y’ knows yer way around a hammer an’ chisel, y’ve come t’ th’ right place, Darral. Th’ menfolk hereabouts bin choppin’ stone blocks outta that mounting over thar since about three weeks afore th’ earth wuz made, an’ we’ll prob’ly keep on achoppin’ until a couple months after it comes to an end. Why don’t we drift on down t’ th’ inn an’ git you folks settled in? Then we kin all git acquainted.’

Darral was very smooth, you’ll note. His easy manner slipped us into the society of Annath with scarcely a ripple. You’ll also note that he was just a little imprecise about our point of origin. It wasn’t exactly an out and out lie. Medalia and Sulturn aren’t really
too
far apart – ninety miles or so is about all – so you might say that Darral was only ninety miles from the truth.

We went on down to the tiny inn with most of the townspeople following along behind us. Small towns are almost always like that. We took rooms, and several of the townsmen helped Darral unhitch the horses. The women of the town, of course, homed in on Alara and me, and the children immediately absconded with Geran. By the time the sun went down, we weren’t strangers any more.

Nobody owned the mountain where the local stone-quarry was, so the villagers had formed a ‘share and share alike’ cooperative venture to gouge granite blocks from its side. Farnstal told Darral that ‘a stone-mason feller from Muros comes by in th’ fall t’ take ‘em off our hands every year – which sorta keeps ‘em from pilin’ up an’ gittin’ underfoot. That way we don’t hafta build no wagons er feed no oxen t’ haul ‘em all down t’ civilization an’ git rid of ‘em. I ain’t never bin real close friends with no ox, personal.’

‘You know, I feel much the same way,’ Darral agreed.
‘To my way of looking at it, the proper place for an ox is on the supper-table.’

‘I’ll float my stick alongside yers on that score.’

Darral took his tools to the quarry the next morning and started cutting stone blocks almost as if he’d always lived there, and the women of the town took Alara and me to the upper end of the single street and pointed out a vacant, seriously run-down house.

‘Who does it belong to?’ I asked a plump lady named Elna.

‘Why probably to whoever moves in and fixes the roof,’ Elna replied. ‘The family that owned it all died of the pox about ten years ago, and it’s been standing empty ever since.’

‘It doesn’t really belong to anybody, Pol,’ another matron assured me. ‘I live two houses down, and the place is an awful eyesore the way it is. We’ve all asked our menfolk to tear it down, but you know how men are. The best we’ve been able to get out of them is, “we’ll get around to it – someday”. I haven’t been holding my breath.’

‘We can’t just move in,’ Alara objected.

‘Why not?’ Elna asked her. ‘You need a house, and we need neighbors. The answer’s sitting right there growing moss.’ She looked around at the other ladies. I got the distinct impression that she was the local social lioness. ‘Why don’t we all talk with our husbands this evening, ladies? If Alara here wants formal permission to move into the place, we’ll just tell our menfolk to take a vote on the matter – and we’ll let them all know that they’ll get a steady diet of boiled tripe if they vote wrong.’

They all laughed knowingly at that. Never underestimate the power of the woman who runs the kitchen.

Since it was summer and the evenings were quite long, it only took Darral – and the rest of the men in town – about a week to repair the roof and the doors and windows. Then the town ladies joined Alara and me in a day of furious house-cleaning, and it was all done. We were home, and that’s always very nice.

I don’t know that I’ve ever known a town as friendly as Annath. Everyone there went out of his way to help us get
settled in, and they were always dropping by ‘just to visit’. A goodly part of that was due to the isolation of the place, of course, and the hunger for news – any news – of the outside world. Then, when Darral chanced to mention the fact that I was a physician, our place in the community was secure. There’d never been a physician in town before, so now the villagers could go ahead and get sick without the danger of having home remedies rammed down their throats. A lot of home remedies actually
do
work, but the one thing they all have in common, whether they work or not, is their universally foul taste. I’ve never quite understood where that notion, ‘if it tastes bad, it’s good for you’ came from. Some of
my
remedies are actually quite delicious.

I didn’t care much for the stone-mason from Muros who came to town that fall followed by a long string of empty wagons. He behaved as if he were doing us a favor by hauling away our stone blocks. I’ve known a lot of businessmen over the years, and businessmen don’t do
anything
unless it’s profitable. He arrived looking bored, and he sneeringly appraised the neat stacks of stone blocks at the mouth of the quarry. Then he made his offer with a note of finality.

Darral, who knew quite a bit about business himself, was wise enough to hold his tongue until the fellow had left with his plunder. ‘Was that about what he usually offers?’ he asked the other townsmen.

‘It’s purty much what he alluz pays, Darral,’ old Farnstal replied. ‘It seemed a little light t’ us, fust time he come here, but he wint on an’ on ‘bout th’ expense o’ freightin’ all that stone back t’ Muros an’ sich, an’ then he ups an’ sez “take ‘er or leave ‘er”, an’ thar warn’t no other buyers handy, so we tuk ‘er. It’s gotten t’ be sorta like a habit, I guess. I’m a-ketchin’ a hint that y’ might think we jist got ourselves stung.’

‘I’ve bought granite blocks before, Farnstal, and that wasn’t the price
I
had to pay.’ Darral squinted at the ceiling. ‘Do we cut stone in the wintertime?’ he asked.

‘‘Tain’t hordly a good idee, Darral,’ Farnstal replied. ‘Th’ snow piles up fearful deep up thar on th’ top edge of the
quarry, an’ a good sneeze is all she’d take t’ bust ‘er loose. A feller whut’s roped t’ that stone face could wind up apickin’ a avalanche outten his teeth if somebody happens t’ git hisself a itchy nose at th’ wrong time.’