proper study, my son.’
‘And thou, Master,’ I asked, ‘what is thy study – if I be not overbold to ask.’
‘Even as before, Belgarath,’ he replied, holding up that fatal round stone. ‘It hath been placed in my care by UL himself, and it is therefore upon me to commune with it that I may know it – and its purpose.’
‘Can a stone have a purpose, Master – other than to be a stone?’ The piece of rock, now worn smooth, even polished, by my Master’s patient hand made me apprehensive for some reason. In one of those rare presentiments that I don’t have very often, I sensed that a great deal of mischief would come about as a result of it.
‘This particular jewel hath a great purpose, Belgarath, for through it the world and all who dwell herein shall be changed. If I can but perceive that purpose, I might make some preparations. That necessity lieth heavily upon my spirit.’ And then he lapsed once more into silence, idly turning the stone over and over in his hand as he gazed deep into its polished surface with troubled eyes.
I certainly wasn’t going to intrude upon his contemplation of the thing, so I turned back to my study of the inconstant stars.
In time, others came to us, some seemingly by accident, as I had come, and some by intent, seeking out my Master that they might learn from him. Such a one was Zedar.
I came upon him near our tower one golden day in autumn after I’d served my Master for five hundred years or so. This stranger had built a rude altar and was burning the carcass of a goat on it. That got us off on the wrong foot right at the outset. Even the wolves knew enough not to kill things in the Vale. The greasy smoke from his offering was fouling the air, and he was prostrated before his altar, chanting some outlandish prayer.
‘What are you doing?’ I demanded – quite abruptly, I’ll admit, since his noise and the stink of his sacrifice distracted my mind from a problem I’d been considering for the past half-century.
‘Oh, puissant and all-knowing God,’ he said, groveling in the dirt, ‘I have come a thousand leagues to behold thy glory and to worship thee.’
‘Puissant? Quit trying to show off your education, man. Now get up and stop this caterwauling. I’m no more a God than you are.’
‘Art thou not the great God Aldur?’
‘I’m his disciple, Belgarath. What is all this nonsense?’ I pointed at his altar and his smoking goat.
‘It is to please the God,’ he replied, rising and dusting off his clothes. I couldn’t be sure, but he looked rather like a Tolnedran – or possibly an Arend. In either case, his babble about a thousand leagues was clearly a self-serving exaggeration. He gave me a servile, fawning sort of look. ‘Tell me truly,’ he pleaded, ‘dost thou think he will find this poor offering of mine acceptable?’
I laughed. ‘I can’t think of a single thing you could have done that would offend him more.’
The stranger looked stricken. He turned quickly and reached out as if he were going to grab up the animal with his bare hands to hide it.
‘Don’t be an idiot!’ I snapped. ‘You’ll burn yourself!’
‘It must be hidden,’ he said desperately. ‘I would rather die than offend mighty Aldur.’
‘Just get out of the way,’ I told him.
‘What?’
‘Stand clear,’ I said, irritably waving him off, ‘unless you want to take a trip with your goat.’ Then I looked at his grotesque little altar, willed it to a spot five miles distant, and translocated it with a single word, leaving only a few tatters of confused smoke hanging in the air.
He collapsed on his face again.
‘You’re going to wear out your clothes if you keep doing that,’ I told him, ‘and my Master won’t find it very amusing.’
‘I pray thee, mighty disciple of most high Aldur,’ he said, rising and dusting himself off again, ‘instruct me so that I offend not the God.’ He must have been an Arend. No Tolnedran could possibly mangle the language the way he did.
‘Be truthful,’ I told him, ‘and don’t try to impress him with false show and flowery speech. Believe me, friend, he can see right straight into your heart, so there’s no way you can deceive him. I’m not sure which God you worshiped before, but Aldur’s like no other God in the whole world.’ What an asinine thing that was to say. No two Gods are ever the same.
‘And how may I become his disciple, as thou art?’
‘First you become his pupil,’ I replied, ‘and that’s not easy.’
‘What must I do to become his pupil?’
‘You must become his servant.’ I said it a bit smugly, I’ll admit. A few years with an axe and a broom would probably do this pompous ass some good.
‘And then his pupil?’ he pressed.
‘In time,’ I replied, ‘if he so wills.’ It wasn’t up to me to reveal the secret of the Will and the Word to him. He’d have to find that out for himself – the same as I had.
‘And when may I meet the God?’
I was getting tired of him anyway, so I took him to the tower.
‘Will the God Aldur wish to know my name?’ he asked as we started across the meadow.
I shrugged. ‘Not particularly. If you’re lucky enough to prove worthy, he’ll give you a name of his own choosing.’ When we reached the tower, I commanded the grey stone in the wall to open, and we went inside and on up the stairs.
My Master looked the stranger over and then turned to me. ‘Why hast thou brought this man to me, my son?’ he asked me.
‘He besought me, Master,’ I replied. ‘I felt it was not my place to say him yea or nay.’ I could mangle language as well as Zedar could, I guess. ‘Thy will must decide such things,’ I continued. ‘If it turns out that he doesn’t please thee, I’ll take him outside and turn him into a carrot, and that’ll be the end of it.’
‘That was unkindly said, Belgarath,’ Aldur chided.
‘Forgive me, Master,’ I said humbly.
‘Thou shalt instruct him, Belgarath. Should it come to pass that he be apt, inform me.’
I groaned inwardly, cursing my careless tongue. My casual offer to vegetabilize the stranger had saddled me with him. But Aldur was my Lord, so I said, ‘I will, Master.’
‘What is thy current study, my son?’
‘I examine the reason for mountains, Master.’
‘Lay aside thy mountains,
