David Eddings - Magician's Gambit

The God hissed with frustration and whirled to confront Mister Wolf. “Tricked!” he howled. “Her mind is asleep.”

“They’re all asleep, Lord Mara,” Wolf replied. “Threats and horrors don’t mean anything to them. Shriek and howl until the sky falls down; she cannot hear thee.”

“I will punish thee for this, Belgarath,” Mara snarled, “and Polgara as well. You will all taste pain and terror for this arrogant despite of me. I will wring the sleep from the minds of these intruders, and they will know the agony and madness I will visit upon them all.” He swelled suddenly into vastness.

“That’s enough! Mara! Stop!” The voice was Garion’s, but Garion knew that it was not he who spoke.

The Spirit of Mara turned on him, raising his vast arm to strike, but Garion felt himself slide from his horse to approach the vast threatening figure. “Your vengeance stops here, Mara,” the voice coming from Garion’s mouth said. “The girl is bound to my purpose. You will not touch her.” Garion realized with a certain alarm that he had been placed between the raging God and the sleeping princess.

“Move out of my way, boy, lest I slay thee,” Mara threatened.

“Use your mind, Mara,” the voice told him, “if you haven’t howled it empty by now. You know who I am.”

“I will have her!” Mara howled. “I will give her a multitude of lives and tear each one from her quivering flesh.”

“No,” the voice replied, “you won’t. ”

The God Mara drew himself up again, raising his dreadful arms; but at the same time, his eyes were probing—and more than his eyes. Garion once again felt a vast touch on his mind as he had in Queen Salmissra’s throne room when the Spirit of Issa had touched him. A dreadful recognition began to dawn in Mara’s weeping eyes. His raised arms fell. “Give her to me,” he pleaded. “Take the others and go, but give the Tolnedran to me. I beg it of thee.”

“No.” What happened then was not sorcery—Garion knew it instantly. The noise was not there nor that strange, rushing surge that always accompanied sorcery. Instead, there seemed to be a terrible pressure as the full force of Mara’s mind was directed crushingly at him. Then the mind within his mind responded. The power was so vast that the world itself was not large enough to contain it. It did not strike back at Mara, for that dreadful collision would have shattered the world, but it stood rather, calmly unmoved and immovable against the raging torrent of Mara’s fury. For a fleeting moment, Garion shared the awareness of the mind within his mind, and he shuddered back from its immensity. In that instant, he saw the birth of uncounted suns swirling in vast spirals against the velvet blackness of the void, their birth and gathering into galaxies and ponderously turning nebulae encompassing but a moment. And beyond that, he looked full in the face of time itself—seeing its beginning and its ending in one awful glimpse.

Mara fell back. “I must submit,” he said hoarsely, and then he bowed to Garion, his ravaged face strangely humble. He turned away and buried his face in his hands, weeping uncontrollably.

“Your grief will end, Mara,” the voice said gently. “One day you will find joy again.”

“Never,” the God sobbed. “My grief will last forever.”

“Forever is a very long time, Mara,” the voice replied, “and only I can see to the end of it.”

The weeping God did not answer, but moved away from them, and the sound of his wailing echoed again through the ruins of Mar Amon. Mister Wolf and Aunt Pol were both staring at Garion with stunned faces. When the old man spoke, his voice was awed. “Is it possible?”

“Aren’t you the one who keeps saying that anything is possible, Belgarath?”

“We didn’t know you could intervene directly,” Aunt Pol said.

“I nudge things a bit from time to time—make a few suggestions. If you think back carefully, you might even remember some of them.”

“Is the boy aware of any of this?” she asked.

“Of course. We had a little talk about it.”

“How much did you tell him?”

“As much as he could understand. Don’t worry, Polgara, I’m not going to hurt him. He realizes how important all this is now. He knows that he needs to prepare himself and that he doesn’t have a great deal of time for it. I think you’d better leave here now. The Tolnedran girl’s presence is causing Mara a great deal of pain.”

Aunt Pol looked as if she wanted to say more, but she glanced once at the shadowy figure of the God weeping not far away and nodded. She turned to her horse and led the way out of the ruins.

Mister Wolf fell in beside Garion after they had remounted to follow her. “Perhaps we could talk as we ride along,” he suggested. “I have a great many questions.”

“He’s gone, Grandfather,” Garion told him.

“Oh,” Wolf answered with obvious disappointment.

It was nearing sundown by then, and they stopped for the night in a grove about a mile away from Mar Amon. Since they had left the ruins, they had seen no more of the maimed ghosts. After the others had been fed and sent to their blankets, Aunt Pol, Garion, and Mister Wolf sat around their small fire. Since the presence in his mind had left him, following the meeting with Mara, Garion had felt himself sinking deeper toward sleep. All emotion was totally gone now, and he seemed no longer able to think independently.

“Can we talk to the—other one?” Mister Wolf asked hopefully.

“He isn’t there right now,” Garion replied.

“Then he isn’t always with you?”

“Not always. Sometimes he goes away for months—sometimes even longer. He’s been there for quite a long while this time—ever since Asharak burned up.”

“Where exactly is he when he’s with you?” the old man asked curiously.

“In here.” Garion tapped his head.

“Have you been awake ever since we entered Maragor?” Aunt Pol asked.

“Not exactly awake,” Garion answered. “Part of me was asleep.”

“You could see the ghosts?”

“Yes.”

“But they didn’t frighten you?”

“No. Some of them surprised me, and one of them made me sick.”

Wolf looked up quickly. “It wouldn’t make you sick now though, would it?”

“No. I don’t think so. Right at first I could still feel things like that a little bit. Now I can’t.”

Wolf looked thoughtfully at the fire as if looking for a way to phrase his next question. “What did the other one in your head say to you when you talked together?”

“He told me that something had happened a long time ago that wasn’t supposed to happen and that I was supposed to fix it.”

Wolf laughed shortly. “That’s a succinct way of putting it,” he observed. “Did he say anything about how it was going to turn out?”

“He doesn’t know.”

Wolf sighed. “I’d hoped that maybe we’d picked up an advantage somewhere, but I guess not. It looks like both prophecies are still equally valid.”

Aunt Pol was looking steadily at Garion. “Do you think you’ll be able to remember any of this when you wake up again?” she asked.

“I think so.”

“All right then, listen carefully. There are two prophecies, both leading toward the same event. The Grolims and the rest of the Angaraks are following one; we’re following the other. The event turns out differently at the end of each prophecy.”

“I see.”

“Nothing in either prophecy excludes anything that will happen in the other until they meet in that event,” she continued. “The course of everything that follows will be decided by how that event turns out. One prophecy will succeed; the other will fail. Everything that has happened and will happen comes together at that point and becomes one. The mistake will be erased, and the universe will go in one direction or the other, as if that were the direction it had been going from its very beginning.The only real difference is that something that’s very important will never happen if we fail.”