David Eddings: Queen of Sorcery

“Why did you do that to me?”

“To keep you. You must have more or you will die. You must drink what only I can give you, and you must drink every day of your life. You’re mine, Belgarion, mine!”

Despairing shrieks came from just outside the door.

The Serpent Queen looked up, startled, then she turned to the huge statue behind her, bowed down in a strange ceremonial way and began to weave her hands through the air in a series of intricate gestures. She started to pronounce an involved formula in a language Garion had never heard before, a language filled with guttural hissings and strange cadences.

The heavy door exploded inward, blasted into splinters, and Aunt Pol stood in the shattered doorway, her white lock ablaze and her eyes dreadful. The great bear at her side roared, his teeth dripping blood and with tatters of flesh still hanging from his claws.

“I’ve warned you, Salmissra.” Aunt Pol spoke in a deadly voice.

“Stop where you are, Polgara,” the queen ordered. She did not turn around, and her fingers continued their sinuous weaving in the air. “The boy is dying,” she said. “Nothing can save him if you attack me.”

Aunt Pol stopped. “What have you done?” she demanded.

“Look at him,” Salmissra said. “He has drunk athal and kaldiss. Even now their fire is in his veins. He will need more very soon.” Her hands still moved in the air, and her face was fixed in extreme concentration. Her lips began moving again in that guttural hissing.

“Is it true?” Aunt Pol’s voice echoed in Garion’s mind.

“It seems to be,” the dry voice replied. “They made him drink things, and he seems different now. ”

Aunt Pol’s eyes widened. “Who are you?”

“I’ve always been here, Polgara. Didn’t you know that?”

“Did Garion know?”

“He knows that I’m here. He doesn’t know what it means.”

“We can talk about that later,” she decided. “Watch very closely. This is what you have to do.” A confused blur of images welled up in Garion’s mind. “Do you understand?”

“Of course. I’ll show him how.”

“Can’t you do it?”

“No, Polgara,” the dry voice said. “The power is his, not mine. Don’t worry. He and I understand each other. ”

Garion felt strangely alone as the two voices spoke together in his mind.

“Garion.” The dry voice spoke quietly. “I want you to think about your blood.”

“My blood?”

“We’re going to change it for a moment.”

“Why?”

“To burn away the poison they gave you. Now concentrate on your blood. ”

Garion did.

“You want it to be like this.” An image of yellow came into Garion’s mind. “Do you understand?”

“Yes. ”

“Do it, then. Now. ”

Garion put his fingertips to his chest and willed his blood to change. He suddenly felt as if he were on fire. His heart began to pound, and a heavy sweat burst out all over his body.

“A moment longer,” the voice said.

Garion was dying. His altered blood seared through his veins, and he began to tremble violently. His heart hammered in his chest like a tripping sledge. His eyes went dark, and he began to topple slowly forward.

“Now!” the voice demanded sharply. “Change it back. ”

Then it was over. Garion’s heart stuttered and then faltered back to its normal pace. He was exhausted, but the fog in his brain was gone. “It’s done, Polgara,” the other Garion said. “You can do what needs doing now.”

Aunt Pol had watched anxiously, but now her face became dreadfully stern. She walked across the polished floor toward the dais. “Salmissra,” she said, “turn around and look at me.”

The queen’s hands were raised above her head now, and the hissing words tumbled from her lips, rising finally to a hoarse shout.

Then, far above them in the shadows near the ceiling, the eyes of the huge statue opened and began to glow a deep emerald fire. A polished jewel on Salmissra’s crown began also to burn with the same glow.

The statue moved. The sound it made was a kind of ponderous creaking, deafeningly loud. The solid rock from which the huge shape had been hewn bent and flexed as the statue took a step forward and then another.

“Why-did—you-summon-me?” An enormous voice demanded through stiff, stony lips. The voice reverberated hollowly up from the massive chest.

“Defend thy handmaiden, Great Issa,” Salmissra cried, turning to look triumphantly at Aunt Pol. “This evil sorceress hath invaded thy domain to slay me. Her wicked power is so great that none may withstand her. I am thy promised bride, and I place myself under thy protection.”

“Who is this who defiles my temple?” the statue demanded in a vast roar. “Who dares to raise her hand against my chosen and beloved?” The emerald eyes flashed in dreadful wrath.

Aunt Pol stood alone in the center of the polished floor with the vast statue looming above her. Her face was unafraid. “You go too far, Salmissra,” she said. “This is forbidden.”

The Serpent Queen laughed scornfully. “Forbidden? What does your forbidding mean to me? Flee now, or face the wrath of Divine Issa. Contend if you will with a God!”

“If I must,” Aunt Pol said. She straightened then and spoke a single word. The roaring in Garion’s mind at that word was overwhelming. Then, suddenly, she began to grow. Foot by foot she towered up, rising like a tree, expanding, growing gigantic before Garion’s stunned eyes. Within a moment she faced the great stone God as an equal.

“Polgara?” the God’s voice sounded puzzled. “Why have you done this?”

“I come in fulfillment of the Prophecy, Lord Issa,” she said. “Thy handmaiden hath betrayed thee and thy brothers.”

“It cannot be so,” Issa said. “She is my chosen one. Her face is the face of my beloved.”

“The face is the same,” Aunt Pol said, “but this is not the Salmissra beloved of Issa. A hundred Salmissras have served thee in this temple since thy beloved died.”

“Died?” the God said incredulously.

“She lies!” Salmissra shrieked. “I am thy beloved, O my Lord. Let not her lies turn thee from me. Kill her.”

“The Prophecy approaches its day,” Aunt Pol said. “The boy at Salmissra’s feet is its fruit. He must be returned to me, or the Prophecy will fail.”

“Is the day of the Prophecy come so soon?” the God asked.

“It is not soon, Lord Issa,” Aunt Pol said. “It is late. Thy slumber hath encompassed eons.”

“Lies! All lies!” Salmissra cried desperately, clinging to the ankle of the huge stone God.

“I must test out the truth of this,” the God said slowly. “I have slept long and deeply, and now the world comes upon me unaware.”

“Destroy her, O my Lord!” Salmissra demanded. “Her lies are an abomination and a desecration of thy holy presence.”

“I will find the truth, Salmissra,” Issa said.

Garion felt a brief, enormous touch upon his mind. Something had brushed him—something so vast that his imagination shuddered back from its immensity. Then the touch moved on.

“Ahhh—” The sigh came from the floor. The dead snake Maas stirred. “Ahhh—Let me sleep,” it hissed.

“In but a moment,” Issa said. “What was your name?”

“I was called Maas,” the snake said. “I was counsellor and companion to Eternal Salmissra. Send me back, Lord. I cannot bear to live again.”

“Is this my beloved Salmissra?” the God asked.

“Her successor.” Maas sighed. “Thy beloved priestess died thousands of years ago. Each new Salmissra is chosen because of her resemblance to thy beloved.”

“Ah,” Issa said with pain in his huge voice. “And what was this woman’s purpose in removing Belgarion from Polgara’s care?”