David Eddings - Pawn of Prophecy

"I’ll be most careful of my husband’s lands and herds," she said.

"They’re yours too," Barak said.

"As my husband wishes."

Barak sighed. "You never let it rest, do you, Merel?" He said sadly.

"My Lord?"

"Forget it."

"Will my Lord embrace me before he leaves?" she asked.

"What’s the point?" Barak said. He jumped across to the ship and immediately went below.

Aunt Pol stopped on her way to the ship and looked gravely at Barak’s wife. Then, without warning, she suddenly laughed.

"Something amusing, Lady Polgara?" Merel asked.

"Very amusing, Merel," Aunt Pol said with a mysterious smile.

"Might I be permitted to share it?"

"Oh, you’ll share it, Merel," Aunt Pol promised, "but I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you by telling you too soon." She laughed again and stepped onto the plank that led to the ship. Durnik offered his hand to steady her, and the two of them crossed to the deck.

Mister Wolf clasped hands with each of the kings on turn and then nimbly crossed to the ship. He stood for a moment on the deck looking at the ancient, snow-shrouded city of Val Alorn and the towering mountains of Cherek rising behind.

"Farewell, Belgarath," King Anheg called.

Mister Wolf nodded. "Don’t forget about the minstrels," he said.

"We won’t," Anheg promised. "Good luck."

Mister Wolf grinned and then walked forward toward the prow of Greldik’s ship. Garion, on an impulse, followed him. There were questions which needed answers, and the old man would know if anyone would.

"Mister Wolf," he said when they had both reached the high prow.

"Yes, Garion?"

He was not sure where to start, so Garion approached the problem obliquely. "How did Aunt Pol do that to old Martje’s eyes?"

"The Will and the Word," Wolf said, his long cloak whipping about him in the stiff breeze. "It isn’t difficult."

"I don’t understand," Garion said.

"You simply will something to happen," the old man said, "and then speak the word. If your will’s strong enough, it happens."

"That’s all there is to it?" Garion asked, a little disappointed.

"That’s all," Wolf said.

"Is the word a magic word?"

Wolf laughed, looking out at the sun glittering sharply on the winter sea. "No," he said. "There aren’t any magic words. Some people think so, but they’re wrong. Grolims use strange words, but that’s not really necessary. Any word will do the job. It’s the Will that’s important, not the Word. The Word’s just a channel for the Will."

"Could I do it?" Garion asked hopefully.

Wolf looked at him. "I don’t know, Garion," he said. "I wasn’t much older than you are the first time I did it, but I’d been living with Aldur for several years. That makes a difference, I suppose."

"What happened?"

"My Master wanted me to move a rock," Wolf said. "He seemed to think that it was in his way. I tried to move it, but it was too heavy. After a while I got angry, and I told it to move. It did. I was a little surprised, but my Master didn’t think it so unusual."

"You just said, ‘move?’ That’s all?" Garion was incredulous.

"That’s all." Wolf shrugged. "It seemed so simple that I was surprised I hadn’t thought of it before. At the time I imagined that anybody could do it, but men have changed quite a bit since then. Maybe it isn’t possible anymore. It’s hard to say, really."

"I always thought that sorcery had to be done with long spells and strange signs and things like that," Garion said.

"Those are just the devices of tricksters and charlatans," Wolf said. "They make a fine show and impress and frighten simple people, but spells and incantations have nothing to do with the real thing, It’s all in the Will. Focus the Will and speak the Word, and it happens. Sometimes a gesture of sorts helps, but it isn’t really necessary. Your Aunt has always seemed to want to gesture when she makes something happen. I’ve been trying to break her of that habit for hundreds of years now."

Garion blinked. "Hundreds of years?" he gasped. "How old is she?"

"Older than she looks," Wolf said. "It isn’t polite to ask questions about a lady’s age, however."

Garion felt a sudden, shocking emptiness. The worst of his fears had been confirmed. "Then she isn’t really my Aunt, is she?" he asked sickly.

"What makes you say that?" Wolf asked.

She couldn’t be, could she? I always thought that she was my father’s sister, but if she’s hundreds and thousands of years old, it would be impossible."

"You’re much to fond of that word, Garion," Wolf said. "When you get right down to it, nothing—or at least very little—is actually impossible."

"How could she be? My Aunt I mean?"

"All right," Wolf said. "Polgara was not strictly speaking your father’s sister. Her relationship to him is quite more complex. She was the sister of his grandmother—his ultimate grandmother, it there is such a term—and of yours as well, of course."

"Then she’d be my great-aunt," Garion said with a faint in spark of hope. It was something, at least.

"I don’t know that I’d use that precise term around her." Wolf grinned. "She might take offense. Why are you so concerned about all of this?"

"I was afraid that maybe she’d just said that she was my Aunt, and that there wasn’t really any connection between us at all," Garion said. "I’ve been afraid of that for quite a while now."

"Why were you afraid?"

"It’s kind of hard to explain," Garion said. "You see, I don’t really know who or what I am. Silk says I’m not a Sendar, and Barak says I look sort of like a Rivan—but not exactly. I always thought I was a Sendar—like Durnik—but I guess I’m not. I don’t know anything about my parents or where they come from or anything like that. If Aunt Pol isn’t related to me, then I don’t have anybody in the world at all. I’m all alone, and that’s a very bad thing."

"But now it’s alright, isn’t it?" Wolf said, your Aunt really is your Aunt—at least your blood and hers are the same."

"I’m glad you told me," Garion said. "I’ve been worried about it."

Greldik’s sailors untied the hawsers and began to push the ship away from the quay.

"Mister Wolf," Garion said as a strange thought occurred to him.

"Yes, Garion?"

"Aunt Pol really is my Aunt—or my Great-Aunt?"

"Yes."

"And she’s your daughter."

"I have to admit that she is," Wolf said wryly. "I try to forget that sometimes, but I can’t really deny it."

Garion took a deep breath and plunged directly into it. "If she’s my Aunt, and you’re her father," he said, "wouldn’t that sort of make you my Grandfather?"

Wolf looked at him with a startled expression. "Why yes," he said, laughing suddenly, "I suppose that in a way it does. I’d never thought of it exactly like that before."

Garion’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, and he impulsively embraced the old man. "Grandfather," he said, trying the word out.

""Well, well," Wolf said, his own voice strangely thick. "What a remarkable discovery." Awkwardly he patted Garion’s shoulder.

"They were both a little embarrassed by Garion’s sudden display of affection, and they stood silently, watching as Greldik’s sailors rowed the ship out into the harbor.

"Grandfather," Garion said after a little while.

"Yes?"

"What really happened to my mother and father? I mean, how did they die?"

Wolf’s face became very bleak. "There was a fire," he said shortly.

"A fire?" Garion said weakly, his imagination lurching back from that awful thought—of the unspeakable pain. "How did it happen?"

"It’s not very pleasant," Wolf said grimly. "Aew you really sure you want to know?"

"I have to, Grandfather," Garion said quietly. "I have to know everything I can about them. I don’t know why, but it’s very important."