She looked at him, her face as pale as if he had suddenly struck her. Then she drew herself up. “You stupid boy,” she said in a voice that was all the more terrible because it was so quiet. “Finished? You and I? How can you even begin to understand what I’ve had to do to bring you to this world? You’ve been my only care for over a thousand years. I’ve endured anguish and loss and pain beyond your ability to understand what the words mean—all for you. I’ve lived in poverty and squalor for hundreds of years at a time—all for you. I gave up a sister I loved more than my life itself—all for you. I’ve gone through fire and despair worse than fire a dozen times over—all for you. And you think this has all been an entertainment for me?—some idle amusement? You think the kind of care I’ve devoted to you for a thousand years and more comes cheaply? You and I will never be finished, Belgarion. Never! We will go on together until the end of days if necessary. We will never be finished. You owe me too much for that!”
There was a dreadful silence. The others, shocked by the intensity of Aunt Pol’s words, stood staring first at her and then at Garion.
Without speaking further, she turned and went below decks again. Garion looked around helplessly, suddenly terribly ashamed and terribly alone.
“I had to do it, didn’t I?” he asked of no one in particular and not entirely sure exactly what it was that he meant.
They all looked at him, but no one answered his question.
26
By midafternoon the clouds had rolled in again, and the thunder began to rumble off in the distance as the rain swept in to drown the steaming city once more. The afternoon thunderstorm seemed to come at the same time each day, and they had even grown accustomed to it. They all moved below deck and sat sweltering as the rain roared down on the deck above them.
Garion sat stiffly, his back planted against a rough-hewn oak rib of the ship and watched Aunt Pol, his face set stubbornly and his eyes unforgiving.
She ignored him and sat talking quietly with Ce’Nedra.
Captain Greldik came through the narrow companionway door, his face and beard streaming water. “The Drasnian-Droblek—is here,” he told them. “He says he’s got word for you.”
“Send him in,” Barak said.
Droblek squeezed his vast bulk through the narrow door. He was totally drenched from the rain and stood dripping on the Hoor. He wiped his face. “It’s wet out there,” he commented.
“We noticed,” Hettar said.
“I’ve received a message,” Droblek told Aunt Pol. “It’s from Prince Kheldar.”
“Finally,” she said.
“He and Belgarath are coming downriver,” Droblek reported. “As closely as I can make out, they should be here in a few days—a week at the most. The messenger isn’t very coherent.”
Aunt Pol looked at him inquiringly.
“Fever,” Droblek explained. “The man’s a Drasnian, so he’s reliable—one of my agents at an upcountry trading post—but he’s picked up one of the diseases that infest this stinking swamp. He’s a little delirious just now. We hope we can break the fever in a day or so and get some sense out of him. I came as soon as I got the general idea of his message. I thought you’d want to know immediately.”
“We appreciate your concern,” Aunt Pol said.
“I’d have sent a servant,” Droblek explained, “but messages sometimes go astray in Sthiss Tor, and servants sometimes get things twisted around.” He grinned suddenly. “That’s not the real reason, of course.”
Aunt Pol smiled, “Of course not.”
“A fat man tends to stay in one place and let others do his walking around for him. From the tone of King Rhodar’s message, I gather that this business might be the most important thing happening in the world just now. I wanted to take part in it.” He made a wry face. “We all lapse into childishness from time to time, I suppose.”
“How serious is the condition of the messenger?” Aunt Pol asked.
Droblek shrugged. “Who can say? Half of these pestilential fevers in Nyissa don’t even have names, and we can’t really tell one from another. Sometimes people die very quickly from them; sometimes they linger for weeks. Now and then someone even recovers. About all we can do is make them comfortable and wait to see what happens.”
“I’ll come at once,” Aunt Pol said, rising. “Durnik, would you get me the green bag from our packs? I’ll need the herbs I have in it.”
“It’s not always a good idea to expose oneself to some of these fevers, my Lady,” Droblek cautioned.
“I won’t be in any danger,” she said. “I want to question your messenger closely, and the only way I’ll be able to get any answers from him is to rid him of his fever.”
“Durnik and I’ll come along,” Barak offered.
She looked at him.
“It doesn’t hurt to be on the safe side,” the big man said, belting on his sword.
“If you wish.” She put on her cloak and turned up the hood. “This may take most of the night,” she told Greldik. “There are Grolims about, so have your sailors stay alert. Put a few of the more sober ones on watch.”
“Sober, my Lady?” Greldik asked innocently.
“I’ve heard the singing coming from the crew’s quarters, Captain,” she said a bit primly, “Chereks don’t sing unless they’re drunk. Keep the lid on your ale-barrel tonight. Shall we go, Droblek?”
“At once, my Lady,” the fat man assented with a sly look at Greldik.
Garion felt a certain relief after they had gone. The strain of maintaining his rancor in Aunt Pol’s presence had begun to wear on him. He found himself in a difficult position. The horror and self-loathing which had gnawed at him since he had unleashed the dreadful fire upon Chamdar in the Wood of the Dryads had grown until he could scarcely bear it. He looked forward to each night with dread, for his dreams were always the same. Over and over again he saw Chamdar, his face burned away, pleading, “Master, have mercy.” And over and over again he saw the awful blue flame that had come from his own hand in answer to that agony. The hatred he had carried since Val Alorn had died in that flame. His revenge had been so absolute that there was no possible way he could evade or shift the responsibility for it. His outburst that morning had been directed almost more at himself than at Aunt Pol, He had called her a monster, but it was the monster within himself he hated. The dreadful catalogue of what she had suffered over uncounted years for him and the passion with which she had spoken—evidence of the pain his words had caused her—twisted searingly in his mind. He was ashamed, so ashamed that he could not even bear to look into the faces of his friends. He sat alone and vacant-eyed with Aunt Pol’s words thundering over and over in his mind.
The rain slackened on the deck above them as the storm passed. Swirling little eddies of raindrops ran across the muddy surface of the river in the fitful wind. The sky began to clear, and the sun sank into the roiling clouds, staining them an angry red. Garion went up on deck to wrestle alone with his troubled conscience.
After a while he heard a light step behind him. “I suppose you’re proud of yourself?” Ce’Nedra asked acidly.
“Leave me alone.”
“I don’t think so. I think I want to tell you just exactly how we all felt about your little speech this morning.”
“I don’t want to hear about it.”
“That’s too bad. I’m going to tell you anyway.”
“I won’t listen.”
“Oh yes, you will,” She took him by the arm and turned him around. Her eyes were blazing and her tiny face filled with a huge anger. “What you did was absolutely inexcusable,” she said. “Your Aunt raised you from a baby. She’s been a mother to you.”
“My mother’s dead.”
“The Lady Polgara’s the only mother you ever knew, and what did you give her for thanks? You called her a monster. You accused her of not caring.”