“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?”
“She sought alliance with Torak,” Maas said. “She thought to trade Belgarion to the Accursed One in exchange for the immortality his embrace would bestow upon her.”
“His embrace? My priestess would submit to the foul embrace of my mad brother?”
“Willingly, Lord,” Maas said. “It is her nature to seek the embrace of any man or God or beast who passes.”
A look of repugnance flickered across Issa’s stony face. “Has it always been so?” he asked.
“Always, Lord,” Maas said. “The potion which maintains her youth and semblance to thy beloved sets her veins afire with lust. That fire remains unquenched until she dies. Let me go, Lord. The pain!”
“Sleep, Maas,” Issa granted sorrowfully. “Take my thanks with you down into silent death.”
“Ahhh—” Maas sighed and sank down again.
“I too will return to slumber,” Issa said. “I must not remain, lest my presence rouse Torak to that war which would unmake the world.” The great statue stepped back to the spot where it had stood for thousands of years. The deafening creak and groan of flexing rock again filled the huge chamber. “Deal with this woman as it pleases thee, Polgara,” the stone God said. “Only spare her life out of remembrance of my beloved.”
“I will, Lord Issa,” Aunt Pol said, bowing to the statue.
“And carry my love to my brother, Aldur,” the hollow voice said, fading even as it spoke.
“Sleep, Lord,” Aunt Pol said. “May thy slumber wash away thy grief.”
“No!” Salmissra wailed, but the green fire had already died in the statue’s eyes, and the jewel on her crown flickered and went dark.
“It’s time, Salmissra,” Aunt Pol, vast and terrible, announced.
“Don’t kill me, Polgara,” the queen begged, falling to her knees. “Please don’t kill me.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Salmissra,” Aunt Pol told her. “I promised Lord Issa that I would spare your life.”
“I didn’t make any such promise,” Barak said from the doorway. Garion looked sharply at his huge friend, dwarfed now by Aunt Pol’s immensity. The bear was gone, and in its place the big Cherek stood, sword in hand.
“No, Barak. I’m going to solve the problem of Salmissra once and for all.” Aunt Pol turned back to the groveling queen. “You will live, Salmissra. You’ll live for a very long time—eternally, perhaps.”
An impossible hope dawned in Salmissra’s eyes. Slowly she rose to her feet and looked up at the huge figure rising above her. “Eternally, Polgara?” she asked.
“But I must change you,” Aunt Pol said. “The poison you’ve drunk to keep you young and beautiful is slowly killing you. Even now its traces are beginning to show on your face.”
The queen’s hands flew to her cheeks, and she turned quickly to look into her mirror.
“You’re decaying, Salmissra,” Aunt Pol said. “Soon you’ll be ugly and old. The lust which fills you will burn itself out, and you’ll die. Your blood’s too warm; that’s the whole problem.”
“But how—” Salmissra faltered.
“A little change,” Aunt Pol assured her. “Just a small one, and you’ll live forever.” Garion could feel the force of her will gathering itself. “I will make you eternal, Salmissra.” She raised her hand and spoke a single word. The terrible force of that word shook Garion like a leaf in the wind.
At first nothing seemed to happen. Salmissra stood fixed with her pale nakedness gleaming through her gown. Then the strange mottling grew more pronounced, and her thighs pressed tightly together. Her face began to shift, to grow more pointed. Her lips disappeared as her mouth spread, and its corners slid up into a fixed reptilian grin.
Garion watched in horror, unable to take his eyes off the queen. Her gown slid away as her shoulders disappeared and her arms adhered to her sides. Her body began to elongate, and her legs, grown completely together now, began to loop into coils. Her lustrous hair disappeared, and the last vestiges of humanity faded from her face. Her golden crown, however, remained firmly upon her head. Her tongue flickered as she sank down into the mass of her loops and coils. The hood upon her neck spread as she looked with flat, dead eyes at Aunt Pol, who had somehow during the queen’s transformation resumed her normal size.
“Ascend your throne, Salmissra,” Aunt Pol said.
The queen’s head remained immobile, but her coils looped and mounted the cushioned divan, and the sound of coil against coil was a dry, dusty rasp.
Aunt Pol turned to Sadi the eunuch. “Behold the Handmaiden of Issa, the queen of the snake-people, whose dominion shall endure until the end of days, for she is immortal now and will reign in Nyissa forever.”
Sadi’s face was ghastly pale, and his eyes bulged wildly. He swallowed hard and nodded.
“I’ll leave you with your queen, then,” she told him. “I’d prefer to go peacefully, but one way or another, the boy and I are leaving.”
“I’ll send word ahead,” Sadi agreed quickly. “No one will try to bar your way.”
“Wise decision,” Barak said dryly.
“All hail the Serpent Queen of Nyissa,” one of the crimson-robed eunuchs pronounced in a shaking voice, sinking to his knees before the dais.
“Praise her,” the others responded ritualistically, also kneeling. “Her glory is revealed to us.”
“Worship her.”
Garion glanced back once as he followed Aunt Pol toward the shattered door. Salmissra lay upon her throne with her mottled coils redundantly piled and her hooded head turned toward the mirror. The golden crown sat atop her head, and her flat, serpent eyes regarded her reflection in the glass. There was no expression on her reptile face, so it was impossible to know what she was thinking.