Guardians of the West

Errand looked at him, puzzled.

"Didn't you know that one of us watches you every time you leave the cottage?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

"You do remember Zedar, don't you?"

Errand sighed sadly. "Yes," he said.

"Don't waste your sympathy on him," Beldin said. "He got exactly what he deserved."

"Nobody deserves that."

Beldin gave a snort of ugly laughter. "He's lucky that it was Belgarath who caught up with him. If it had been me, I'd have done a lot more than just seal him up inside solid rock. But that's beside the point. You remember why Zedar found you and took you with him?"

"To steal the Orb of Aldur."

"Right. So far as we know, you're the only person beside Belgarion who can touch the Orb and keep on living. Other people know that, too, so you might as well get used to the idea of being watched. We are not going to let you wander around alone where somebody might get his hands on you. Now, you didn't answer my question."

"Which question?"

"What are you doing all the way down in this part of the Vale?"

"There's something I need to see."

"What's that?"

"I don't know. It's up ahead somewhere. What is it that's off in that direction?"

"There's nothing out there but the tree."

"That must be it, then. It wants to see me."

"See?"

"Maybe that's the wrong word."

Beldin scowled at him. "Are you sure it's the tree?"

"No. Not really. All I know is that something in that direction has been-" Errand hesitated. "I want to say inviting me to come by. Would that be the proper word?"

"It's talking to you, not me. Pick any word you like. All right, let's go then."

"Would you like to ride?" Errand offered. "Horse can carry us both."

"Haven't you given him a name yet?"

"Horse is good enough. He doesn't seem to feel that he needs one. Would you like to ride?"

"Why would I want to ride when I can fly?"

Errand felt a sudden curiosity. "What's it like?" he asked. "Flying, I mean?"

Beldin's eyes suddenly changed, to become distant and almost soft. "You couldn't even begin to imagine," he said. "Just keep your eyes on me. When I get over the tree, I'll circle to show you where it is." He stooped in the tall grass, curved out his arms, and gave a strong leap. As he rose into the air, he shimmered into feathers and swooped away.

The tree stood in solitary immensity in the middle of a broad meadow, its trunk larger than a house, its wide-spread branches shading entire acres, and its crown rising hundreds of feet into the air. It was incredibly ancient. Its roots reached down almost into the very heart of the world, and its branches touched the sky. It stood alone and silent, as if forming a link between earth and sky, a link whose purpose was beyond the understanding of man.

As Errand rode up to the vast shaded area beneath the tree's shelter, Beldin swooped in, hovered, and dropped, almost seeming to stumble into his natural form. "All right," he growled, "there it is. Now what?"

"I'm not sure." Errand slid down off the horse's back and walked across the soft, springy turf toward the immense trunk. The sense of the tree's awareness was very strong now, and Errand approached it curiously, still unable to determine exactly what it wanted with him.

Then he put out his hand and touched the rough bark; in the instant that he touched it, he understood. He quite suddenly knew the whole of the tree's existence. He found that he could look back over a million million mornings to the time when the world had just emerged out of the elemental chaos from which the Gods had formed it. All at once, he knew of the incredible length of time that the earth had rolled in silence, awaiting the coming of man. He saw the endless turning of the seasons and felt the footsteps of the Gods upon the earth. And even as the tree knew, Errand came to know the fallacy which lay behind man's conception of the nature of time. Man needed to compartmentalize time, to break it into manageable pieces -eons, centuries, years, and hours.

This eternal tree, however, understood that time was all one piece -that it was not merely an endless repetition of the same events, but rather that it moved from its beginning toward a final goal. All of that convenient segmenting which men used to make time more manageable had no real meaning. It was to tell him this simple truth that the tree had summoned him here. As he grasped that fact, the tree acknowledged him in friendship and affection.

Slowly Errand let his fingertips slide from the bark, then turned, and walked back to where Beldin stood.

"That's it?" the hunchbacked sorcerer asked. "That's all it wanted?"

"Yes. That's all. We can go back now."

Beldin gave him a penetrating look. "What did it say?"

"lt's not the kind of thing you can put into words."

"Try."

Well -it was sort of saying that we pay too much attention to years."

"That's enormously helpful, Errand."

Errand struggled with it, trying to formulate words that would express what he had just learned. "Things happen in their own time," he said finally, "It doesn't make any difference how many -or few- of what we call years come between things."

"What things are we talking about?"

"The important ones. Do you really have to follow me all the way home?"

"I need to keep an eye on you. That's about all. Are you going back now?"

"Yes."

"I'll be up there." Beldin made a gesture toward the arching blue dome of the sky. He shuddered into the form of a hawk and drove himself into the air with strong thrusts of his wings.

Errand pulled himself up onto the chestnut stallion's back. His pensive mood was somehow communicated to the animal; instead of a gallop, the horse turned and walked north, back toward the cottage nestling in its valley.

The boy considered the message of the eternal tree as he rode slowly through the golden, sun-drenched grass and, all lost in thought, he paid but little attention to his surroundings. It was thus that he was not actually aware of the robed and hooded figure standing beneath a broad-spread pine until he was almost on top of it. It was the horse that warned him with a startled snort as the figure made a slight move.

"And so thou art the one," it snarled in a voice which seemed scarcely human.

Errand calmed the horse with a reassuring hand on its quivering neck and looked at the dark figure before him. He could feel the waves of hatred emanating from that shadowy shape and he knew that, of all the things he had ever encountered, this was the thing he should most fear. Yet, surprising even himself, he remained calm and unafraid.