Belgarath the Sorcerer by David Eddings Read Free Book Online

have known thee at once.’
    â€˜Don’t do that!’ he said irritably. ‘I require no obeisance. I am not my brother, Torak. Rise to thy feet, Belgarath. Stand up, boy. Thine action is unseemly.’
    I scrambled up fearfully and clenched myself for the sudden shock of lightning. Gods, as all men knew, could destroy at their whim those who displeased them. That was a quaint notion of the time. I’ve met a few Gods since then, and I know better now. In many respects, they’re even more circumscribed than we are.
    â€˜And what dost thou propose to do with thy life now, Belgarath?’ he asked. That was my Master for you. He always asked questions that stretched out endlessly before me.
    â€˜I would stay and serve thee, Master,’ I said, as humbly as I could.
    â€˜I require no service,’ he said. ‘These past few years have been for thy benefit. In truth, Belgarath, what canst thou do for me ?’
    That was a deflating sort of thing to say - true, probably, but deflating all the same. ‘May I not stay and worship thee, Master?’ I pleaded. At that time I’d never met a God before, so I was uncertain about the proprieties. All I knew was that I would die if he sent me away.
    He shrugged. You can cut a man’s heart out with a shrug, did you know that? ‘I do not require thy worship either, Belgarath,’ he said indifferently.
    â€˜May I not stay, Master?’ I pleaded with actual tears standing in my eyes. He was breaking my heart! - quite deliberately, of course. ‘I would be thy disciple and learn from thee.’
    â€˜The desire to learn does thee credit,’ he said, ‘but it will not be easy, Belgarath.’
    â€˜I am quick to learn, Master,’ I boasted, glossing over the fact that it had taken me five years to learn his first lesson.‘I shall make thee proud of me.’ I actually meant that.
    And then he laughed, and my heart soared, even as it had when that old vagabond in the rickety cart had laughed. I had a few suspicions at that point. ‘Very well, then, Belgarath,’ he relented. ‘I shall accept thee as my pupil.’
    â€˜And thy disciple also, Master?’
    â€˜That we will see in the fullness of time, Belgarath.’
    And then, because I was still very young and much impressed with my recent accomplishment, I turned to a winter-dried bush and spoke to it fervently. ‘Bloom,’ I said, and the bush quite suddenly produced a single flower. It wasn’t much of a flower, I’ll admit, but it was the best that I could do at the time. I was still fairly new at this. I plucked it and offered it to him. ‘For thee, Master,’ I said, ‘because I love thee.’ I don’t believe I’d ever used the word ‘love’ before, and it’s become the center of my whole life. Isn’t it odd how we make these simple little discoveries?
    And he took my crooked little flower and held it between his hands. ‘I thank thee, my son,’ he said. It was the first time he’d ever called me that. ‘And this flower shall be thy first lesson. I would have thee examine it most carefully and tell me all that thou canst perceive of it. Set aside thine axe and thy broom, Belgarath. This flower is now thy task.’
    And that task took me twenty years, as I recall. Each time I came to my Master with the flower that never wilted nor faded - how I grew to hate that flower! - and told him what I’d learned, he would say, ‘Is that all , my son?’ And, crushed, I’d go back to my study of that silly little flower.
    In time my distaste for it grew less. The more I studied it, the better I came to know it, and I eventually grew fond of it.
    Then one day my Master suggested that I might learn more about it if I burned it and studied its ashes. I indignantly refused.
    â€˜And why not, my son?’ he asked me.
    â€˜Because it is dear to me, Master,’ I said in