The Seeress of Kell

change tonight, so in a very real sense this is a special night. Tonight Polgara's going to get a baby of her very own. It may not mean all that much to the rest of the world, but I think it does to us."
    "It does indeed," Durnik said fervently. Then a thoughtful expression came into the good man's eyes. "I’ve been sort of working on something lately, Belgarath."
    "Yes. I’ve heard you."
    "Doesn't it seem to you that we're all sort of coming back to the places where we started? It's not exactly the same, of course, but things sort of feel familiar.”
    “I’ve been thinking sort of the same thing," Garion admitted. "I keep getting this strange feeling about it."
    "It's only natural for people to go home after they’ve been on a long journey, isn't it?" Belgarath said, kicking at a lump of snow with one foot.
    "I don't think it's that simple, Grandfather."
    "Neither do I," Durnik agreed. "This seems more important for some reason."
    Belgarath frowned. "I think it does to me, as well," he admitted. "I wish Beldin were here. He could explain it in a minute. Of course none of us would understand the explanation, but he'd explain it all the same." He scratched at his beard. “I’ve found something that might explain it," he said a bit dubiously.
    "What's that?" Durnik asked him.
    "Garion and I have had an extended conversation over the last year or so. He'd noticed that things kept happening over and over again. You probably heard us talking about it."
    Durnik nodded.
    "Between us, we came up with the notion that things kept repeating themselves because the accident made it impossible for the future to happen."
    "That makes sense, I guess."
    "Anyhow, that's changed now. Cyradis made her Choice, and the effects of the accident have been erased. The future can happen now."
    "Then why is everybody going back to the place where he started?" Garion asked.
    "It's only logical, Garion," Durnik told him quite seriously. "When you're starting something even the future you almost have to go back to the beginning, don't you?"
    "Why don't we just assume that's the explanation," Belgarath said. "Things got stopped. Now they're moving again, and everybody got what he deserved. We got the good things, and the other side got the bad ones. It sort of proves that we picked the right side, doesn't it?"
    Garion suddenly laughed.
    "What's so funny?" Durnik asked him.
    "Just before our baby was born, Ce'Nedra got a letter from Liselle. She's managed to push Silk into naming a day. It's probably what he deserves, all right, but I imagine his eyes get a little wild every time he thinks about it."
    "When's the wedding?" Durnik asked.
    "Next summer sometime. Liselle wants to be sure that everybody can be in Boktor to witness her triumph over our friend."
    "That's a spiteful thing to say, Garion," Durnik reproved.
    "It's probably the truth, though." Belgarath grinned. He reached inside his tunic and drew out an earthenware flagon. "A touch of something to ward off the chill?" he offered. "It's some of that potent UIgo brew."
    "Grandmother won't like that," Garion warned.
    "Your grandmother isn't here right now, Garion. She's a little busy at the moment.”
    The three of them stood atop the snowy hill looking down at the farmstead. The thatched roof was thick with snow, and icicles hung like glittering jewels from the eaves. The small panes of the windows glowed with golden lamplight that fell softly out over the gently mounded snow in the dooryard, and the ruddy glow from the forge where the menfolk had spent the afternoon boiling unneeded water came softly from the shed. A column of blue woodsmoke rose straight and unwavering from the chimney, reaching so high that it seemed almost to be lost among the stars.
    A peculiar sound filled Garion's ears, and it took him awhile to identify it. It was the Orb, and it was singing a song of unutterable longing.
    The silence seemed almost palpable now, and the glittering stars seemed to draw even closer to the snowy earth.
    And then from the cottage there came a single cry. It was an infant voice, and it was not filled with that indignation and discomfort so common in the cries of most newborns but rather with a kind of wonder and ineffable joy.
    A gentle blue light suddenly came from the Orb, and the longing in its note turned to joy.
    As the song of the Orb faded, Durnik drew in a deep breath. "Why don't we go down?" he said.
    "We'd better wait a bit," Belgarath suggested. "There's always some