The Annals of Bel/Mal Tech

Chapter 11

Stories with Belgarath

Professor Hebbes stepped carefully over empty mugs and scattered playing cards as the music blared. He had a meeting with Miz Iz, but she was not in her office. The sole occupant of the untidy room was a dejected looking Poldra. She had her back to him, but he could see the tattered remains of a paisley scarf drooping sadly from one of her horns. Even by the loose standards of the mini-eldrak, she looked disheveled. Professor Hebbes had seen the mini-eldrakyn ecstatic, enthusiastic, and downright vicious, but he had never seen one in the depths of sorrow as Poldra appeared to be.

"Hebbie!" Miz Iz's voice came to him over the din. "Sorry I'm running late." She stopped for a moment and cocked her head to the side. "Is that Leonard Cohen?"she shouted at him, looking puzzled. Then she saw Poldra and her eyes widened.

"Poldra," she shouted, crossing the room to turn off the stereo. Poldra turned her head slightly to look at her, and cheeped disconsolately. Miz Iz picked her up and hugged her.

"Baby girl. You have got to get a hold of yourself. Look at you. It's pathetic." Miz Iz gently removed the remains of the scarf. "I heard you even let that Drasnian girl sneak up on Velvet. Not that Velvet couldn't handle it, but that kind of thing will damage your reputation. You are the toughest mini-eldrak in the place." Poldra made a disagreeing noise.

"Yes, you're right. Belding is scarier. But you just can't let yourself go like this. You need to get out and get some exercise. Wouldn't you like to play with Chamlar? He's got a girl who claims she's Salmissra and tried to poison Polgara." Poldra shook her head.

"I know what you need. We're going to go on an overnight to the Stronghold to deal with ghosts. Won't that be fun? . The mini-eldrak replied with a half-hearted shrug. Miz Iz gave her a gentle shake and set her on the floor. "You run down to the kitchen and get some bacon, luvy. And remember what we talked about. No more Leonard Cohen, no more Evanescence, and for goodness sake, no more Barry Manilow. I can't take 'Copacabana' one more time." She sighed as Poldra made her way out the door.

"What is wrong with her, Tiny? She's never been like this." Professor Hebbes asked, sitting down on the couch.

"It's the whole Gandlad thing, Hebbie. She took one look at his fiery self and that was it for her. Unfortunately, he seems to have a thing for the Goddess, and Poldra is in the depths of despair. The only good thing I can see about this is she's just about through the weepy stage. Next will come rage. Then she'll be back to normal. Would you believe I caught her in here, composing bad poetry and listening to Patsy Cline?"

Professor Hebbes shook his head sadly. "I never thought it of Poldra. She always seemed so independent."

"Love is a funny thing, Hebbie." Miz Iz said softly. Then she sat down behind the huge desk, moved a Twister mat out of the way, and picked up a file. "What do we need to deal with today?"

Tiffany was trying to grasp the intricacies of Angarak religious practices when Polamber came up behind her.

"Have you heard the latest, Tiff?" she asked, flopping into the chair beside her.

Tiffany groaned. "Not another rumor. What, this time we have to recite the Book of Alorn while swinging a sword from the back of a horse? We have to walk hundreds of miles with only one pair of shoes? Another celebrity teacher?"

"No, no, we are going on a field trip. To somewhere called the Stronghold. I don't know exactly when though. Heather didn't have that part. And guess what? Silk is going to be there."

"Polamber, I'm beginning to think Silk is a myth. We haven't seen him at all since we got here. And since Velvet got her hands on that Drasnian girl, well, I'd leave him alone if I were you. Have you seen her? I've seen rocks that were less determined than Velvet." Tiffany closed her Codex. "We'd better get going. We have Belgarath next class."

"At least we don't have to worry about him turning us into things. That pig from Polgara's first sorcery class is still running about. I saw two of the minis chasing her not long ago." Polamber shuddered.

Tiffany did not share her friend's confidence. "I think Belgarath may be the scariest of all."

They made their way to the lecture hall where they found seats near Zandara. "Where's Xynthie?" Tiffany asked her.

"Right up at the front of the class. She said she wasn't afraid of Belgarath because she'd always treated him with respect. And she muttered something about chocolate. I'm not sure." Zandara answered her.

"Dryads and chocolate." Tiffany shook her head. She went silent as Belgarath walked into the hall. Dressed in a ragged tunic, with mismatched shoes, he seemed friendly enough. But Tiffany was no longer trusting in 'seemed'.

"Welcome to Basic Storytelling" Belgarath began. His voice was cheerful and his eyes bright. "I've been waiting for this for quite a while. Now I know that most of you don't think that you need to pay attention, since you are all storytellers of one type or another. Right?" He looked out at the students kindly. There were some small chuckles and murmurs of agreement.

"WRONG!" Belgarath bellowed, his bemused face darkening and becoming full of threats. "In this room are some of the architects of the worst travesties ever told! And do you know why? Because you have no concept of how a story is told. Why a story is told. Characters, a plot, time lines, these mean nothing to you!" Tiffany was aware of a rumble of thunder, and was not sure if it came from inside the hall or out.

Belgarath began to pace across the lecture platform. "It took me a while to decide where to begin this course. However, you will now be in this class, every day, for as long as it takes. You may not be happy about it, but you will learn at least a modicum of the storyteller's craft. Any questions?" He whirled around, facing the class. There was silence.

"Fine. Now to begin. You!" His arm shot up, and pointed to a large Cherek boy in the front row. "Why do we tell stories?"

"For the honor and glory of Aloria, Ancient Belgarath!" The boy shouted, leaping to his feet. Belgarath looked at him with horror.

"Did they drop you on your head, boy?" he asked, scathingly. "What's your name?"

"Benarek of Cherek, Ancient One!" the boy shouted again. His long blond braids hung below his shoulders, and his leather jerkin smelled faintly rusty.

"Benarek. Right. The owner of the singing sword that put fear into the hearts of the thousands of Nissans you've slaughtered. Learn the name of the enemy first, boy. Oh, sit down." Belgarath muttered, dismissively. Looking around the class, he pointed to an Algar. For a moment Tiffany thought it was Cho-Ram, then realized this Algar wore his scalp lock on the other side of his head. He also looked like he could use a shave.

"Algars don't tell stories, Ancient One, we live them."The boy said, with a smirk.

Belgarath smiled back at the boy, and chuckled. "Of course. The quiet Algar. Name, boy?"

"Hardir"

"Hardir, the Bard of Algar." The boy's face fell. "The author of the horrible horse poem. Let's see how you like sleeping with the horses for a while, shall we." Belgarath rolled his eyes. "Alorns." he muttered.

Tiffany saw with horror that not only was Xynthie in the front row, but she was now raising a tentative hand.

"Yes?" Belgarath asked.

"We tell stories for fun, Ancient One." she said calmly.

"For fun?"

"Yes, for fun. At least I do. Or did, before I ended up in this place, shrunk down to half my normal size and . . . "

"Fine." Belgarath said, "I will accept that we tell stories for fun. For entertainment. Occasionally to instruct. But let's start out with these fun stories. Tell me, my dear, who gets to enjoy them?"

"Well, whoever reads them. Or hears them." Xynthie replied. "Mostly me, because I always thought that Eriond should have a girlfriend, because everyone else got paired up or married or engaged or something, but let me tell you, since I've been here..."

Belgarath cut her off again. "Xynthie, isn't it? Well, Xynthie, what would be the difference between a story you tell to yourself and one that you share with others?"

Xynthie looked puzzled. "I, I don't know, Ancient One." she said.

Belgarath looked at her. "Of course you don't." He sighed, and then his arm came up again. Tiffany was horrified to see him pointing at Polamber. "You!" he shouted.

Polamber paled. "I'm not sure."she stammered. "I would put all my friends in a story I was going to share, I guess."

"THE DIFFERENCE" Belgarath roared, "is that a story you tell to yourself is a daydream, and it doesn't matter what it is. What you tell to others, or expect them to read, is a story. A tale, a chronicle, a yarn, call it what you will. And in a story, it matters. There is an art to crafting a story. There are rules. Even if you only wish to tell tales as a hobby, each one should be created with at least an attempt at competence." As he thundered at the class, he resumed his pacing.

"A well-told story has three basic parts. Do you understand that? Three! Does anyone care to hazard a guess as to what they are?" His eye fell on a Mimbrate girl, her tall hat quivering.

"A plot, characters, and a setting?"she asked, looking terrified.

"Nice try, my dear. No, the basic parts of a tale are, a beginning, a middle and an end. Got that? Something happens in the beginning to start the story. During the middle, the problem, experience, whatever is dealt with. At the end, wrap it up. Three basic parts. Does everyone understand that?"

There were nods among the students, and some puzzled looks. Belgarath looked at a Drasnian girl who was raising her hand. "But Belgarath, whatever happens, just kind of happens. I mean, the middle is the middle, even if nothing is going on."

Belgarath smiled, and Tiffany realized for the first time, that she had seen that smile on Polgara's face during sorcery class. "And you are?" he asked the girl.

"Lallette." she answered him.

"Yes, I remember your finest effort, about shopping in Boktor, for the perfect dress. Didn't you realize that 14 chapters of you and your friends talking about Drasnian princes was a little much? You can help me demonstrate, my dear." Lallette found herself beside Belgarath.

"Class, this is the beginning." Lallette was suddenly transported to the ceiling of the hall. "Lallette is beginning to fall." Very slowly the girl started moving toward the floor. "Now," Belgarath continued, "Lallette is in the middle of her fall. She is falling. Something is happening." The dark-haired Drasnian started to speed up. "When she hits the floor," Belgarath went on, "the fall will be over. She may be injured, she may be dead. Whichever way it ends, it will be finished. Now do you understand?" His last word was punctuated by the thud of Lallette hitting the platform. No more hands were raised.

"Fine. For tomorrow's class, I want a list of 50 examples of beginning, middle and end. Don't make it complicated. Practice, people. Class dismissed." He stepped over the motionless form of Lallette, and left the room.

Tiffany looked at Polamber and Zandara. They both recognized the silence. Why had they ever thought that Belgarath was less ruthless than his daughter?