The Elder Gods by David Eddings, Leigh Eddings Page A

frantic. Misty-Water was as impatient as he was to go through the ceremony of their joining, and
nobody
could take this long to bathe. Finally Longbow cast custom and tradition aside and ran out of the village along the path that led to the quiet pool in the forest. And when he reached it, his heart stopped.
    His mate-to-be, garbed all in white deerskin, was floating facedown in the still water of the pool
    Desperately Longbow rushed into the water, gathered her in his arms, and struggled back to the moss-covered edge of the pool. He laid her facedown on the moss and pressed her back as One-Who-Heals had instructed the young men of the tribe to do to revive a drowning victim, but despite everything Longbow tried to revive her, Misty-Water showed not the faintest sign of life.
    In agony Longbow raised his face and howled as all meaning faded from his life.
    When Longbow, insensible with grief, carried the still body of Misty-Water back to the village, Chief Old-Bear wept, but in time he sent for the shaman of the tribe, One-Who-Heals. “She could not have drowned, could she?” the sorrowing chief demanded. “She swam very well, and that pool in the forest is not deep.”
    “She was not drowned, Old-Bear,” One-Who-Heals replied grimly. “The marks on her throat are the marks of fangs. It was venom that took her life.”
    “There are no venomous snakes in this region,” Old-Bear protested.
    One-Who-Heals pointed at the marks on Misty-Water’s throat. “No snake of any size has fangs this large. It is my thought that these are the fang-marks of one of the servants of That-Called-the-Vlagh. There are many stories about the servants of the Vlagh. Old stories seldom have much truth to them, but it seems that the stories about the creatures of the Wasteland might well be true. It was That-Called-the-Vlagh that made them, and we are told that the Vlagh gave them venom so that they would need no weapons.”
    “Why would a servant of the Vlagh kill our beloved Misty-Water?” Old-Bear demanded in a voice filled with grief.
    “There are rumors in the air which tell us that That-Called-the-Vlagh grows restless and that it sends its servants out of the Wasteland into the coastal domains to watch us so that the Vlagh might come to know of our weaknesses. Those servants do not wish to be seen, I think, so they will most probably kill any of us who happen to see them, so that they may continue to watch us and to carry what they have seen back to the Vlagh.”
    “It might be well, then, if none of the servants of the Vlagh return to the Wasteland with this knowledge,” Old-Bear said grimly. “I will speak with my son Longbow of this. His grief may be a wellspring for eternal hatred, and I think That-Called-the-Vlagh may come to regret what its servants have done this day.”
    “Send him to me before he goes to the hunt, my chief,” One-Who-Heals suggested. “Let him grieve first, though. He’ll think more clearly after his grief has run its course, and while he grieves, I will use the time to gather more information about the servants of the Vlagh so that I can advise him of their peculiarities.”
    It was late in the winter of the following year when Old-Bear decided that it might well be time to take the still-grieving Longbow to the lodge of One-Who-Heals, for Longbow’s grief showed no signs of fading, and so he bleakly commanded his despairing son to accompany him.
    And so they trudged through the melting snow to the shaman’s lodge, and when they entered, One-Who-Heals opened a bundle of dried bones and spread them out upon a blanket for them to see. “Since little is known of the creatures of the Wasteland who serve That-Called-the-Vlagh, I thought it might be well if we had a dead one to examine, so that we might better understand its peculiarities,” he told them.
    “Where did you find this dead one?” Longbow asked in a flat, unemotional voice.
    “I didn’t really find it, Longbow. After the death of