The Treasured One. David Eddings
They all tell me that she’s been asking a lot of questions – most of them about me. You don’t suppose she’ll just turn around and go on back home again, do you? She didn’t even tell me the name of the village where she lives. How in the world am I ever going to find her again?’
‘I wouldn’t really worry too much about that, Omago. She isn’t going anywhere.’
‘How do you know that for sure?’
Veltan grinned broadly, but he didn’t answer.
‘I think its time for us to do something about this, Omago,’ that vibrant voice said quite firmly.
Omago dropped his hoe and spun around. ‘Where have you been, Ara?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you.’
‘Yes, I know. Neither one of us is going to get anything done until we settle this. My name is Ara, I’m sixteen years old, and I want you.’
Omago almost choked. ‘Is everybody in your village this blunt, Ara?’ he asked her.
‘Probably not,’ she replied, ‘but I hate to waste time. Are you interested?’
‘I can’t really think about anything else,’ he confessed.
‘Good. Is there anything we have to go through before I come to live with you?’
‘I’m not really sure. I’ve never been very curious about this sort of thing before.’
‘That’s nice,’ she said with a sly little smile. ‘Let’s go talk with Veltan. If there’s supposed to be a ceremony of some kind, let’s get it out of the way. I’ll need some time to prepare supper for you.’
And so it was that Omago and Ara were wed that spring, and Omago’s life wasn’t ever the same after that. He never actually found out very much about her, but as the seasons passed that became less and less relevant. The wonderful smells coming from her kitchen seemed to put his curiosity to sleep, but they definitely woke up his appetite.
It was on a blustery spring night about ten years after the joining of Omago and Ara when Veltan came to the door. It seemed to Omago that his friend was almost in a state of panic. ‘I need help,’ he said desperately.
‘What’s the problem?’ Omago asked.
‘This is,’ Veltan replied, holding out a fur-wrapped bundle. ‘My big brother came by and foisted this off on me, and I haven’t the faintest idea of what I’m supposed to do about it.’ He turned back a corner of the robe to reveal a very small infant. ‘I think he’s going to need food, and I don’t know the first thing about that.’
Ara firmly took the baby away from the distraught god and cuddled it to her. ‘I’ll take care of him, Veltan,’ she told him.
‘He doesn’t seem to have any teeth, Ara,’ Veltan said. ‘How can he eat without teeth?’
‘I’ll take care of him,’ she said again. ‘There are several women nearby who are nursing. I’m sure I can persuade them to feed your little boy.’
‘Nursing?’ Veltan asked curiously. ‘What’s nursing?’
‘Oh, dear,’ Ara said, rolling her eyes upward. ‘Just go back home, Veltan. I’ll see to everything.’
‘Are they always this small?’ Veltan asked. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen one at this stage before.’
‘Just go home, dear Veltan. Everything will be just fine.’
‘I feel like such an idiot,’ Veltan confessed. ‘My brother knocked on my door, told me that this little boy would be one of the Dreamers, and then he left without saying very much more. I’ve never really paid much attention to infants, so I don’t know the first thing about them. He will grow some teeth before very much longer, won’t he?’
‘He’ll be just fine, Veltan. Go home – now.’ Ara imperiously pointed at the door.
Omago didn’t get too much sleep for the next month or so. Babies tend to be very noisy, he discovered, and Veltan seemed to be underfoot every time Omago turned around. It occurred to him that it was probably time to add a room to his cottage – or maybe two or three. He began mixing clay and straw to make the sundried bricks that were customary here in Veltan’s Domain. He realized that he was going to have to extend the roof, but that wouldn’t be too much of a problem. He had fairly extensive wheat fields to the west and south of his orchard, so he’d have plenty of straw for thatching after harvest-time.
Veltan conferred with Ara, and between them they decided that Yaltar might be an appropriate name for the young Dreamer. Omago wasn’t really sure just exactly where the term ‘Dreamer’ had originated, but he had too many other things on his mind just then to sit around brooding about it.
Yaltar began toddling about Omago’s cottage when he was not even a year old, but he didn’t talk yet. It took Ara quite some time to explain this to Veltan. ‘Learning how to speak is probably the most important thing a baby does during his first few years,’ she told him.
‘I thought it was just there,’ Veltan protested. ‘Are you saying that every baby in the world has to learn how to talk?’
‘I’ve never heard of one who was born talking,’ Ara replied.
‘Birds seem to know how to peep and chirp without much help.’
‘The language of people is a little more complicated, dear Veltan,’ Ara reminded him. ‘I don’t think people could explain very much with peeps and chirps, do you?’
‘Well—’ Veltan seemed to be having a lot of problems with his little boy. ‘I don’t know why Dahlaine had to hand Yaltar to me before the boy could even function.’
‘Look upon it as a learning experience, Veltan. You’ll understand people much better after you’ve raised Yaltar from early childhood.’ Ara smiled slyly. ‘Won’t that be fun?’ she asked him.
‘I’m not having all that much fun right now.’
‘That’ll probably come later, dear Veltan. I wouldn’t hold my breath, though.’
When Yaltar was about three years old, Veltan began to take him up the hill to his stone house for several hours each day, but he still depended upon Ara to keep him clean and prepare the little boy’s meals.
‘Is it really necessary for him to eat so often?’ Veltan asked Omago’s wife one evening.
‘You eat light, don’t you?’ Ara asked him.
‘Well, I wouldn’t exactly say “eat”, Ara,’ Veltan replied.
‘All right, let’s say “absorb”, then. The sun’s up there in the sky for a good part of every day, so you’re soaking up light for much, much longer than Yaltar spends eating, aren’t you?’
‘I guess I hadn’t really thought of it that way,’ Veltan admitted.
‘You might want to consider cutting down on that, dear Veltan. If you keep absorbing light for so much of every day, you’ll start to get fat, and I don’t think the people of your Domain would like that very much. Nobody would take a fat god very seriously, you know.’
Veltan frowned slightly, and he absently ran his hand across his abdomen.
‘I’m just teasing, dear Veltan,’ Ara told him with a fond sort of smile. ‘If you start getting a bit portly, just stay out of direct sunlight for a little while.’ She glanced at Yaltar, who was vigorously concentrating on his supper. ‘Has he had any dreams yet?’ she asked very quietly.
‘Not that he’s mentioned,’