Faith of the Fallen

by Terry Goodkind

  Alessandra laid a compassionate hand on Ann’s arm. “You brought me back from the Keeper, back into the Light of the Creator. I was in Jagang’s hands, and treated you terribly when they captured you, yet you never gave up on me. Who else would have cared? Without you, my soul would be lost for all time. I doubt you could fathom my gratitude for what you did, Prelate.”

  Despite Alessandra’s apparent return to the Creator’s Light, Ann had been fooled by the woman before. Years before, Alessandra had turned to the Keeper, becoming a Sister of the Dark, and Ann had never known. How could one have faith in a person after such a betrayal?

  Ann looked up into Alessandra’s eyes. “I hope so, Sister. I pray such is really true.”

  “It is, Prelate.”

  Ann lifted a hand toward the shrouded sun. “And perhaps when I go to the Creator’s Light in the next world, that one good act will erase the thousands of lives lost because of me?”

  Alessandra looked away, rubbing her arms through the layers of clothes. She turned and put two sticks of wood on the fire.

  “We should have a hot meal. That will make you feel better, Prelate. It will make us both feel better.”

  Ann sat on the ground watching Alessandra prepare her hearty camp soup. Ann doubted that even the pleasant aroma of soup would arouse her appetite.

  “Why do you think Nicci took Richard?” Alessandra asked as she put dried mushrooms from a pouch into the soup.

  Ann looked up at Alessandra’s puzzled face. “I can’t imagine, except to think that she may be lying, and she is taking him to Jagang.”

  Alessandra broke up dried meat and dropped it into the boiling pot of soup. “Why? If she had him, and he was forced to do as she asked—why lie? What would be the purpose?”

  “She’s a Sister devoted to the Keeper.” Ann lifted her hands and let them flop back into her lap. “That’s excuse enough to lie, isn’t it? Lying is wrong. It’s wicked. That’s reason enough.”

  Alessandra shook her head in admonition. “Prelate, I was a Sister of the Dark. Remember? I know better. That isn’t the way it is at all. Do you always tell the truth just because you are devoted to the Creator’s Light? No; one lies for the Keeper just as you would lie for the Creator—to His ends, if lying is necessary. Why would Nicci lie about that? She was in control of the situation and had no need to lie.”

  “I can’t imagine.” Ann had difficulty caring enough to consider the question. Her mind was in a morass of hopeless thoughts. It was her fault Richard was in the hands of the enemy, not Nicci’s.

  “I think she did it for herself.”

  Ann looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “I think Nicci is still looking for something.”

  “Looking for something? What ever do you mean?”

  With a finger, Alessandra brushed a measure of spices into the pot from a waxed paper she’d unfolded. “Ever since the first day I took her from her home and brought her to the Palace of the Prophets, Nicci continually grew more…detached, somehow. She always did whatever she could to help people, but she was always a child who made me feel as if I was inadequate at fulfilling her needs.”

  “Such as?”

  Alessandra shook her head. “I don’t know. She always seemed to me to be looking for something. I thought she needed to find the Light of the Creator. I pushed her mercilessly, hoping it would open her eyes to His way and fill her inner need. I allowed her no room to think about anything else. I even kept her away from her family. Her father was a selfish lover of money and her mother…well, her mother was well intentioned, but always made me feel uncomfortable. I thought the Creator would fill that private void within Nicci.” Alessandra hesitated. “And then I thought it was the Keeper she needed.”

  “So, you think she took Richard to fill some…inner need? How does that make sense?”

  “I don’t know.” Alessandra breathed out heavily in frustration. She stirred the soup as she drizzled in a pinch of salt. “Prelate, I think I failed Nicci.”

  “In what way?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps I failed to involve her adequately in the needs of others—gave her too much time to think of herself. She always seemed devoted to the welfare of her fellow man, but maybe I should have rubbed her nose in other people’s troubles more, to teach her the Creator’s way of virtue through caring more for her fellow man rather than her own selfish wants.”

  “Sister, I hardly think that could be it. Once she asked me for an extravagant black dress to wear to her mother’s funeral, and of course I refused such a profligacy because it was unfitting for a novice needing to learn to put others first, but other than that one time, I never knew Nicci to once ask for anything for herself. You did an admirable job with her, Alessandra.”

  Ann recalled that, after that, Nicci started wearing black dresses.

  “I remember that.” Alessandra didn’t look up. “When her father died, I went with her to his funeral. I always felt sorry for taking her away from her family, but I explained to her that she was so talented that she had great potential for helping others and must not waste it.”

  “It’s always hard to bring young ones to the palace. It’s difficult to part a child from loving parents. Some adapt better than others.”

  “She told me she understood. Nicci was always good that way. She never objected to anything, any duty. Perhaps I assumed too much because she always threw herself into helping others, never once complaining.

  “At her father’s funeral, I wanted to help her over her grief. Even though she had that same cool exterior she always had, I knew her, I knew she was hurting inside. I tried to comfort her by telling her not to remember her father like that, but to try to remember him as he was when he was alive.”

  “Those are kind words to one in such grief, Sister. You offered wise advise.”

  Alessandra glanced up. “She was not comforted, Prelate. She looked at me with those blue eyes of hers—you remember her blue eyes.”

  Ann nodded. “I remember.”

  “Well, she looked at me with those piercing blue eyes, like she wanted to hate me, but even that emotion was beyond her, and she said in that lifeless voice of hers that she couldn’t remember him as he was when he was alive, because she had never known him when he was alive. Isn’t that the strangest thing you’ve ever heard?”

  Ann sighed. “It sounds like Nicci. She always was one to say the strangest things at the strangest times. I should have offered her more guidance in her life. I should have taken more interest in her…but there were so many matters needing my attention.”

  “No, Prelate, that was my job. I failed in it. Somehow, I failed Nicci.”

  Ann pulled her cloak tighter against a bitter gust of wind. She took the bowl of soup when Alessandra handed it to her.

  “Worse, Prelate, I brought her to the shadow of the Keeper.”

  Ann looked over the rim of the bowl as she took a sip. She carefully set the steaming bowl in her lap.

  “What’s done is done, Alessandra.”

  While Alessandra sipped at her soup, Ann’s mind wandered to Kahlan’s words. They were words spoken in anger, and as such, were to be forgiven. Or were they to be considered in an honest light?

  Ann feared to say Kahlan’s words were wrong; she feared they were true. For centuries Ann had worked with Nathan and the prophecies, trying to avoid the disasters she saw, and the ones he pointed out to her. What if Nathan had been pointing out things that were only dead words, as Kahlan said? What if he only pointed them out so as to bring about his own escape?

  After all, what Ann had set in motion with Richard had also resulted in the prophet’s escape. What if she had been duped into being the one to bring about all those terrible results?

  Could that be true? Grief threatened to overwhelm her.

  She was beginning to greatly fear that she had been so absorbed in what she thought she knew that she had acted on false assumptions.

  Kahlan could be right. The Prelate of the Si
sters of the Light might be personally responsible for more suffering than any monster born into the world had ever brought about.

  “Alessandra,” Ann said in a soft voice after she finished her bowl of soup, “we must go and try to find Nathan. It’s dangerous for the prophet to be out there, in the world that is defenseless against him.”

  “Where would we look?”

  Ann shook her head in dismay at the enormity of the task. “A man like Nathan does not go unnoticed in the world. I must believe that if we set our minds to it, we could find him.”

  Alessandra watched Ann’s face. “Well, as you say, it is dangerous for the prophet to be loose in the world.”

  “It is indeed. We must find him.”

  “It took Verna twenty years to find Richard.”

  “So it did. But part of that was by my design. I hid facts from Verna. Then again, Nathan is no doubt hiding facts from us. Nonetheless, we have a responsibility. Verna is with the Sisters, and with the army; they will do what they can in that capacity. We must go after Nathan. That part of it is up to us.”

  Alessandra set her bowl aside. “Prelate, I understand why you believe the prophet must be found, but, just as you feel you must find him, I feel I must find Nicci. I’m responsible for bringing her to the Keeper of the underworld. I may be the only one who can bring her back to the Light. I have a unique understanding of that journey of the heart. I fear what will happen to Richard if I don’t try to stop Nicci.

  “Worse,” Alessandra added, “I fear what will happen to the world if Richard dies. Kahlan is wrong. I believe in what you’ve worked for all these years. Kahlan is making a complex thing sound simple because her heart is broken, but without what you did, she would never even have met Richard.”

  Ann considered Alessandra’s words. The seduction of acquittal was undeniable.

  “But, Alessandra, we don’t have the slightest idea where they went. Nicci is as smart as they come. If, as she says, she is acting on her own behalf, she will be clever about not being found. How would you even go about such a search?

  “Nathan is a prophet loose in the world. You remember the trouble he’s caused in the past. He could, by himself, bring about such calamity as the world has never seen. Nathan boasts when he’s around people; he will surely leave such traces where he goes. With Nathan, I believe we at least have a chance of success. But hunting for Nicci…”

  Alessandra met Ann’s gaze with grim resolution. “Prelate, if Richard dies, what chance have the rest of us?”

  Ann looked away. What if Alessandra was right? What if Kahlan was right? She had to catch Nathan; it was the only way to find out.

  “Alessandra…”

  “You don’t completely trust me, do you, Prelate?”

  Ann met the other woman’s eyes, this time with authority. “No, Alessandra, I admit that I don’t. How can I? You deceived me. You lied to me. You turned your back on the Creator and gave yourself to the Keeper of the underworld.”

  “But I’ve come back to the Light, Prelate.”

  “Have you? Would not one acting for the Keeper lie for him, as you yourself only moments ago suggested?”

  Alessandra’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s why I must try to find Nicci, Prelate. I must prove that your faith in me was not misplaced. I need to do this to prove myself to you.”

  “Or, you need to help Nicci, and the Keeper?”

  “I know I’m not worthy of trust. I know that. You said we must find Nathan—but we must also help Richard.”

  “Two tasks of the utmost importance,” Ann said, “and no journey book to call for help.”

  Alessandra wiped at her eyes. “Please, Prelate, let me help. I’m responsible for Nicci going to the Keeper. Let me try to make amends. Let me try to bring her back. I know what the return journey is like. I can help her. Please, let me try to save her eternal soul?”

  Ann’s gaze sank to the ground. Who was she to question the value of another? What had her life been for? Had she herself been the Keeper’s best ally?

  Ann cleared her throat. “Sister Alessandra, you are to listen to me and you are to listen well. I am the Prelate of the Sisters of the Light and it is your duty to do as I command.” Ann shook a finger at the woman. “I’ll have no arguments, do you hear? I must go find the prophet before he does something beyond foolish.

  “Richard is of utmost importance to our cause—you know that. I’m getting old and would only slow the search for him and his captor. I want you to go after him. No arguments, now. You are to find Richard Rahl, and put the fear of the Creator back into our wayward Sister Nicci.”

  Alessandra threw her arms around Ann, sobbing her thanks. Ann patted the Sister’s back, feeling miserable about losing a companion, and afraid that she might have lost her faith in everything for which she stood.

  Alessandra pushed away. “Prelate, will you be able to travel alone? Are you sure you’re up to this?”

  “Bah. I may be old, but I’m not useless. Who do you think came into the center of Jagang’s army and rescued you, child?”

  Alessandra smiled through her tears. “You did, Prelate, all by yourself. No one but you could have done such a thing. I hope I can do half as well for Nicci, when I find her.”

  “You will, Sister. You will. May the Creator cradle you in His palm as you go on your journey.”

  Ann knew that they were both going off on difficult journeys that could take years.

  “Hard times lie ahead,” Alessandra said. “But the Creator has two hands, does He not? One for me, and one for you, Prelate.”

  Ann couldn’t help but smile at such a mental picture.

  Chapter 29

  “Come in,” Zedd grouched to the persistent throat-clearing outside his tent.

  He poured water from the ewer into the dented metal pot that served as his washbasin sitting atop a log round. When he splashed some of the water up onto his face, he gasped aloud. He was astonished that water that cold would still pour.

  “Good morning, Zedd.”

  Still gasping, Zedd swiped the frigid water from his eyes. He squinted at Warren. “Good morning, my boy.”

  Warren blushed. Zedd reminded himself he probably shouldn’t call someone twice his own age “boy.” It was Warren’s own fault; if the boy would just stop looking so young! Zedd sighed as he bent to forage for a towel among the litter of maps, dirty plates, rusty dividers, empty mugs, blankets, chicken bones, rope, an egg he’d lost in the middle of a lesson weeks back, and other paraphernalia that seemed to collect over time in the corner of his small field tent.

  Warren was twisting his purple robes into a small wad at his hip. “I just came from Verna’s tent.”

  Zedd halted his search and looked back over his shoulder.

  “Any word?”

  Warren shook his head of curly blond hair. “Sorry, Zedd.”

  “Well,” Zedd scoffed, “that doesn’t mean anything. That old woman has more lives than a cat I once had that was hit by lightning and fell down a well, both in the same day. Did I ever tell you about that cat, my boy?”

  “Well, yes, you did, actually.” Warren smiled. “But if you like, I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

  Zedd dismissed the story with a feeble wave as he turned more serious. “I’m sure Ann is fine. Verna knows Ann better than I do, but I do know that that old woman is downright hard to harm.”

  “Verna said something like that.” Warren smiled to himself. “Ann always could scowl a thunderstorm back over the horizon.”

  Zedd grunted his agreement as he went back to digging through his pile. “Tougher than bad meat, she is.” He tossed two outdated maps over his shoulder.

  Warren leaned down a little. “What is it you’re looking for, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “My towel. I know I had—”

  “Right there,” Warren said.

  Zedd looked up. “What?”

  “Your towel.” Warren pointed again. “Right there on the back of the chair.
”

  “Oh.” Zedd snatched up the wandering towel and dried his dry face. He scowled at Warren. “You have the eyes of a burglar.” He tossed the towel in the pile with everything else, where it belonged.

  Warren’s grin returned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Zedd cocked his head. “Do you hear that?”

  Warren’s grin melted away as he joined Zedd in listening to the sounds outside. Horses clogged along the hard ground, men talked as they passed the tent, others called orders, fires crackled, wagons squeaked, and gear clanged and rattled.

  “Hear what?”

  Zedd’s face twisted in vague unease. “I don’t know. Like, maybe a whistle.”

  Warren lifted a thumb over his shoulder. “The men whistle now and again, to get the attention of their horses and such. Sometimes it’s necessary.”

  They all did their best to keep the whistling and other noise down. Whistles, especially, carried in such open terrain. It was hard to miss something the size of the D’Harans’ encampment, of course, so they moved camp from time to time to keep the enemy from getting too confident about their location. Sound could give away more than they would like.

  Zedd shook his head. “Must have been that. Someone’s long whistle.”

  “But still, Zedd,” Warren went on, “it’s long past time when Ann would have sent Verna a message.”

  “There were times when I was with Ann that she couldn’t send messages.” Zedd waved an arm expansively. “Bags, there was a time when I wouldn’t let her use that confounded journey book. The thing gave me the shivers. I don’t know why she couldn’t just send letters, like normal people.” His face, he knew, was betraying his concern. “Confounded journey books. Lazy way of doing things. I got to be First Wizard and I never needed a journey book.”

  “She could have lost it. That’s what Verna suggested, anyway.”

  Zedd held up a finger. “That’s right. She very well could have. It’s small—it could have fallen from her belt and she didn’t notice until she and Alessandra made camp. She’d never find the book in a circumstance like that.” He shook the finger. “Makes my point, too. You shouldn’t depend on little trick things of magic, like that. It just makes you lazy.”