Chainfire

by Terry Goodkind

  Ann shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  “Well, I can quote it. The copy we had back in the vaults, anyway. I went through this book, testing it against my memory.”

  For some reason, Ann’s stomach was churning with anxiety. She began to dread that the copy they had back in the vaults at the palace might have had fraudulent prophecy filling in what the original author had left blank. That was almost too overwhelming a deception to contemplate.

  “And what did you discover?” she asked.

  “That I can quote this original exactly. No more, no less.”

  Ann sighed in relief. “Nathan, that’s wonderful. That means that our copy wasn’t filled with fabricated prophecy. Why would you be troubled because you can’t remember blank places? They are blank, there is nothing there. There is nothing to remember.”

  “The copy we had back at the palace didn’t have any blank places.”

  Ann blinked as she thought back. “No, it didn’t. I remember it well.” She offered the prophet a warm smile. “But don’t you see? If you can quote this one, no more or no less, and you learned it from our copy, then that means that whoever made the copy simply pulled the text together rather than include the meaningless blank places left by the original prophet. The prophet probably left blank places as a provision in case he had any further visions about the prophecies and he needed to add to what he had already written. Apparently, he never had that need, so the blanks remain.”

  “I know that there were more pages in our copy.”

  “I’m not following you, then.”

  This time it was Nathan who threw up his hands. “Ann, don’t you see? Here, look at the book.” He turned it toward her. “Look at this next-to-last branch of prophecy. It’s one page and then six blank pages. Do you remember any branch of prophecy in our copy of The Glendhill Book of Deviation Theory that was only one page? No. None were this short. They were too complex. You know that there is more to the prophecy, I know there is more to the prophecy, but my mind is as blank as these pages. What was there is not only missing from the book, but it’s missing from my mind as well. Unless you can quote me the rest of the prophecy that you know should be there, then it’s missing from your mind as well.”

  “Nathan, that’s just not—I mean, I don’t see how…” Ann sputtered in confusion.

  “Here,” he said as he snatched a book from behind him. “Collected Origins. You must remember this.”

  Ann reverently lifted the book from his hands. “Oh, Nathan, of course I remember it. How could one forget such a short but beautiful book.”

  Collected Origins was an exceedingly rare prophecy in that it was written entirely in story form. Ann loved the story. She had a soft spot for romance, although she never admitted it to anyone. Since this tale of romance was actually a prophecy, that made it an official requirement that she be familiar with it.

  She smiled as she lifted open the cover of the small book.

  The pages were blank.

  All of them.

  “Tell me,” Nathan said in that quietly commanding, deep Rahl voice, “what is Collected Origins about?”

  Ann opened her mouth, but no words would come forth.

  “Tell me, then,” Nathan went on in that quietly powerful voice of his that seemed as if it could crack stone, “a single line of this beloved volume. Tell me who it is about. Tell me how it started, how it ended, or anything in the middle.”

  Her mind was stark naked blank.

  As she stared up into Nathan’s cutting gaze, he leaned a little closer. “Tell me one single thing you remember from this book.”

  “Nathan,” she finally managed to whisper, her own eyes wide, “you often used to keep this book in your rooms. You know it better than I do. What do you remember about Collected Origins?”

  “Not…one…thing.”

  Chapter 12

  Ann swallowed. “Nathan, how can we both not remember a book we love as much as we do this one? And why is it that the specific parts we both don’t remember correspond to the blank spots?”

  “Now, that is a very good question.”

  An idea suddenly hit her. She gasped in a breath. “A spell. It has to be that these books were spelled.”

  Nathan made a face. “What?”

  “Many books are spelled to protect the information. I’ve not encountered it with a book of prophecy but it’s common enough in books of instruction on magic. This place was designed with the intent of concealment. Perhaps that’s what is happening with the information protected here.”

  Such a spell would be activated when anyone but the right person with the required power opened it. Spells of that nature were sometimes even keyed to specific individuals. The usual method of protection if the wrong person saw the book was to erase from their memory everything they’d seen in it. They would see it and at the same time forget it. The effect in one’s mind was to blank out the text.

  Nathan didn’t answer, but his scowl softened as he considered her idea. She could tell by his expression that he doubted her theory was the answer but he apparently didn’t want to argue the point just then, probably because he had something more important that he wanted to go on to.

  Sure enough, he tapped a finger on top of a small stack of books standing all by themselves. “These books,” he said with a weighty undertone, “are predominantly about Richard. I’ve never seen most of them before. I find that alarming, that such books would be hidden away in a place like this. Most have extensive stretches of blank pages.”

  For that many books of prophecy, especially about Richard, not to have been at the Palace of the Prophets was indeed alarming. For five centuries she had scoured the world for copies of any book she could find that contained anything at all about Richard.

  Ann scratched an eyebrow as she considered the implications. “Were you able to learn anything?”

  Nathan picked up the volume on the top and flipped the book open. “Well, for one thing, this symbol, here, troubles me greatly. It’s an exceedingly rare form of prophecy, undertaken while the prophet was under siege by a storm of revelation. Such graphic prophecies are drawn in the heat of a powerful vision, when writing would take too long and interrupt the rush of what is rampaging through his mind.”

  Ann was only vaguely aware of such representational prophecy. She recalled a few from the vaults at the palace. Nathan had never before mentioned to her what they had been, and no one else had known. Yet another of Nathan’s little thousand year old secrets.

  She bent close and studied the intricate drawing that took for itself most of a page. There were no straight lines in it at all, only curved swirls and arcs that eddied all around in a circular design that somehow seemed almost alive. Here and there the pen had dug violently into the surface of the vellum, ploughing up parallel rows of fibers where the two halves of the pen’s point had spread under the pressure. Ann lifted the book closer to a candle and carefully examined a curious place that was particularly rough. She saw in the ancient dried bed of an inky pool a fine, pointed sliver of metal: one side of the pen’s point had broken off where it had been stabbed into the page. It was still embedded there. Right after, the cleaner marks of a fresh pen began anew, although they were no less forceful.

  Nothing in the ink drawing represented any identifiable subject—it appeared to be completely nonobjective—and yet it was for some reason so gravely disturbing that it made her hackles lift. It seemed as if the drawing was almost recognizable but its meaning was just outside of her conscious awareness.

  “What is it?” She laid the book on the table, open to the drawing. “What does it mean?”

  Nathan stroked a finger along his strong jaw. “It’s rather hard to explain. There are no precise words to describe what comes as a picture in my mind when I view it.”

  “Do you think,” Ann asked with exaggerated patience as she clasped her hands, “that you could make an effort to describe to me as best you can the picture in your mind?”

 
Nathan viewed her askance. “The only words I can think of that fit are ‘the beast comes.’”

  “The beast?”

  “Yes. I don’t know what the impression means. The prophecy is partially cloaked, either deliberately or perhaps because it’s meant to represent something I’ve never encountered before, or maybe even because it’s linked to the blank pages and without their associated text the drawing won’t fully come to life for me.”

  “What is it that this beast is coming to do?”

  Nathan flipped the cover closed so that she could see the title: A Pebble in the Pond.

  Cold sweat broke out across her brow.

  “The symbol is a graphic warning,” he said.

  Prophecy often referred to Richard as the “pebble in the pond.” The text of such a volume would probably be of incalculable value. If only it weren’t missing.

  “You mean, it’s a warning for Richard that some kind of beast is coming?”

  Nathan nodded. “That’s about as much as I can get from this—that and a vague impression of the ghastly aura around the thing.”

  “Around the beast.”

  “Yes. The supporting text preceding the drawing would have been critical to understanding it better, to being able to comprehend the nature of this beast, but that text is missing. The branches after are blank as well so there is no way to place the warning contextually or chronologically. For all I know, it could be something he has already faced and defeated, or something that in his old age might defeat him. Without at least some of the supporting prophecy or a context there simply isn’t any way to tell.”

  Chronology was vital to understanding prophecy, but just from the dread that she felt when viewing the drawing, Ann didn’t believe it was anything Richard had yet faced.

  “Perhaps it’s meant as a metaphor. Jagang’s army behaves like a beast and they could certainly be described as ghastly. They slaughter everything in their path. For free people, and for Richard especially, the Imperial Order is a beast coming to destroy them and everything they hold dear.”

  Nathan shrugged. “That very well could be the explanation. I just don’t know.”

  He paused a moment before he went on. “There is one more disturbing bit of oblique counsel to be found not only in this book but in several of the other books”—he cast a meaningful look her way—“books that I’ve never seen before.”

  For a whole variety of reasons, Ann, too, found it disturbing to learn that there were all these books hidden in such a strange, underground, graveyard room.

  Nathan gestured again to the books stacked all over the four large tables. “While there certainly are copies of a number of books we’ve seen, and I’ve showed those to you, most of these books are new to me. For any library to deviate to this degree from the classic masterworks is unprecedented. Each library has its own unique volumes, to be sure, but this place is like another world altogether. Nearly every volume in here is an astonishing discovery.”

  Ann’s caution awakened. She had the uncanny feeling that Nathan had at last arrived at the core of the labyrinth through which his mind traveled. One thing he had just said loomed in the back of her mind.

  “Counsel?” She frowned suspiciously. “What sort of counsel?”

  “It advises the reader that if their interest is not of a general nature but they instead have cause to seek more extensive and specific knowledge on the subjects therein, then they should consult the pertinent volumes kept with the bones.”

  Ann’s brow drew even tighter. “Kept with the bones?”

  “Yes. It referred to these caches as ‘central sites.’” Nathan leaned close again, like a washwoman with a load of dirty gossip. “The ‘central sites’ are mentioned in a number of places, but I’ve so far only been able to find where one of these sites was named: the catacombs beneath the vaults at the Palace of the Prophets.”

  Ann’s jaw fell open. “Catacombs…That’s preposterous. There was no such place beneath the Palace of the Prophets.”

  “None we knew of,” Nathan said in a grave tone. “That doesn’t mean it didn’t exist.”

  “But, but,” Ann stammered, “that’s just not possible. It’s just not. Such a thing could not have gone unnoticed. In all that time Sisters lived there we would have known.”

  Nathan shrugged. “In all this time no one knew of this place, here, beneath the bones.”

  “But no one lived right above here.”

  “What if the presence of catacombs beneath the palace was not common knowledge? After all, we know little of the wizards of that time, and not a great deal about the specific people involved in the construction of the Palace of the Prophets. It could be that they had reason to conceal such a place, just as this place was concealed.”

  Nathan arched an eyebrow. “What if part of the purpose of the palace—the training of young wizards—was part of an elaborate ruse to hide the existence of such a secret site?”

  Ann could feel her face going red. “Are you suggesting that our calling was meaningless? How dare you even suggest that all our lives have been devoted to nothing more than a deception, and that the lives of those with the gift would not have been spared had we not—”

  “I’m not suggesting anything of the kind. I’m not saying the Sisters were being duped or that what they did didn’t spare the lives of boys with the gift and help preserve it. I’m only saying that these books suggest that there may have been more to it. What if there was not only the intent to have a place for the Sisters to practice their useful calling, but there was in part a grander purpose behind the place where they practiced that calling? After all, think of the graveyard above us; it has a valid reason to exist, but it also conveniently provides a shroud to hide this place.

  “Perhaps such catacombs were deliberately covered over thousands of years ago with the intent of hiding them? If so, then by design we would never be aware of their existence. If it was a secret cache there wouldn’t have been any records of it.

  “From the impression I got from the references in these books, I have reason to believe that there were at one time books that were considered so disturbing and in some cases containing spells so dangerous that it was decided that they had to be confined to a few hidden ‘central sites’ as a precaution, so that they didn’t end up in circulation, where they would be copied, as is the practice with most prophecy. What better way to restrict access? Since these references speak of ‘the books kept with the bones,’ I suspect that these other ‘central sites’ may be catacombs like the one said to be beneath the Palace of the Prophets.”

  Ann slowly shook her head as she tried to take it all in, as she tried to imagine if there was any possibility that it could be true. She looked again at the table with the stacks of books that were mostly about Richard, and which they had never seen before.

  Ann gestured. “And these, here?”

  “What is there I almost wish I’d not read.”

  Ann clutched his sleeve. “Why? What did you read?”

  His seemed to catch himself. He waved a dismissal, smiled briefly, and changed the subject.

  “What I find the most troubling about the blank places in the books is their common thread. While not all of the missing text is in prophecy about Richard, I have determined that they all do have one thing in common.”

  “And what would that be?”

  Nathan held up a finger to emphasize his point. “Every one of the missing portions are in prophecies that pertain to a time after Richard was born. None of the prophecies that belong to a time before Richard’s birth, or thereabouts, have copy missing.”

  Ann carefully clasped her hands together as she considered the mystery and how to solve the puzzle.

  “Well,” she said at last, “There is one thing we could check. I could have Verna send a messenger to the Wizard’s Keep in Aydindril. Zedd is there protecting the place so that it can’t fall into Jagang’s hands. We could have Verna send a messenger and ask that Zedd check specific places i
n his copies of books we have here and see if they are missing the same text.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Nathan said.

  “With the extent of the libraries at the Keep, he’s bound to have a number of the classic books on prophecy that we recognize and have here.”

  Nathan’s face brightened. “As a matter of fact, it would be even better if we could have Verna send someone to the People’s Palace in D’Hara. While I was there I spent a lot of time in the palace libraries. I clearly remember seeing copies of a number of these books. If we had someone check them, that would tell us if the books here are spelled, as you suggested, and the problem is confined to these editions, or if it’s some kind of wider phenomenon. We need to have Verna send someone to the People’s Palace at once.”

  “That should be easy enough. Verna is just about to depart for the south. On their way they will no doubt be traveling near the People’s Palace.”

  Nathan frowned down at her. “You heard from Verna? And she said she is heading south? Why?”

  Ann’s mood sank. “I received a message from her earlier tonight—just before I came here.”

  “And what did our young prelate have to say? Why is she traveling south?”

  In resignation, Ann let out a deep sigh. “I’m afraid the news is not the best. She said that Jagang has split his army. He is taking part of his horde down around the mountains in order to sweep up into D’Hara from the south. Verna is leaving with a large contingent of the D’Haran forces to eventually stand and face the Order’s army.”

  The blood drained from Nathan’s face.

  “What did you say?” he whispered.

  Ann puzzled at his wide-eyed look. “You mean, that Jagang split his army?”

  She didn’t think it was possible, but the prophet’s face went even more ashen.

  “Dear spirits preserve us,” he whispered. “It’s too soon. We’re not ready.”

  Ann felt a tingling dread start at her toes and begin working its way up her legs. Her thighs prickled with gooseflesh. “Nathan, what are you talking about? What’s wrong?”