Temple of the Winds

by Terry Goodkind

  No man had ever touched her with such tender purpose, and the sureness of that touch further heated her passion.

  His kisses trailed down the front of her, each making her gasp to catch her breath in sweet, startled desire.

  When he at last took his place atop her, she totally and unashamedly succumbed to her need. She felt cradled not only in the canopy bed but in his ardent embrace. At long last, as her whole body stiffened with her cry of release, she could hear the spirits sing.

  40

  Like a hawk in a dive, Kahlan silently shot ahead, and at the same time, like an eagle in an updraft, she serenely hovered in place. Light and dark, heat and cold, time and distance, had no meaning, yet they meant everything. It was a marvelous confusion of sensations, heightened by the sweet presence of the sliph each time Kahlan drew the living quicksilver into her lungs, into her soul.

  It was rapture.

  With an abrupt explosion of perception, it ended.

  Light erupted in Kahlan’s vision. Sounds of birds, breezes, and bugs hurt her ears. Trees draped with streamers of moss, rocks incrusted with lichen and snarled in roots and vines, and patches of damp, dark mist crowded in all around. The overpowering presence of it all terrified her.

  Breathe, the sliph told her.

  The thought horrified her. No.

  The sliph’s voice seemed to sear through Kahlan’s mind. Breathe.

  Kahlan didn’t want to be thrust from the serene womb of the sliph into this garish, loud world.

  She remembered Richard, and with Richard, the threat to him: Shota.

  Kahlan expelled the sliph from her lungs. The liquid silver sloughed from her, yet she was not wet. She gasped a deep breath of the strange, sharp air. She covered her ears and shut her eyes as the sliph set her on the edge of the well.

  “We are where you wished to travel,” the sliph said.

  Kahlan reluctantly opened her eyes and lowered her hands. The living world seemed to slow and settle into harmony with what she expected it to be. The comforting hand of the sliph slipped from Kahlan’s waist.

  “Thank you, sliph. It was… a pleasure.”

  The sliph’s fluid face smiled. “I am pleased that you found it pleasurable.”

  “I hope not to be long, and then we must travel back.”

  “I will be ready when you wish to travel again,” the sliph said, her voice echoing out into the gloom. “I am always ready to travel, if I am awake.”

  Kahlan swung her legs down off the stone wall of the sliph’s well. Parts of an ancient structure were visible, but it seemed mostly to have crumbled into the damp, tangled forest. She could see a bit of a wall here, half of a column there, some paving stones on the ground, all covered with vines and roots and leaves.

  Kahlan didn’t know exactly where she was, but she knew she was in the somber woods around the witch woman’s home. Kahlan remembered going through this dangerous, mysterious forest when Shota had captured her and taken her to Agaden Reach in order to draw Richard there.

  Jagged peaks, like a wreath of thorns, sheltered the murky forest high up in the vast spine of the Rang’Shada mountains. The dark and dangerous woods, in turn, surrounded and protected Shota’s remote home. These woods kept people away from Agaden Reach, away from the witch woman.

  Whoops, clicks, and calls echoed through the stagnant stink. Kahlan rubbed her arms, even though the air was damp and warm. Her chill came from within.

  Through small, rare gaps in the forest canopy, Kahlan could detect the pink glow of the sky. It must be just dawn. She knew that the brightening day would bring no relief to the gloom of these woods. On the sunniest day, this morose place was never anything more than dismally dark.

  Kahlan stepped carefully, watching the forest floor, the hanging vines, and the drifting fog that seemed to conceal creatures issuing strings of hissing clicks and hooting calls. In the expanses of stagnant water lurking under the thick vegetation, she could see eyes just breaking the surface.

  Kahlan took another careful step and then paused. She realized that in the directionless forest, she didn’t know where she was going. There was no telling north from south, east from west. This surrounding wood looked the same in all directions.

  She realized, too, that she didn’t even know if Shota was home. The last time Richard and Kahlan had seen Shota was at the Mud People’s village. Shota had been driven from her home by a wizard aligned with the Keeper. Shota might not be here.

  No, Nadine had visited her. Shota was here. Kahlan took another step.

  Something snatched her ankle and yanked her feet from under her. She landed on her back with a hard thud.

  A heavy, dark shape sprang onto her chest, driving the wind from her lungs.

  A hiss, carried on fetid breath, came from between sharp teeth packed with gray, spongy filth.

  “Pretty lady.”

  Kahlan gasped to catch her breath.

  “Samuel! Get off me!”

  Powerful fingers squeezed her left breast. Bloodless lips drew back with a wicked grin. “Maybe Samuel eat pretty lady.”

  Kahlan pressed the point of the bone knife up into the folds of skin at Samuel’s neck. She seized one of his long fingers and bent it back until he squealed and released her breast.

  She jabbed the knife against his throat. “Maybe I’ll feed you to the things in the water over there. What do you think? Shall I slit your throat? Or do you want to get off me?”

  The hairless, splotchy gray head drew back. Yellow eyes, like twin lanterns in the dim light, glared hatefully down at her. He carefully rolled to the side to let her up. Kahlan kept the bone knife trained on him.

  Dead leaves and forest debris stuck to his waxy skin. A long arm lifted to point off into the dark mist.

  “Mistress wants you.”

  “How does she know I’m here?”

  The grotesque face split with a hissing grin. “Mistress knows everything. Follow Samuel.” He skittered a few steps and then stopped to look back over his shoulder. “When mistress is finished with you, Samuel will eat you.”

  “I may just have something for Shota she isn’t expecting. She’s made a mistake this time. When I’m finished with her, you may not have a mistress.”

  The squat figure stared, appraising her. His bloodless lips pulled back and he hissed.

  “Your mistress is waiting. Get going.”

  The stocky, hairless, long-armed figure finally moved on through the undergrowth. He skirted dangers Kahlan didn’t see, and grudgingly pointed at things for her to avoid. Vines he circumvented reached for her as she passed, but she was too far away for them to catch her. Roots Samuel bypassed snarled up, trying to snare her.

  The short figure, dressed only in pants held up with straps, glanced over his shoulder occasionally to make sure she followed. A couple of times, he gurgled his odd laugh as he bounded along.

  After a time, they picked up a trail of sorts, and not long after that the light coming through the tangled mass of branches overhead became brighter. As Kahlan followed the repulsive little creature, they came at last to the edge of the dark wood, and the edge of a cliff.

  Far below lay the verdant valley where lived the witch woman. That it was as beautiful a place as any in the Midlands didn’t ease the anxious knot in Kahlan’s stomach. All around the valley the massive rocky peaks of the surrounding mountains soared nearly straight up. The budding trees in the placid valley below swayed gently in the early morning breeze.

  Descending the sheer walls of rock looked to be impossible, but Kahlan knew from being here before that there were steps carved in the rock. Samuel led her through a morass of brush, tight trees, and fern-covered boulders, to a place that would be nearly impossible to find without him to guide her. A trail hidden behind rocks, trees, ferns, and vines ran to the edge of the precipice and the steps leading down the cliff walls.

  Samuel pointed off, down into the valley. “Mistress.”

  “I know. Get moving.”

 
Kahlan followed Samuel down the cliff’s edge. Part of it was a narrow trail, but most of the way down was comprised of thousands of steps cut into the rugged rock wall. They twisted and turned downward, sometimes spiraling back under ones above.

  Below, far off in the center of the valley, among the streams, grand trees, and rolling fields, sat Shota’s graceful palace. Colorful flags flew atop towers and turrets as if to announce a festival. Kahlan could hear the distant flags snapping in the wind. She had trouble seeing it for the splendid place it was. She saw it as the center of the spiderweb. A place where threat lurked. Threat for Richard.

  Samuel sprang down the steps ahead, happy to be going back to the protection of his mistress, no doubt thinking about cooking Kahlan in a stew when his mistress was finished with her.

  Kahlan hardly noticed the hateful glances from the big yellow eyes. She, too, was lost in a world of loathing.

  Shota wanted to harm Richard. Kahlan kept that thought foremost in her mind; it was key. Shota wanted to deny Richard happiness. Shota wanted Richard to suffer.

  Kahlan could feel angry power welling up inside her, ready to do her bidding and eliminate the threat against Richard. Kahlan had at last found the way to defeat Shota. Shota had no shield against Subtractive power. It would slice through any magic she threw out.

  Kahlan had found the path, the gateway, through the labyrinth of protection layered over her magic, to the core of its power. This side of her magic was protected by precepts that governed its use. Like the Wizards’ Keep, protected by shields of all kinds, there was a way to get through. She had found a way to get through the Keep, and she had used her reason to find the justification that traced its way through the maze of rationale forbidding this magic’s use.

  She had tapped its ancient strength, its destructive power.

  Kahlan felt the power coursing up through her and down her arms. Blue light snarled and snapped around her fists.

  She was nearly lost in a trance of purpose.

  For the first time, Kahlan wasn’t afraid of the witch woman. If Shota didn’t swear to leave Richard alone, to let him have his own life, Shota was going to be dust before this day was out.

  At the bottom of the cliff, Kahlan followed behind Samuel as he bounded along the road among tree-dotted hills and green fields. Snow-capped peaks all around soared up past a scattering of clouds. Blue deepened in the sky as the sun rose over those peaks.

  Kahlan felt as if she had enough power blazing within her to level those peaks. Shota had only to say or do the wrong thing—to prove herself a threat to Richard—and she would be no more.

  The road led up a gentle rise from which Kahlan could see the spires of the palace through the trees ahead. Samuel glanced back to make sure she was still following, but Kahlan didn’t need his direction; she knew that Shota waited in the grove of trees below.

  The witch woman was the last person Kahlan ever wanted to see again, but if it was to be, then, this time, she intended it to be on her terms.

  Samuel halted and pointed with a long finger. “Mistress.” Yellow eyes glowered back at Kahlan. “Mistress wants you.”

  Kahlan lifted a warning finger to his face. Threads of blue light crackled around the finger.

  “If you get in my way, or interfere, you will die.”

  He glanced from her finger back into her eyes. His bloodless lips drew back as he hissed, and then he skittered off into the trees.

  In a cocoon of seething magic, Kahlan advanced down the slope toward the waiting witch woman. The breeze was spring-warm, the day bright and cheerful. Kahlan felt no cheer.

  Sheltered among the towering maples, ash, and oak, sat a table covered with a white cloth and set with food and drink. Beyond the table, atop three square white marble platforms, stood a massive throne carved with gold-leaf vines, snakes, and other beasts.

  Shota sat regally, one leg crossed casually over the other, her ageless almond eyes watching Kahlan’s approach. Shota’s arms rested on the chair's high, widely spaced arms, with her hands draped arrogantly over gold gargoyles. The gargoyles nuzzled her hands, as if hoping to be stroked. A rich canopy draped with heavy red brocade and trimmed with gold tassels shaded the throne’s occupant from the morning sun, yet her luxuriant auburn hair shimmered as if touched by streamers of sunlight.

  Kahlan halted, not far away, under the witch woman’s rock-hard, penetrating gaze. The blue lightning screamed for release.

  Shota clicked her lacquered fingernails together. A self-satisfied smile spread across her full red lips.

  “Well, well, well,” Shota said in her velvety voice. “The child assassin arrives at last.”

  “I am not an assassin,” Kahlan said. “Nor am I a child. But I have had enough of your games.”

  Shota’s smile slipped away. She put her hands to the chair’s arms and stood. Points of her wispy, low-cut, variegated gray dress lifted in the gentle breeze. Her gaze never left Kahlan as she gracefully descended the three white marble platforms.

  “You’re late.” Shota held a hand out to the table. “The tea is getting cold.”

  Kahlan flinched when a bolt of lightning struck from the blue sky, hitting the teapot. Amazingly, it didn’t shatter.

  Shota glanced down at Kahlan’s hands, and then back to her eyes. “There, I believe it’s hot, now. Please, won’t you have a seat? We will have tea and… conversation.”

  Knowing Shota had seen the ominous blue light, Kahlan returned the self-assured smile in kind. Shota drew out a chair and sat. She again held out a hand in invitation.

  “Please, have a seat. I imagine you have things you wish to discuss.”

  Kahlan slid into a chair as Shota poured tea, holding on the white top with her other hand as she did so. Steam rose from the cups. The tea was indeed hot. Shota lifted a gold-trimmed platter, offering Kahlan toast. Kahlan warily pulled a golden-crisp slab from the platter. Shota slid a bowl of honeyed butter across the table.

  “Well,” Shota said. “Isn’t this unpleasant.”

  Against her will, Kahlan smiled. “Very.”

  Shota picked up her silver knife and spread honeyed butter across her slice of toast. She took a sip of tea.

  “Eat, child. Murder is always best accomplished on a full stomach.”

  “I have not come to murder you.”

  Shota’s sly smile returned. “No, I suppose you have managed to justify it to yourself. Retribution, is it? Or perhaps self-defense. Punishment? Recompense? Justice?” The smooth smile widened. An eyebrow arched. “Bad manners?”

  “You sent Nadine to marry Richard.”

  “Ahh. Jealousy, then.” Shota leaned back as she sipped her tea. “A noble motive, were it justified. I hope you realize that jealousy can be a cruel taskmaster.”

  Kahlan nibbled her crunchy toast. “Richard loves me, and I love him. We’re engaged to be married.”

  “Yes, I know. For one who professes to love him, I would think you would be more understanding.”

  “Understanding?”

  “Of course. If you love someone, you want them to be happy. You want what’s best for them.”

  “I make Richard happy. He wants me. I’m best for him.”

  “Yes, well, we can’t always have what we want, now can we?”

  Kahlan sucked honeyed butter from her finger. “Just tell me why you wish to hurt us.”

  Shota looked genuinely surprised. “Hurt you? Is that what you think? You think I am being spiteful?”

  “Why else would you always try to keep us apart, to hurt us?”

  Shota took a dainty bite of toast. She chewed for a moment. “Has the plague come, yet?”

  The cup paused partway to Kahlan’s lips. “How do you know about that?”

  “I’m a witch woman. I see the current of events. Let me ask you a question. If you visited a young child sick with the plague, and the child’s mother asked you if her child was going to recover, and you told her the truth, would you be guilty of causing the child’s death b
ecause you foretold it?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Ah. It is only I, then, who am to be judged by different standards.”

  “I’m not judging you. I simply want you to stop interfering with Richard’s and my life together.”

  “A messenger is often blamed for the message.”

  “Shota, the last time we saw you, you said that if we stopped the Keeper, you would owe us a debt. You asked me to help Richard. We stopped the Keeper. It cost us dearly, but we did it. You owe us.”

  “Yes, I know,” Shota whispered. “That is why I sent Nadine.”

  Kahlan could feel the rage of power surge within her. “Seems a strange way to show your appreciation—sending someone to try to ruin our lives.”

  “No, child,” Shota said gently. “You see things through blind eyes.”

  Kahlan had to help Richard by finding out all she could, but she would defend herself and Richard if she had to. Until that became necessary, she could endure this wandering conversation, if it would help get the answers they needed. And they did need answers.

  “What do you mean?”

  Shota sipped her tea. “Have you lain with Richard?”

  Kahlan was taken off guard by the question, but she recovered quickly. She shrugged one shoulder in an offhanded manner. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I have.”

  Shota’s gaze rose from her tea. “You’re lying.”

  Pleased by the smoldering tone in Shota’s voice, Kahlan lifted an eyebrow. “It’s the truth. You don’t like the message, and so now you hold malice toward the messenger?”

  Shota’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze locked on Kahlan as if drawing a bow and aiming an arrow.

  “Where, Mother Confessor? Where did you lie with him?”

  Kahlan felt triumphant at Shota’s obvious displeasure.

  “Where? What difference does that make? Have you turned from witch woman to gossip, now? I was with him… in that way, and that’s the truth, whether you like it or not. I’m no longer a virgin. I was with Richard; that’s all that matters.”