If she was going to be used, and follow the Prelate’s orders like an earnest Sister was duty bound to do, it would be knowingly, this time.
Verna was done weeping. She was not going to jump whenever that woman cavalierly crooked a finger. Verna had not devoted her entire life to being a Sister of the Light, worked so hard, for so many years, to be treated with such disrespect.
The thing that made her the most angry was that she had done it again. Verna had told the Prelate that she first had to say the words to prove it was really her, or Verna would feed the journey book to the fire. Verna had set the rules: prove yourself first. Instead, the Prelate had crooked her finger, and Verna had jumped.
She should just throw the journey book in a fire—destroy it. Let the Prelate try to use her then. Let her see that Verna was finished with being played for a fool. See how she liked having her wishes disregarded. It would serve her right.
That was what she should have done, but she hadn’t. She still had the book tucked in her belt. Despite her hurt, she was still a Sister. She had to be sure. The Prelate still hadn’t proved to her that she was really alive, and had the other book. When she was sure, then Verna would throw the book in the fire.
Verna stopped pacing and looked out through one of the windows in the gable ends. The moon was up. This time, there would be no grace if her instructions weren’t followed. She vowed that either the Prelate did as requested, and prove her identity, or Verna was going to burn the book. This was the Prelate’s last chance.
Verna pulled the branched candlestick away from the small altar draped with a white cloth trimmed in gold thread and set it beside the little table. The perforated bowl, in which Verna had found the journey book in the first place, set atop the white cloth on the altar. Instead of the journey book, it now held a small flame. If the Prelate failed again to do as instructed, the journey book was going back into that bowl, into the flames.
She pulled the small black book from its pouch in her belt and set it on the little table as she pulled the three-legged stool close. Verna kissed the Prelate’s ring on her ring finger, took a deep breath, said a prayer beseeching the Creator’s guidance, and opened the book.
There was a message. Pages of it, in fact.
My dearest Verna, it began. Verna pursed her lips. Dearest Verna indeed.
My dearest Verna, First, the easy part. I asked you to go to the sanctuary because of the danger involved. We cannot take any chance that others will read my messages, much less discover that Nathan and I are alive. The sanctuary is the only place I could be sure no one else would read this, and that is the only reason I failed to follow your reasonable precaution before now. You, of course, should expect me to prove myself, and now that I can be sure that you are alone and safe from discovery, I will provide the proof.
In accordance with this caution of only using the sanctuary to communicate, you must be sure to erase all messages before you leave the protection of the sanctuary.
Before I go on—the proof. As you requested, this is what I told you in my office the first time I saw you after you returned from your journey to recover Richard:
“I chose you, Verna, because you were far down on the list, and because, all in all, you are quite unremarkable. I doubted you were one of them. You are a person of little note. I’m sure Grace and Elizabeth made their way to the top of the list because whoever directs the Sisters of the Dark considered them expendable. I direct the Sisters of the Light. I chose you for the same reason.
“There are Sisters who are valuable to our cause; I could not risk one of them on such a task. The boy may prove a value to us, but he is not as important as other matters at the palace. It was simply an opportunity I thought to take.
“If there had been trouble, and none of you made it back, well, I’m sure you can understand that a general would not want to lose his best troops on a low-priority mission.”
Verna turned the book over on the table and put her face in her hands. There was no doubt—it was Prelate Annalina who had the other journey book. She was alive, as probably was Nathan.
She glanced to the little fire burning in the bowl. The hurt of those words burned in her chest. Reluctantly, with trembling fingers, she turned the book back over, and read on.
Verna, I know that those words must have broken your heart to hear. I do know that it broke my heart to say them, because they were not true. It must seem to you that you are being used in a nefarious way. It is wrong to lie, but it is worse to let the wicked triumph because you adhere to the truth at the expense of good sense. If the Sisters of the Dark were to ask me what my plans were, I would lie. To do otherwise is to allow wickedness to triumph.
I will now tell you the truth, realizing that you have no reason to believe that this time, my words are true, but I believe in your intelligence and know that if you weigh my words, you will be able to see the truth in them.
The true reason I chose you to go after Richard is because of all the Sisters, you were the one I trusted with the fate of the world. You know, now, the battle Richard won against the Keeper. Without him, we would have all been lost to the world of the dead. A low priority-mission it was not. It was the most important journey any Sister had ever been sent on. I trusted only you.
Over three hundred years before you were born, Nathan warned me of the danger to the world of life. Five hundred years before Richard was born, Nathan and I knew that a war wizard would come into this world. The prophecies told us some of what must be accomplished. The challenge was unlike any we have faced before.
When Richard was born, Nathan and I traveled by ship, around the great barrier, to the New World. We recovered a book of magic from the Wizard’s Keep in Aydindril to keep it out of Darken Rahl’s hands and gave the book to Richard’s stepfather, securing his promise that he would make Richard learn it. Only through such trials, and events in his life at his home, could this young man be forged into the kind of person with the wits to stop the first threat, Darken Rahl, his real father, and later restore the balance to the world of life. He is perhaps the most important person born in the last three thousand years.
Richard is the war wizard who will lead us in the final battle. The prophecies tell us this, but not whether we will prevail. This is a now a battle for mankind. Our only chance was to make sure, above all else, that he was not tainted in his training as a man. In this battle, magic is needed, but heart must rule it.
I sent you to bring him to the palace because you were the only one I could trust to accomplish the task. I knew your heart and soul, and I knew you were no Sister of the Dark.
I’m sure you are now wondering how I could let you search for him for more than twenty years when I knew where he was all the time. I also could have waited, and sent you after him when he was grown, and at last revealed his whereabouts when he triggered his gift. I am shamed to admit that I was using you, too, much as I used Richard.
For the challenges that lie ahead, I needed to teach you things you could not learn at the Palace of the Prophets, while Richard grew and learned some of the essential things he required. I needed you to be able to use your wits, and not the reams of rules that the Sisters at the palace thrive on. I had to let you develop your innate skills in the real world. The battle ahead lies in the real world; the cloistered world of the palace is no place to learn about life.
I don’t expect you to ever forgive me. That, too, is one of the burdens a Prelate must bear: the hatred of one she loves like her own daughter.
When I told you those awful words, that, too, was to a purpose. I had to finally break you of the palace’s teaching that you must always do as you were trained, and blindly follow orders. I had to make you angry enough to do what you judged was right. Since you were little, I could always count on your temper.
I couldn’t trust that if I told you the reasons, you would understand, or do as was necessary. Sometimes, a person can only properly affect events by using their own moral propriety, and not by car
rying out orders. It is so stated in prophecy. I trusted that you would choose right over training, if you came to the conclusion yourself.
The other reason I told you those things in my office was because I suspected that one of my administrators was a Sister of the Dark. I knew my shield would not keep my words from her ears. I let my words betray me so she would attack me, and force their hand. I knew I could very possibly be killed, but I chose that fate over the possibility of the world being plunged into the grip of the Keeper. Sometimes, a Prelate must even use herself.
So far, Verna, you have lived up to my every expectation of you. You have played a vital role in saving the world from the Keeper. With your help, we have thus far succeeded.
The very first time I laid eyes on you, I smiled, because you had an angry scowl on your face. Do you remember why? I will tell you, if you don’t. Every novice brought to the palace was given a test. Sooner or later, we wrongly blamed her for a small offense of which she was innocent. Most cried. Some pouted. Some bore the shame of guilt with stoic resignation. Only you became angry at the injustice. In that, you proved yourself.
Nathan had found a prophecy that said the one we needed would be delivered to us not with a smile, or a pout, or a brave face, but with an angry scowl. When I saw that look on your face, and your little arms folded in a fit, I nearly laughed aloud. At last, you had been delivered into our hands. From that day I have been using you in the Creator’s most important work.
I chose you to be the Prelate in the illusion of my death because you are still the one Sister I trust above all others. There is more than a good chance that I will be killed on my present journey with Nathan, and if I do die, you will be the Prelate for real. That is the way I wish it.
Your justifiable hatred weighs on my heart, but it is the Creator’s forgiveness that is important, and I know I will have that much, at least. I will suffer your scorn as my burden in this life, as I suffer other burdens for which there is no relief. It is the price of being Prelate of the Palace of the Prophets.
Verna pushed the book away, unable to read more of the words. Her head fell to her folded arms as she sobbed. Though she didn’t recall the nature of the injustice of which the Prelate spoke, she remembered the sting of it, and her anger. Mostly, she remembered the Prelate’s smile, and how it made the world right again.
“Oh, dear Creator,” Verna wept aloud, “you truly have a fool for a servant.”
If she had felt heartache before, for thinking the Prelate had used her, she now felt agony over the anguish the Prelate had had to endure. When she was finally able to bring her tears to a halt, she pulled the little book back before her and read on.
But the past is past, and we must now go on with what must be done. The prophecies say that the greatest danger now lies before us. The tests that have come before would have ended the world of life in a final, terrible flash. In an instant, all would be irrecoverably lost. Richard passed those tests, and kept us from that fate.
Now a greater trial is upon us. It is not from other worlds, but from our own. This is a battle for the future of our world, the future of mankind, and the future of magic. In this, in the struggle for the minds and hearts of men, there is no final flash, no instant end, but the inexorable, grinding struggle of war, as the shadow of enslavement slowly creeps across the world, and darkens the spark of magic, through which comes the Creator’s light.
The ancient war, started thousands of years ago, is again aflame. We, in protecting this world from others, have unavoidably brought it to pass. This time, there will be no cessation of war because of the efforts of hundreds of wizards. This time, we have only one war wizard to lead us. Richard.
I cannot tell you all of it now. Some, I simply do not know, and as much as it pains me to have to leave you in the dark about some things I do know, understand that because of forks in prophecies that must be correctly taken, it is necessary that some of the people involved act instinctively, and not by instruction. To do otherwise would make the correct forks impassable. Part of our job is to hope to teach people to act in the right way, so that when the test comes, they will do what must be done. Forgive me, Verna, but I must once again trust some things to the fates.
I hope that you are learning, as Prelate, that you cannot always explain everything to others, but that you must sometimes simply give them a task, and expect them to do it.
Verna sighed. She knew the truth of that. She, herself, had given up on trying to explain everything all the time, and had started to simply ask that instructions be carried out as spoken.
Some things, though, I can and must tell you so you can help us. Nathan and I have gone on a mission of vital importance. For now, only he and I can know its nature.
Should I live, I intend to return to the palace. Before then, you must find out who are loyal Sisters of the light, novices, and young men. You must also identify all who have given their souls to the Keeper.
“What!” Verna heard herself say aloud. “How can I do that!”
I leave it up to you to find a way. You don’t have a lot of time. This is important, Verna; it must be before Emperor Jagang arrives.
Nathan and I believe Jagang is what was called in the ancient war, a “dream walker.”
Verna felt the sweat between her shoulder blades trickle down her spine. She recalled her talk with Sister Simona, and how the woman had screamed uncontrollably a the mere mention of Jagang’s name. Sister Simona said that Jagang came to her in her dreams. Everyone thought Sister Simona was crazy.
Warren, too, had spoken of the dream walker, and that in the old war they were a form of weapon. Their visit to Sister Simona had confirmed what he believed.
Above all else, remember this: No matter what happens, your only salvation is to remain loyal to Richard. A dream walker can take just about anyone’s mind and enslave them to his will—those with the gift more so than others. There is only one protection—Richard. An ancestor of his created a magic that protects them and any loyal to them, bonded in cause to them, from the power of the dream walkers. This magic is passed down to any Rahl born with the gift. Nathan, of course, has this same protective element to his gift, but he is not the one who can lead us. He is a prophet, and not a war wizard.
Verna could read between the lines that being a loyal follower of Nathan would be madness. The man was lightning itself in a collar.
By going against palace law of your own free will and helping Richard escape, you became bonded to him. This bond protects you from the power of the dream walker, but not from his waking force of arms and minions. This is part of the reason I had to deceive you that day in my office. It made you, of your own free will, choose to help Richard over your training and orders.
Goose bumps ran up Verna’s arms. Had she convinced the Prelate to reveal her plans, telling Verna to help Richard escape, then she would have been as vulnerable as Sister Simona to the dream walker.
Nathan is protected, of course, and I have been bonded to Richard for a good long time. I pledged myself to him when I first saw him. In my own way, I have been letting him set his own rules as to how he fights for our side. At times, I must tell you, it is difficult. Though he does as is needed to protect the innocent, free people who need his help, he has a mind of his own, and does things that, if I had my way, he would not do. At times, he can be as much of a trial as Nathan. Such is life.
I am finished telling you what I had to reveal. I am sitting here in a room in a cozy inn, waiting for you to read this. When you have read this message over as many times as you wish, I’ll be waiting here should you wish to ask me anything. You must understand that I have had hundreds of years working at events and prophecies, and there is no way I can impart all that knowledge to you in one night, much less in a journey book, but I will tell you what I can of what you wish to know.
Also, you must understand that there are certain things I cannot tell you for fear of tainting prophecy and events. Every word I tell you carries a danger o
f that, though some more than others, but it is necessary that you know some of it.
With these things in mind, I await your questions. Ask.
Verna sat up straight at the end of the writing. Ask? It would take a hundred years to ask all she wanted to know. Where was she to start? Dear Creator, what were the important questions?
She read the entire message again, to be sure she hadn’t missed anything, and then sat, staring at the blank page beyond. Finally, she picked up the stylus.
My dearest Mother, I beg you forgive me the things I thought of you. I am humbled by your strength, and shamed by my foolish pride. Please don’t get yourself killed. I am not worthy to be Prelate. I am an ox that you are asking to soar like a bird.
Verna sat, watching the book for the return message to appear if the Prelate really was waiting.
Thank you, child. You have lightened my heart. Ask what you need to know, and if I can, I will answer your questions. I will sit here all night, if I can help you with your burden.
Verna smiled for the first time in days. This time, the tears were sweet, and not bitter.
Prelate, are you truly safe? Is everything well with you and Nathan?
Verna, perhaps you enjoy having your friends calling you Prelate, but I do not. Please call me by my name, as all my true friends do.
Verna laughed out loud. She, too, was frustrated that people insisted on calling her “Prelate.” Words continued to appear as Ann’s message went on.
And yes, I am fine, as is Nathan, who is presently occupied. Today he bought himself a sword, and is now having a sword fight with invisible enemies in our room. He thinks a sword will make him look “dashing.” He is a thousand-year-old child, and, at this moment, is grinning like a child as he lops the heads off his invisible foes.
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