Richard shrugged, looking down at the ground. “I can understand that. I too wished only to be left alone.” His eyes came up. “Darken Rahl killed my father, and sends evil spirits that haunt me in my father’s guise. He sends men to try to kill Kahlan. He brings down the boundary, to invade my homeland. His minions have struck down my two oldest friends. They lie in a deep sleep, near death, but at least they will live . . . unless he is successful the next time. Kahlan has told me of many he has killed. Children—stories that would make your heart sick.” He nodded, his voice soft, hardly more than a whisper. “Yes, my friend, I too wished only to be left alone. On the first day of winter, if Darken Rahl gains the magic he seeks, he will have a power no one can stand against. Then it will be too late.” His hand went to his sword. Kahlan’s eyes widened. “If he were here, in my place, he would pull this sword and have your help or have your head.” He took his hand away. “That, my friend, is why I cannot harm you if you choose not to help me.”
The Bird Man sat quiet and still for a while. “I can see now that I do not want Darken Rahl for an enemy. Or you.” He got up and went to the door, casting the hawk into the sky. The Bird Man sat once more, sighing heavily with the weight of his thoughts. “Your words seem to flow true, but I cannot know for sure yet. It would also seem that although you want us to help you, you also wish to help us. I believe you are sincere in this. It is a wise man who seeks help by helping, and not by threats or tricks.”
“If I wanted to get your help by tricks, I would have let you believe me to be a spirit.”
The corners of the Bird Man’s mouth turned up in a small smile. “If we had held a gathering, we would have discovered you were not. A wise man would suspect that too. So which reason is it that made you tell the truth? You did not want to trick us, or you were afraid to?”
Richard smiled back. “In truth? Both.”
The Bird Man nodded. “Thank you for the truth.”
Richard sat quietly, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “So, Bird Man, I have told you my tale. You must judge it true or not. Time works against me. Will you help?”
“It is not that simple. My people look to me for direction. If you asked for food, I could say ‘Give him food,’ and they would do so. But you have asked for a gathering. That is different. The council of seers are the six elders you spoke to, plus myself. They are old men, firm in the ways of their past. An outsider has never been given a gathering before, never been permitted to disturb the peace of our ancestors’ spirits. Soon these six will join the ancestors’ spirits, and they do not want to think they will be called from the spirit world for an outsider’s needs. If they break the tradition, they will be forever burdened with the results. I cannot order them to do this.”
“It is not only an outsider’s needs,” Kahlan said, telling them both her words. “Helping us also helps the Mud People.”
“Maybe in the end,” the Bird Man said, “but not in the beginning.”
“What if I were one of the Mud People?” Richard asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Then they would call the gathering for you, and not violate the tradition.”
“Could you make me one of the Mud People?”
The Bird Man’s silver-gray hair glistened in the firelight as he considered. “If you were to first do something that helped our people, something that benefited them, with no advantage to you, proved you were a man of good intentions toward us, doing so without promise of aid for your help, and the elders wished it, I could.”
“And once you named me as one of the Mud People, I could ask for a gathering, and they would call it?”
“If you were one of us, they would know you had our interests in your heart. They would call a council of seers to help you.”
“And if they called the council, would they be able to tell me where the object I seek is located?”
“I cannot answer that. Sometimes the spirits will not answer our questions, sometimes they do not know the answers to our questions. There is no guarantee that we could help you, even if we held a gathering. All I could promise is that we would try our best.”
Richard looked down at the ground, thinking. With his finger, he pushed some dirt into one of the puddles where the rain dripped.
“Kahlan,” he asked quietly, “do you know of anyone else who would have the power to tell us where to look for the box?”
Kahlan had been giving this consideration all day. “I do. But of all the ones I know of, I do not know of any who would be any more eager to help us than the Mud People are. Some would kill us just for asking.”
“Well, of the ones who wouldn’t kill us just for asking, how far away are they?”
“Three weeks, at least, north, through very dangerous country controlled by Rahl.”
“Three weeks,” Richard said out loud with a heavy tone of disappointment.
“But Richard, the Bird Man is able to promise us precious little. If you could find a way to help them, if it pleases the elders, if they ask the Bird Man to name you one of the Mud People, if the council of seers can get an answer, if the spirits even know the answer . . . if, if, if. Many opportunities for a wrong step.”
“Was it not you who told me I would have to win them over?” he asked with a smile.
“It was.”
“So, what do you think? Do you think we should stay and try to convince them to help, or we should go to find the answers elsewhere?”
She shook her head slowly. “I think you are the Seeker, and you will have to decide.”
He smiled again. “You are my friend. I could use your advice.”
She hooked some hair behind her ear. “I don’t know what advice to give, Richard, and my life, too, depends upon you making the right choice. But as your friend, I have faith that you will decide wisely.”
“Will you hate me,” he grinned, “if I make the wrong choice?”
She looked into his gray eyes, eyes that could see into her, eyes that made her weak with longing. “Even if you choose wrong, and it costs me my life,” she whispered, swallowing back the lump in her throat, “I could never hate you.”
He looked away from her, back down at the dirt awhile, then once again up to the Bird Man. “Do your people like having roofs that leak?”
The Bird Man raised an eyebrow. “Would you like it if water dripped on your face when you were asleep?”
Smiling, Richard shook his head. “Then why don’t you make roofs that don’t leak?”
The Bird Man shrugged. “Because it cannot be done. We have no materials at hand to use. Clay bricks are too heavy and would fall down. Wood is too scarce—it must be carried long distances. Grass is all we have, and it leaks.”
Richard took one of the pottery bowls and turned it upside down under one of the drips. “You have clay from which you make pottery.”
“Our ovens are small, we could not make a pot that big, and besides, it would crack, then it too would leak. It cannot be done.”
“It is a mistake to say something cannot be done simply because you don’t know how to do it. I would not be here otherwise.” He said this gently, without malice. “Your people are strong, and wise. I would be honored if the Bird Man would allow me to teach his people how to make roofs that do not leak, and also let the smoke out at the same time.”
The Bird Man considered this without showing any emotion.
“If you could do this, it would be a great benefit to my people, and they would give you many thanks. But I can make no promises beyond that.”
Richard shrugged. “None asked for.”
“The answer may still be no. You must accept that, if that is the answer, and bring no harm to my people.”
“I will do my best for your people, and hope only that they judge me fairly.”
“Then you are free to try, but I cannot see how you will make a roof of clay that will not crack and leak.”
“I will make you a roof for your spirit house that will have a thousand cracks, but will
not leak. Then I will teach you to make more for yourselves.”
The Bird Man smiled and gave a nod.
Chapter 24
“I hate my mother.”
The Master, sitting cross-legged on the grass, looked down at the bitter expression on the boy’s face and waited a moment before he answered in a quiet voice. “That is a very strong thing to say, Carl. I would not want you to say something you would come to regret when you had thought it over.”
“I’ve thought it over plenty,” Carl snapped. “We’ve talked about it a long time. I know now how they’ve twisted me around, deceived me. How selfish they are.” He squinted his eyes. “How they are enemies of the people.”
Rahl glanced up at the windows, at the last tinge of fading sunlight turning the wisps of clouds a beautiful deep reddish purple, frosted with tips of gold. Tonight. Tonight, at long last, would be the night he returned to the underworld.
For most of long days and nights he had kept the boy awake with the special gruel, allowing him to sleep for only brief spells, kept him awake to hammer away at him until his mind was empty, and could be molded. He had talked to the boy endlessly, convincing him how others had used him, abused him, and lied to him. Sometimes he had left the boy to think over what he had been told, and used the excuse to visit his father’s tomb and read the sacred inscriptions again, or to snatch some rest.
And then, last night, he had taken that girl to his bed, to get some relaxation—a small, momentary diversion. An interlude of gentleness to feel another’s soft flesh against his, to relieve his pent-up excitement. She should have been honored, especially after he had been so tender with her, so charming. She had been anxious enough to be with him.
But what did she do? She laughed. When she saw the scars, she laughed.
As he thought of it now Rahl had to strain to control his rage, strain to show the boy a smile, strain to hide his impatience to get on with it. He thought of what he had done to the girl, the exhilaration of his violence unleashed, her ripping screams. The smile came more easily to his lips. She would laugh at him no more.
“What’s the big grin for?” Carl asked.
Rahl looked down at the boy’s big brown eyes. “I was just thinking about how proud I am of you.” His smile widened as he remembered the way her hot sticky blood pumped and spurted as she screamed. Where was her haughty laughter then?
“Me?” Carl asked, smiling shyly.
Rahl’s blond head nodded. “Yes, Carl, you. Not many young men of your age would be intelligent enough to see the world as it really is. To see beyond their own lives to the wider dangers and wonders all about. To see how hard I work to bring safety and peace to the people.” He shook his head sadly. “Sometimes it hurts my heart to see the very ones for whom I struggle so hard turn their backs to me, reject my tireless efforts, or worse yet, join with the enemies of the people.
“I have not wanted to burden you with worry for me, but right now, as I speak with you, there are evil people who plot to conquer us, to crush us. They have brought down the boundary that protected D’Hara, and now the second boundary too. I fear they plot an invasion. I have tried to warn the people of the danger from Westland, to get them to do something to protect themselves, but they are poor and simple people, they look to me for protection.”
Carl’s eyes widened. “Father Rahl, are you in danger?”
Rahl brushed the matter away with a wave of his hand. “It’s not me I fear for, it’s the people. If I were to die, who would protect them?”
“Die?” Carl’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Father Rahl! We need you! Please don’t let them get you! Please let me fight at your side. I want to help protect you. I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt.”
Rahl’s breathing quickened, his heart raced. The time was near. It would not be long now. He smiled warmly at Carl as he remembered the girl’s hoarse screams. “I could not stand the thought of you being in danger for me. Carl, I have come to know you these last days—you are more to me than simply a young man who was chosen to help me with the ceremony, you have become my friend. I have shared my deepest concerns with you, my hopes, my dreams. I don’t do that with many. It’s enough to know you care.”
Tears in his eyes, Carl looked up at the Master. “Father Rahl,” he whispered, “I’d do anything for you. Please let me stay? After the ceremony, let me stay and be with you? I’ll do anything you need, I promise, if I could just stay with you.”
“Carl, that’s so like you, so kind. But you have a life, parents, friends. And Tinker, don’t forget your dog. Soon you will be wanting to go back to all that.”
Carl slowly shook his head while his eyes stayed on Rahl. “No I won’t. I only want to be with you. Father Rahl, I love you. I’d do anything for you.”
Rahl considered the boy’s words, a serious look on his face. “It would be dangerous for you to stay with me.” Rahl could feel his heart pounding.
“I don’t care. I want to serve you, I don’t care if I might get killed. I only want to help you. I don’t want to do anything else but help you in your fight with those enemies. Father Rahl, if I got killed helping you, it would be worth it. Please, let me stay, I’ll do whatever you ask. Forever.”
To help control his rapid breathing, Rahl took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. His face was grave. “Are you sure of what you are saying, Carl? Are you sure you really mean it? I mean, are you really sure you would give your life for me?”
“I swear. I’d die to help you. My life is yours, if you’ll have it.”
Rahl leaned back a little, put his hands on his knees, and nodded slowly, his blue eyes riveted on the boy.
“Yes, Carl. I will have it.”
Carl didn’t smile, but shook slightly with the excitement of acceptance, his face set in determination. “When can we do the ceremony? I want to help you and the people.”
“Soon,” Rahl said, his eyes getting wide and his speech slow. “Tonight, after I have fed you. Are you ready to begin?”
“Yes.”
Rahl rose, feeling the surge of blood through his veins—he strained to control the flush of arousal. It was dark outside. The torches gave off a flickering light that danced in his blue eyes, gleamed on his long blond hair, and made his white robes seem to glow. Before going to the forge room, he placed the feeding horn near Carl’s mouth.
Inside the dark room, his guards waited, their massive arms folded across their chests. Sweat rolling from their skin left little trails in the light covering of soot. A crucible sat in the fire of the forge, an acrid smell rising from the dross.
Eyes wide, Rahl addressed his guards. “Is Demmin back?”
“For several days, Master.”
“Tell him to come and wait,” Rahl said, unable to manage more than a whisper. “And then I would like you two to leave me alone for now.”
They bowed and left through the back door. Rahl swept his hand over the crucible, and the smell changed to an appetizing aroma. His eyes closed as he offered silent prayers to the spirit of his father. His breathing was a shallow pant. In the fervor of his emotions he was unable to control it. He licked his shaking fingertips and rubbed them on his lips.
Affixing wooden handles to the crucible so as to lift it without burning himself, he used the magic to make its weight easy to maneuver, and went back through the door with it. The torches lit the area around the boy, the white sand with the symbols traced in it, the ring of grass, the altar set on the wedge of white stone. Torchlight reflected off the polished stone block that held the iron bowl with the Shinga on its lid.
Rahl’s blue eyes took it all in as he approached the boy. He stopped in front of him, by the mouth of the feeding horn. There was a glaze in his eyes as he looked down to Carl’s upturned face.
“Are you sure about this, Carl?” he asked hoarsely. “Can I trust you with my life?”
“I swear my loyalty to you, Father Rahl. Forever.”
Rahl’s eyes closed as he drew a shar
p breath. Sweat beaded on his face, stuck his robes to his skin. He could feel waves of heat rolling off the crucible. He added the heat of his magic to the vessel, to keep its contents boiling.
Softly, he began chanting the sacred incantations in the ancient language. Charms and spells whispered their haunting sounds in the air. Rahl’s back arched as he felt power surging through his body, taking him with hot promise. He shook as he chanted, offering up his words to the spirit of the boy.
His eyes opened partway, the visage of wanton passion burning in them. His breathing was ragged—his hands trembled slightly. He gazed down at the boy.
“Carl,” he said in a husky whisper, “I love you.”
“I love you, Father Rahl.”
Rahl’s eyes slid closed. “Put your mouth over the horn, my boy, and hold tight.”
While Carl did as he was told, Rahl chanted the last charm, his heart pounding. The torches hissed and spit while they burned, the sound intertwining with that of the spell.
And then he poured the contents of the crucible into the horn.
Carl’s eyes snapped wide, and he both inhaled and swallowed involuntarily when the molten lead hit him, searing into his body.
Darken Rahl shuddered with excitement. He let the empty crucible slip from his hands to the ground.
The Master went on to the next set of incantations, the sending of the boy’s spirit to the underworld. He said the words, every word in the proper order, opening the way to the underworld, opening the void, opening the dark emptiness.
As his hands extended upward, dark forms swirled around him. Howls filled the night air with the terror of their calls. Darken Rahl went to the cold stone altar, knelt in front of it, stretched his arm across it, put his face to it. He spoke the words in the ancient language that would link the boy’s spirit to him. For a short while he cast the needed spells. When finished, he stood, fists at his side, his face flushed. Demmin Nass stepped forward, out of the shadows.
Rahl’s vision focused on his friend. “Demmin,” he whispered, his voice coarse.
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