Wizard's First Rule tsot-1

by Terry Goodkind

  “Let’s collect our things and get moving,” he said softly. “We’ve wasted a lot of time. I only hope it wasn’t too much.” His gray eyes were wet. “I’m sorry, Kahlan . . . that I chose wrong.”

  “You did not choose wrong, Richard—they did.” Her anger at the elders had a finality to it, too, a door closing on any hope for these people. She cut off her concern for them—they were the walking dead. They had been offered a chance, and had chosen their own fate.

  When they passed Savidlin, the two men locked arms for a moment without looking at each other. No one else made a move to leave—they stayed and watched the two outsiders walk quickly among them. As they passed, a few reached out and touched Richard, he returning the wordless sympathy with a squeeze of his hand on their arms, unable to bear meeting their eyes.

  They gathered up their things from Savidlin’s house, stuffing their cloaks into the packs. Neither spoke. Kahlan felt empty, drained. When their eyes met at last, they suddenly came together in a wordless embrace, a shared grief for their new friends, for what they both knew would happen to them. They had gambled with the only thing they had—time. And lost.

  When they separated, Kahlan put the last of her things in the pack and closed the flap. Richard pulled his cloak back out. She watched as he pushed his hand inside and rummaged around, an urgency to his search. He went to the doorway for light, and looked inside as he moved items roughly about. The arm holding the pack lowered and his face came up to hers, alarm in his expression.

  “The night stone is gone.”

  The way he said it frightened her. “Maybe you left it out somewhere . . .”

  “No. I never took it out of my pack. Never.”

  Kahlan didn’t understand why he seemed so panicked about it. “Richard, we don’t need it now, we are through the pass. I’m sure Adie will forgive its loss. We have more important things to worry about.”

  He took a step closer to her. “You don’t understand. We have to find it.”

  “Why?” she frowned.

  “Because I think that thing can wake the dead.” Her mouth fell open. “Kahlan, I’ve been thinking about it. Do you remember how nervous Adie was when she gave it to me, how she kept looking around until it was put away? And when did the shadow things in the pass start coming for us? After I took it out. Remember?”

  Her eyes were wide. “But, even if someone else used it, she said it would only work for you.”

  “She was talking about it giving off light. She said nothing about waking the dead. I can’t believe Adie wouldn’t warn us.”

  Kahlan looked away, thinking. Her eyes closed as a wave of realization swept over her. “Yes, she did, Richard. She warned you with a sorceress’s riddle. I’m sorry, I never gave it a thought. That is the way of a sorceress. She will not always come right out with what she knows, with a warning. She will sometimes put it in the form of a riddle.”

  Richard turned to the door, glaring out. “I can’t believe it. The world is being sucked into oblivion, and that old woman gives us riddles.” He pounded his fist against the doorframe. “She should have told us!”

  “Richard, maybe she had a reason, maybe it was the only way.”

  He stared out the door, thinking. “If you have need enough. That’s what she said. Like water. It is valuable only under the right conditions, that to a drowning man it is of little worth and great trouble. That was how she was trying to warn us. Great trouble.” He turned back to the room, picking up the pack again, taking another look inside. “It was here last night, I saw it. What could have happened to it?” Together they looked up, their eyes meeting. “Siddin,” they both said at once.

  Chapter 26

  Dropping their packs, they both ran out the door, heading for the open area where they had last seen Savidlin. Both screamed out Siddin’s name. As they ran, splashing through the mud, people scattered out of the way. By the time they reached the open area, the crowd was in a panic, not knowing what was happening, and were sweeping back for the shelter of the buildings. The elders retreated on the platform. The Bird Man stretched up, trying to see. The band of hunters behind him nocked arrows to their bowstrings.

  She saw Savidlin, frightened and confused that they were calling out his son’s name.

  “Savidlin!” Kahlan screamed. “Find Siddin! Don’t let him open the pouch he has!”

  Savidlin paled, whirled around, searching, then ran off in a half crouch, looking for his son, his head darting among the running people. Kahlan didn’t see Weselan anywhere. Richard and Kahlan separated, widening their search. The area was turning to mass confusion—she had to push people out of her way. Kahlan’s heart was in her throat. If Siddin opened the pouch . . .

  And then she saw him.

  As people cleared the center of the village, there he was, paying no attention to the panic all around him as he sat in the mud, shaking the leather pouch in his little fist, trying to get the stone out.

  “Siddin! No!” she yelled at him over and over, running toward him.

  He couldn’t hear her screams. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to get it out. He was just a defenseless little boy. Please, she begged in her mind, let the fates be kind to him.

  The stone dropped from the pouch and plopped into the mud. Siddin smiled and picked it up. Kahlan felt her skin go cold.

  Shadow things began to materialize all around. They turned like wisps of mist in the damp air, as if looking about. Then they floated for Siddin.

  Richard ran for him, screaming over at her, “Get the stone! Put it back in the pouch!”

  His sword flashed through the air, cutting through the shadows as he ran in a straight line for Siddin. When the sword sliced through them, they howled in agony and spun apart. Upon hearing the terrifying wails Siddin looked up and froze—wide-eyed.

  Kahlan yelled at him to put the stone back in the pouch, but he could not move. He was hearing other voices. She ran faster than she had ever run, weaving back and forth around the dense knots of shadows as they floated toward the boy.

  Something dark and small zipped past her, making her breath catch in her throat. Then another, behind her. Arrows. The air suddenly became thick with arrows, the Bird Man having ordered his hunters to bring down the shadows. Every one went true and found its mark, but they simply passed through the shadow things as if they were whizzing through smoke. Poison tipped arrows were flying wildly everywhere. She knew that if one even nicked her or Richard, they were dead. Now she had to dodge the arrows as well as the shadows. She heard another whistle past her ear as she ducked at the last second. One skipped in the mud and flew past her leg.

  Richard had reached the boy, but couldn’t grab the stone. All he was able to do was frantically strike down the advancing shadows. He couldn’t pause to try for the stone.

  Kahlan was still a long way off, not able to run in as Richard had, cutting through them. She knew that if she inadvertently touched a shadow, she was dead. There were so many materializing around her the very air was like a gray maze. Richard fought around the boy in a circle that got smaller all the time. He held the sword in both hands, swinging it wildly. He dared not slow for an instant or they would close over him. There was no end to the shadow things.

  Kahlan couldn’t make any headway. The shadows, floating past her from all around, and the arrows streaking by, cut her off at every turn, the arrows forcing her to jump back just as she went for an opening. She knew Richard wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. Hard as he fought, he was falling back in a tighter and tighter circle, closer to the boy. She was their only chance, and she wasn’t even close.

  Another arrow zipped past, the feather flicking her hair.

  “Stop the arrows!” she yelled angrily at the Bird Man. “Stop shooting the arrows! You’re going to kill us!”

  Frustrated, he recognized her plight and reluctantly called a halt to the archers. But then they all drew knives and quickly advanced on the shadows. They had no idea what they were up against. They wo
uld be killed to the last man.

  “No!” she screamed, shaking her fists. “If you touch them you will die! Stay back!”

  The Bird Man held his arm up, stopping his men. She knew how helpless he felt as he watched her dart back among the shadows, angling slowly closer to Richard and Siddin.

  She heard another voice. It was Toffalar, yelling.

  “Stop them! They are destroying our ancestors’ spirits! Shoot them with your arrows! Shoot the outsiders!”

  Hesitantly, looking at one another, the archers nocked arrows to their bows once again. They could not disobey one of the elders.

  “Shoot them!” he yelled, red-faced, shaking his fist. “You heard me! Shoot them.”

  They brought up their bows. Kahlan crouched, preparing to try to jump out of the way once the arrows were loosed. The Bird Man stepped in front of his men, holding his arm out, across them, countermanding the order. There were words she couldn’t hear between him and Toffalar. She wasted no time, and took the opportunity to work her way forward, ducking under the outstretched arms of the floating shadow things.

  Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Toffalar. He had a knife and was running toward her. She dismissed the danger—sooner or later he would run into a shadow and be killed. He stopped here and there to plead with the shadow things. She couldn’t hear his voice above the wails. The next time she looked he had closed most of the distance. It was unbelievable that he hadn’t run into one. Somehow the gaps just opened for him as he ran heedlessly, recklessly, for her, his face contorted in rage. Still, she didn’t worry that he could make it—soon he had to touch one, and would be dead.

  Kahlan gained the rest of the open ground, but found the ring of shadows around Richard and Siddin an impenetrable gray wall. There was no opening. She dodged right, and left, trying to find a way in, but couldn’t get through. She was so close, yet so far, and the trap was closing around her, too. Several times she barely escaped by stepping back before shadows converged. Richard snatched glimpses to see where she was. He tried to fight through to her a number of times, but was forced to turn to the other side to keep the shadows from Siddin.

  With a start, she saw the knife slashing through the air. Toffalar had reached her. Lost in hate, he screamed things she couldn’t even understand. But she understood the knife, what he intended. He intended to kill her. She dodged his slash. It was her opening.

  And then she made a mistake.

  She started to reach to touch Toffalar, but caught sight of Richard looking toward her. She faltered at the thought of him seeing her use her power. She hesitated, and let Toffalar have the instant he needed. Richard screamed her name in warning, then turned to fight back the shadows from behind him.

  Toffalar’s knife came up, hitting her right arm, deflecting off the bone.

  Shock and pain ignited her rage. Rage at her own stupidity. She did not miss the opening a second time. Her left hand came up and caught Toffalar by the throat. She felt her grip shut off his air for an instant. She needed only to touch him—grabbing him by the throat was a reflex of her rage, not her power.

  Though there were terrified screams and shouts coming from people all around, and the horrifying wails from the shadows Richard was destroying wholesale, her mind went suddenly quiet, calm. There was no sound in her head. Only silence. The silence of what she was going to do.

  In the calm spark of an instant that to her twisted for an eternity, she saw the look of fear in Toffalar’s eyes, the realization of his fate. She saw in his eyes his railing against that end, felt his muscles beginning to tense, to fight her, his hands starting the ever so slow, hopeless journey to her grip at his throat.

  But he had no chance, not the slightest glimmer. She was in control now. Time was hers. He was hers. She felt no pity. No remorse. Only deadly calm.

  As she had done countless times before, in her calm, the Mother Confessor relaxed her restraint. Released at last, her power slammed into Toffalar’s body.

  There was a hard impact to the air—thunder with no sound. Water in the puddles around her danced and flung muddy droplets into the air.

  Toffalar’s eyes went wide. The muscles of his face went slack. His mouth fell open.

  “Mistress!” he called out in a reverent whisper.

  The calm expression on her face contorted with anger. With all her strength she shoved Toffalar backward, at the ring of shadows around Richard and Siddin. Arms flung in the air, he fell into the shadows and screamed at the contact before falling to the mud. Somehow, the contact opened a brief, small gap in the ring of shadows. Without hesitation she dove for it, flinging herself through an instant before it closed behind her.

  Kahlan threw herself over Siddin.

  “Hurry!” Richard yelled.

  Siddin didn’t look at her—his face was fixed on the shadows, his mouth open, all his muscles locked. She tried to get the stone from his tight little fist, but his fingers were fastened around it with the strength of his fright. She snatched the pouch from his other hand. Gripping the pouch and his wrist with her left hand, she started prying his little fingers off the stone with the right, begging him the whole time to let go. He didn’t hear her. Blood ran down her arm to her shaking hand, mixing with the rain, making her fingers slippery.

  A shadowy hand reached for her face. She flinched back. The sword hissed past her face, through the shadow. It added its wail to the others. Siddin’s eyes were transfixed on the shadows, all his muscles rigid. Richard was right over her, swinging the sword in weaving patterns all around. There was no more ground to give. It was just the three of them now. Siddin’s slippery fingers wouldn’t open.

  Gritting her teeth with an effort that sent searing pain through the wound in her right arm, she finally raked the stone out of Siddin’s hand. Because of the blood and mud, it shot from her fingers like a melon seed, plopping in the mud by her knee. Almost instantly her hand was over it, snatching it back up in a scoopful of mud. She jammed it in the pouch and yanked the drawstring closed. Gasping, she looked up.

  The shadows stopped. She could hear Richard’s heavy breathing as he continued slashing at them. Slowly at first, the shadows began moving back, as if confused, lost, searching. Then they dissolved back into the air, retreating to the underworld whence they had come. In a moment, they were gone. Except for Toffalar’s body, the three of them were in an empty expanse of mud.

  Kahlan, rain running off her face, took Siddin into her arms, hugging him tight against her as he began crying. In exhaustion, Richard closed his eyes and collapsed to his knees, sitting back on his heels. His head hung down as he panted.

  “Kahlan,” Siddin whimpered, “they were calling my name.”

  “I know,” she whispered in his ear, kissing it, “it’s all right now. You were very brave. Brave as any hunter.”

  He hugged his arms around her neck as she comforted him. She felt weak, shaky. They had almost lost their lives, to save a single one. Something she had told him the Seeker must not do, yet they had done it without a second thought. How could they not have tried? Having Siddin’s arms around her made it all worth it. Richard was still holding the sword in both hands—its tip sunk in the mud. She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder.

  At the touch of her hand, his head instantly snapped up and the sword whipped around toward her, stopping in front of her face. Kahlan jumped with surprise. Fury at Richard’s wide eyes.

  “Richard,” she said, startled, “it’s just me. It’s over. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  He let his muscles go limp, let himself fall over onto his side in the mud.

  “Sorry,” he managed, still trying to catch his breath. “When your hand touched me . . . I guess I thought it was a shadow.”

  Legs were suddenly all about them. She peered up. The Bird Man was there, as were Savidlin and Weselan. Weselan was sobbing loudly. Kahlan stood and handed her son. Weselan passed the boy to her husband and threw her arms around Kahlan, kissing her face a
ll over.

  “Thank you, Mother Confessor, thank you for saving my boy,” she bawled. “Thank you, Kahlan, thank you.”

  “I know, I know.” Kahlan hugged her back. “It’s all right now.”

  Weselan turned tearfully back to take Siddin in her arms. Kahlan saw Toffalar lying close by, dead. She flopped down in the mud, exhausted, and pulled her knees up with her arms around them.

  She put her face against her knees and, losing control, started crying. Not because she had killed Toffalar, but because she had hesitated. It had almost cost her her life—almost cost Richard and Siddin—everyone—their lives. She had almost given victory to Rahl because she hadn’t wanted Richard to see what she was going to do, and had hesitated. It was the stupidest thing she had ever done, other than not telling Richard she was a Confessor. Tears of frustration poured out as she cried in choking sobs.

  A hand reached under her good arm, pulling her up. It was the Bird Man. She bit her quivering lip, forcing herself to stop crying. She could not let these people see her showing weakness. She was a Confessor.

  “Well done, Mother Confessor,” he said as he took a strip of cloth from one of his men and started wrapping it around her wounded arm.

  Kahlan held her head up. “Thank you, honored elder.”

  “This will need to be stitched together. I will have the gentlest healer among us do the work.”

  She stood numbly as he tightened the bandage, sending flames of pain through the deep cut. He looked down at Richard, who seemed content to lie there on his back in the mud, as if it were the most comfortable bed in the world.

  The Bird Man lifted an eyebrow to her, and gave a nod, indicating Richard. “Your warning that I should not want to give the Seeker cause to draw his sword in anger was as true as an arrow from my finest archer.” There was a twinkle in his sharp brown eyes—the corners of his mouth curled in a smile. He looked down at the Seeker. “You made a good showing of yourself too, Richard With The Temper. Fortunately the evil spirits still have not learned to carry swords.”