Du Chaillu stroked Richard’s face when Kahlan eased him onto his back, seeming to discount the need to look for a wound. The spirit woman bent forward, cooing softly in a chant with words Kahlan didn’t understand.
“I can’t find anything,” Kahlan said at last in exasperation.
“You won’t,” Du Chaillu answered, distantly.
“Why’s that?”
The Baka Tau Mana spirit woman murmured fond words to Richard. Even if Kahlan couldn’t understand their literal meaning, she understood the emotion behind them.
“It is not a wound of this world,” Du Chaillu said.
Kahlan glanced about at the soldiers ringing them. She put her hands protectively on Richard’s chest.
“What does that mean?”
Du Chaillu pushed Kahlan’s hands gently away.
“It is a wound of the spirit. The soul. Let me tend to him.”
Kahlan pressed her own hand tenderly to Richard’s face. “How do you know that? You don’t know that. How could you know?”
“I am a spirit woman. I recognize such things.”
“Just because—”
“Did you find a wound?”
Kahlan remained silent for a moment, reconsidering her own feelings. “Do you know what we can do to help him?”
“This is something beyond your ability to help.” Du Chaillu bowed her head of dark hair as she pressed her hands to Richard’s chest.
“Leave me to it,” Du Chaillu murmured, “or our husband will die.”
Kahlan sat back on her heels and watched as the Baka Tau Mana spirit woman, head bowed and hands on Richard, closed her eyes as if going into a trance of some sort. Words whispered forth, meant for herself perhaps, but not for others. She trembled. Her arms shook.
Du Chaillu’s face contorted in pain.
Suddenly, she fell back, breaking the connection. Kahlan caught her arm, lest she topple. “Are you all right?”
Du Chaillu nodded. “My power. It worked. It was back.”
Kahlan looked from the woman to Richard. He seemed calmer.
“What did you do? What happened?”
“Something was trying to take his spirit. I used my ability to annul such power and kept the hands of death from him.”
“Your power is back?” Kahlan was dubious. “But how could that be?”
Du Chaillu shook her head. “I don’t know. It returned when the Caharin cried out and fell from his horse. I knew because I could again feel my bond to him.”
“Maybe the chimes have fled back to the underworld.”
Again Du Chaillu shook her head. “Whatever it was, it is passing. My power fades again.” She stared off a moment. “It is again gone. It was only there long enough to help him.”
Du Chaillu issued quiet orders for her men to stand down, that it was over.
Kahlan wasn’t convinced. She glanced again to Richard. It did look like he was calming. His breathing was evening out.
His eyes abruptly opened. He squinted at the light.
Du Chaillu leaned over him and pressed the wet cloth to his forehead, dabbing off the sweat.
“You are all right, now, my husband,” she said.
“Du Chaillu,” he muttered, “how many times do I have to tell you, I’m not your husband. You are misinterpreting old laws.”
Du Chaillu smiled up at Kahlan. “See? He is better.”
“Thank the good spirits you were here, Du Chaillu,” Kahlan whispered.
“Tell him that when he again complains I should leave him.”
Kahlan couldn’t help smiling at Richard’s frustration with Du Chaillu and with her blessed relief that he was indeed better. Tears now suddenly tried to burst forth, but she banished them.
“Richard, are you all right? What happened? What made you fall from your horse?”
Richard tried to sit up but Kahlan and Du Chaillu both pushed him back down.
“Both your wives say to rest for a time,” Du Chaillu said.
Richard stopped trying to get up. His gray eyes turned to Kahlan. She clutched his arm, again silently thanking the good spirits.
“I’m not sure what happened,” he finally said. “It was like this sound—like a deafening bell—exploded in my head. The pain was like . . .” His face lost some of its color. “I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”
He sat up, this time brushing their restraining hands aside. “I’m all right, now. Whatever it was, it’s gone. It has passed.”
“I’m not so sure,” Kahlan said.
“I am,” he said. He looked haunted. “It was like something tearing at my very soul.”
“It didn’t get it,” Du Chaillu said. “It tried, but it didn’t get it.”
She was dead serious. Kahlan believed her.
Hide twitching, the horse stood motionless, her hooves rooted to the grassy ground. Her instinct demanded she run. Ripples of panic quivered through her flesh, but she remained unmoving.
The man was beyond the falling water, in the dark hole.
She didn’t like holes. No horse did.
He had screamed. The ground had shaken. That had been a long time ago. She hadn’t moved since then. Now it was silent.
The horse knew, though, that her friend still lived.
She let out a long, low bellow.
He still lived, but he didn’t come out.
The horse was alone.
There was no worse thing for a horse than being alone.
Chapter 49
Ann opened her eyes. She was surprised, in the dun light, to see a face she had not seen for months, not since she was still the Prelate, back at the Palace of the Prophets in Tanimura, in the Old World.
The middle-aged Sister was watching her. Middle-aged, Ann amended, if you considered five hundred and a few years old to be middle-aged.
“Sister Alessandra.”
Forming the words aloud hurt. Her lip was not healed. Her jaw still didn’t work too well. Ann didn’t know if it was broken. If it was, there was nothing for it. It would have to heal as it would; there was no magic to do it for her.
“Prelate,” the woman greeted, in an aloof tone.
She used to have a long braid, Ann recalled. A long braid she always looped around and pinned to the back of her head. Now her graying brown hair was chopped off and hung loose, not quite touching her shoulders. Ann thought it better balanced her somewhat prominent nose.
“I brought you something to eat, Prelate, if you feel up to it.”
“Why? Why did you bring me something to eat?”
“His Excellency wanted you fed.”
“Why you?”
The woman smiled just a little. “You dislike me, Prelate.”
Ann did her best to glare. The way her face was swollen, she wasn’t sure she was doing a good job of it.
“As a matter of fact, Sister Alessandra, I love you as I love all the Creator’s children. I simply abhor your actions—that you have sworn your soul to the Nameless One.”
“Keeper of the underworld.” Sister Alessandra’s smile grew a little wider. “So, you can still care about a woman who is a Sister of the Dark?”
Ann turned her face away, even though the steaming bowl did smell savory. She didn’t want to talk to the fallen Sister.
In her chains, Ann couldn’t feed herself. She unconditionally refused to accept food from the Sisters who had lied to her and betrayed her rather than have their freedom. Up until now, soldiers fed her. They disliked the duty. Their distaste for feeding an old woman had apparently resulted in Sister Alessandra’s appearance.
Sister Alessandra lifted a spoonful of soup to Ann’s mouth.
“Here, have some of this. I made it myself.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought you might like it.”
“Getting bored, Sister, pulling the legs off ants?”
“My, my, Prelate, but don’t you have the memory. I haven’t done that since I was a child, first c
ome to the Palace of the Prophets. As I recall, you were the one who convinced me to stop doing that, recognizing I was unhappy to leave my home.
“Here, now, have a taste. Please?”
Ann was sincerely surprised to hear the woman say “please.” She opened her mouth for the spoon. Eating hurt, but not eating was making her weak. She could have refused to eat, or done something else to get herself killed, she supposed, but she did have a mission, and therefore a reason to live.
“Not bad, Sister Alessandra. Not bad at all.”
Sister Alessandra smiled with what looked to be pride. “I told you so. Here, have some more.”
Ann ate slowly, trying to gently chew the soft vegetables so as not to further hurt her jaw. She simply swallowed the tough chunks of meat, not even bothering to mash them flat, lest she undo whatever healing her jaw was managing to do.
“Your lip looks like it’s going to be scarred.”
“My lovers will be disappointed my beauty is marred.”
Sister Alessandra laughed. Not a harsh or cynical laugh, but a lilting laugh of true amusement. “You always could make me laugh, Prelate.”
“Yes,” Ann said with venom, “that was why I for so long failed to realize you had joined the side of evil. I thought my little Alessandra, my happy little Alessandra, would not be drawn to the heart of wickedness. I so believed you loved the Light.”
Sister Alessandra’s smile withered. “I did, Prelate.”
“Bah,” Ann scoffed. “You only loved yourself.”
The woman stirred the soup for a time and finally brought up another spoonful. “Perhaps you are right, Prelate. You usually were.”
Ann carefully chewed the lumps in the soup as she surveyed the grimy little tent. She had caused such a ruckus being with the Sisters of the Light that Jagang apparently had ordered her to be housed in her own small tent. Each night a long steel pin was driven into the ground and she was chained to it. The tent was erected around her.
In the day, when they prepared to move out, she was thrown in a rough wooden box latched with a hasp held tight with a pin or lock of some sort. She wasn’t sure, since she was always inside the box when they put it on and took it off. The box, with her in it, was then loaded on an enclosed wagon without windows or ventilation. She knew because she peeked out the crack where the lid of her box didn’t fit well.
After they stopped for the night, they eventually took her out and one of the Sisters escorted her to the latrine before they staked her to the ground and put up her tent. If need took her in the day, she had little choice as to what to do about it. It was either wait, or don’t.
Occasionally they didn’t bother with the tent, and simply left her chained to the stake, like a dog.
Ann had come to like her little tent, and was pleased when it was erected around her. It was her private sanctuary, where she could stretch her cramped legs and arms, lie down, and pray.
Ann swallowed the mouthful of soup. “So, did Jagang say you were to do more to me than feed me? Perhaps rough me up for his amusement, or yours?”
“No.” Sister Alessandra sighed. “Just feed you. From what I gather, he hasn’t decided what to do with you, but in the meantime he wants you kept alive so you might be of value to him one day.”
Ann watched the woman stir the bowl of soup. “He can’t get in your mind, you know. Not now.”
Sister Alessandra looked up. “What makes you think that?”
“The chimes are loose.”
The spoon stilled. “So I’ve heard.” The spoon again started circling. “Rumors. That’s all it is.”
Ann squirmed, trying to get more comfortable on the rough ground. It seemed to her that with all her natural padding she shouldn’t be so troubled by lumps on the ground.
“I wish it were only rumors. Why do you think your magic doesn’t work?”
“But it does.”
“I mean your Additive Magic.”
The woman’s brown eyes turned down. “Well, I guess I’ve not really tried to use it, that’s all. If I were to try, it would work, I’ve no doubt.”
“Try, then. You’ll see I’m right.”
She shook her head. “His Excellency does not permit it, unless he specifically requests it. It is . . . unwise to do other than His Excellency says to do.”
Ann leaned toward the woman. “Alessandra, the chimes are loose. Magic has failed. For Creation’s sake, why do you think I’m in this predicament? If I could use magic, don’t you think I would have caused just a little trouble when I was captured?
“Use your head, Alessandra. You’re not stupid, don’t act it.”
If there was one thing about Alessandra, she wasn’t stupid. How a smart woman could fall prey to the Keeper’s promises, Ann didn’t know. She guessed lies could fool even smart people.
Ann avoided using the appellation “Sister” not only because it was a term of respect, but because it seemed a way of speaking more directly, more intimately, to a woman Ann had known and liked for half a millennium. Using the title “Sister” seemed only to invoke her connection to the Sisters of the Dark.
“Alessandra, Jagang can’t get into your head. His power as a dream walker has failed, just the same as my power has failed.”
Sister Alessandra watched without evident emotion.
“Perhaps his power works in conjunction with, or even through, ours, and he could still get into the minds of the Sisters of the Dark.”
“Bah. Now you’re thinking like a slave. Go away if you’re going to think like a slave—like the Sisters of the Light, I’m ashamed to say.”
The woman seemed reluctant either to leave or to end the discussion. “I don’t believe you. Jagang is all-powerful. He must surely be watching now, through my eyes, as we speak, and I simply don’t know it.”
Ann was forced to take the spoonful of soup when it unexpectedly swooped toward her mouth. She chewed slowly as she studied the woman’s face.
“You could come back to the Light, Alessandra.”
“What!” The instantaneous flash of anger in the woman’s eyes melted to amusement. “Prelate, you have gone loony.”
“Have I?”
Sister Alessandra pressed another spoonful to Ann’s lips. “Yes. I am sworn to my master of the underworld. I serve the Keeper. Eat, now.”
Before Ann could swallow, another spoonful came at her. She ate a half dozen more before she could get a word out.
“Alessandra, the Creator would forgive you. The Creator is all-loving and all-forgiving. He would take you back. You could come back to the light. Wouldn’t you like to return to the Creator’s loving embrace?”
Unexpectedly, Sister Alessandra backhanded her. Ann toppled to her side. The woman hovered, glowering.
“The Keeper is my master! You will not speak blasphemy! His Excellency is my master in this world. In the next, I am sworn to the Keeper. I will not listen to you profane my oath to my master. Do you hear?”
Ann feared that what healing her jaw had done had now been undone. It hurt something awful. Her eyes watered. Sister Alessandra finally seized Ann’s filthy dress at the shoulder and hauled her up straight.
“I will not have you saying such things. Do you hear?”
Ann kept silent, fearing to elicit another angry outburst Apparently, the subject was as sore as Ann’s jaw.
Sister Alessandra picked up the bowl of soup. “There isn’t much left, but you should finish it.”
Alessandra stared down at the bowl, as if watching the spoon stirring around in it. She cleared her throat. “Sorry I hit you.”
Ann nodded. “I forgive you, Alessandra.” The woman’s eyes, no longer filled with anger, turned up. “I do, Alessandra,” Ann whispered sincerely, wondering at the terrible emotions struggling within her former disciple.
The eyes turned down again. “There is nothing to forgive. I am what I am, and nothing will change it. You’ve no idea of the things I’ve done to become a Sister of the Dark.” She looked up with a d
istant expression. “You’ve no idea of the power I was granted in return. You can’t imagine, Prelate.”
Ann almost asked her what good it did her, but held her tongue and finished the soup in silence. She winced in pain with every swallow. The spoon clanked when Alessandra dropped it in the empty bowl.
“It was very good, Alessandra. The best meal I’ve had in . . . however long I’ve been here. Weeks, I guess.”
Sister Alessandra nodded and rose. “If I’m not busy, I will bring you some tomorrow, then.”
“Alessandra.” The woman turned back. Ann met her gaze. “Could you sit with me for a bit?”
“Why?”
Ann chuckled bitterly. “I’m stuffed in a box every day. I’m staked to the ground every night. It would be nice to have someone I know sit with me for a bit, that’s all.”
“I’m a Sister of the Dark.”
Ann shrugged. “I’m a Sister of the Light. You still brought me soup.”
“I was ordered to.”
“Ah. More honesty than I received from the Sisters of the Light, I’m sorry to say.” Ann squirmed off a loop of chain and then flopped down on her side, turning away from Sister Alessandra. “Sorry you had to be interrupted to take care of me. Jagang probably wants you to go back to whoring for his men.”
Silence reigned inside the tent. Outside, soldiers laughed, drank, and gambled. Smells of meat roasting drifted in. At least Ann’s stomach wasn’t grumbling with hunger. The soup had been good.
Ann heard the sound of a woman’s scream in the distance. The scream turned to chiming laughter. One of the camp followers, no doubt. Sometimes, the screams were sincere terror. Sometimes the sound of them made Ann sweat, thinking about what was happening to those poor women.
At last, Sister Alessandra sank back down. “I could sit with you a bit.”
Ann rolled over. “I would like that, Alessandra. I really would.”
Sister Alessandra helped her sit up, and then the two of them sat in awkward silence while they listened to the camp sounds.
“Jagang’s tent,” Ann said at last. “I heard it was something. Quite the fancy sight.”
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