Pillars of Creation

by Terry Goodkind

  "I'd guess you were right," he said, after taking in the abnormal cant of the head. "Looks like he's been here at least part of the day."

  "I was through here earlier. Those are my tracks, there. I don't see any others about." She gestured toward her catch lying just behind her. "When I went to the lake to check my lines, earlier, he wasn't here."

  He twisted his head in order to better study the still face. "Any idea who he was?"

  "No. I don't have a clue, other than that he's a soldier."

  The man looked up. "Any idea what kind of soldier?"

  Jennsen's brow drew tight. "What kind? He's a D'Haran soldier." She lowered herself to the ground in order to look at the stranger more directly. "Where are you from that you wouldn't recognize a D'Haran soldier?"

  He ran his hand under his cloak's hood and rubbed it along the side of his neck. "I'm just a traveler, passing through." He looked as tired as he sounded.

  The answer perplexed her. "I've moved around my whole life and I don't know of anyone who wouldn't know a D'Haran soldier when they saw one. How can you not?"

  "I'm new to D'Hara."

  "That's not possible. D'Hara covers most of the world."

  This time, his smile betrayed amusement. "Is that so?"

  She could feel her face heat and she knew it must be going red with how ignorant of the world at large she had shown herself to be. "Well, doesn't it?"

  He shook his head. "No. I'm from far to the south. Beyond the land that is D'Hara."

  She stared in wonder, her chagrin evaporating in light of the implications that came into her head at such an astonishing notion. Perhaps her dream might not be so extravagant.

  "And what are you doing, here, in D'Hara?"

  "I told you. Traveling." He sounded weary. She knew how exhausting it could be to travel. His tone turned more serious. "I know he's a D'Haran soldier. You misunderstood me. What I meant was, what kind of soldier? A man belonging to a local regiment? A man stationed here? A soldier on his way home for a visit? A soldier going for a drink in town? A scout?"

  Her sense of alarm rose. "A scout? What would he be scouting for in his own homeland?"

  The man looked off at the low dark clouds. "I don't know. I was only wondering if you knew anything of him."

  "No, of course not. I just found him."

  "Are these D'Haran soldiers dangerous? I mean, do they bother folks? Folks just traveling through?"

  Her gaze fled his questioning eyes. "I-I don't know. I guess they could be."

  She feared to say too much, but she wouldn't want him to end up in trouble because she said too little.

  "What do you suppose a lone soldier was doing way out here? Soldiers aren't often alone."

  "I don't know. Why do you suppose a simple woman would know more about soldiering than a man of the world who travels about? Don't you have any ideas of your own? Maybe he was just on his way home, for a visit, or something. Maybe he was thinking about a girl back home, and so he wasn't paying attention like he should have been. Maybe that's why he slipped and fell."

  He rubbed his neck again, as if he were in pain.

  "I'm sorry. I guess I'm not making much sense. I'm a little tired. Maybe I'm not thinking clearly. Maybe I was only concerned for you."

  "For me? What do you mean?"

  "I mean that soldiers belong to units of one sort or another. Other soldiers know them and know where they're supposed to be. Soldiers don't just go off alone when they want to. They aren't like some lone trapper who could vanish and no one would know."

  "Or some lone traveler?"

  An easy grin softened his expression. "Or some lone traveler." The grin withered. "The point is, other soldiers will likely look for him. If they come upon his body, here, they'll bring in troops to prevent anyone

  from leaving the area. Once they gather anyone they can find, they'll start asking questions.

  "From what I've heard about D'Haran soldiers, they know how to ask questions. They'll want to know every detail about every person they question. "

  Jennsen's middle cramped in sick, churning consternation. The last thing in the world she wanted was D'Haran soldiers asking questions of her or her mother. This dead soldier could end up being the death of them.

  "But what are the chances-"

  "I'm only saying that I'd not like to have this fellow's friends come along and decide that someone has to pay for his death. They might not see it as an accident. Soldiers get stirred up by the death of a comrade, even if it was an accident. You and I are the only two around. I'd not like to have a bunch of soldiers discover him and decide to blame us."

  "You mean, even if it was an accident, they might seize an innocent person and blame them for it?"

  "I don't know, but in my experience that's the way soldiers are. When they're angry they find someone to blame."

  "But they can't blame us. You weren't even here, and I was only going to tend my fishing lines."

  He planted an elbow on his knee and leaned over the dead man toward her. "And this soldier, going about his business for the great D'Haran Empire, saw a beautiful young woman strutting along and was so distracted by her that he slipped and fell."

  "I wasn't 'strutting'!"

  "I don't mean to suggest you were. I only meant to show you how people can find blame when they decide they want to."

  She'd not thought of that. They were D'Haran soldiers. Such behavior would hardly be out of the question.

  The rest of what he'd said registered in her mind. Jennsen had never before had a man call her beautiful. It flustered her, coming so unexpectedly and out of place, as it did, in the middle of such a worry. Since she didn't have any idea how to react to the compliment, and since there were so many more important thoughts commanding her emotions, she ignored it.

  "If they find him," the man said, "then, at the least, they're going to collect anyone around and question them long and hard."

  All the ugly implications were becoming all too real. The day of doom was suddenly looming near.

  "What do you think we should do?"

  He thought it over a moment. "Well, if they do come by, but don't find him, then they won't have any reason to stop and question the people here. If they don't find him, they'll go somewhere else to keep looking for him."

  He rose and looked around. "Ground's too hard to dig a grave." He pulled his hood farther forward to shield his eyes from the mist as he searched. He pointed to a spot near the base of the cliff. "There. There's a deep cleft that looks big enough. We could put him in there and cover him over with gravel and rocks. Best burial we can manage this time of year. "

  And probably more than he deserved. She would just as soon leave him, but that wouldn't be wise. Covering him up was what she had planned on doing before the stranger happened along. This would be a better way to do it. There would be less chance that animals would uncover him for passing soldiers to discover.

  Seeing her trying to hastily weigh the various ramifications, and mistaking it for reluctance, he spoke in soft assurance. "The man is dead. Nothing can be done about it. It was an accident. Why let that accident bring trouble? We didn't do anything wrong. We weren't even here when it happened. I say we bury him and go on with our lives-without D'Haran soldiers becoming unjustly involved."

  Jennsen stood. The man might be right about soldiers coming upon a dead friend and deciding to question people. There was abundant reason to be worried about the dead D'Haran soldier without this new concern. She thought again about the piece of paper she'd found in his pocket. That would be reason enough-without any other.

  If the piece of paper was what she thought it might be, then questioning would only be the beginning of the ordeal.

  "Agreed," she said. "If we're to do it, let's be quick."

  He smiled, more relief than anything, she thought. Then, turning to face her more squarely, he pushed his hood back off his head, the way men did out of respect for a woman.

  Jennsen was shocked to
see, even though he was at most only six or seven years older than she, that his cropped hair was as white as snow. She gazed at it with much the same sense of wonder as people gazed at her red hair. With the shadows of the hood gone, she saw that his eyes were as blue as hers, as blue as people said her father's had been.

  The combination of his short white hair and those blue eyes was arresting. The way they both went with his clean-shaven face was singularly

  appealing. It all fit together with his features in a way that seemed completely right.

  He held his hand out across the dead soldier.

  "My name is Sebastian."

  She hesitated a moment, but then offered her hand in return. Even though his was big and no doubt powerful, he didn't squeeze her hand to prove it, the way some men did. The unnatural warmth of the hand surprised her.

  "Are you going to tell me your name?"

  "I'm Jermsen Daggett."

  "Jennsen." He smiled his pleasure at the sound of it.

  She felt her face going red again. Instead of noticing, he immediately set to the task by grabbing the soldier under his arms and giving him a tug. The body moved only a short distance with each mighty pull. The soldier had been a huge man. Now he was a huge dead weight.

  Jermsen seized the soldier's cloak at the shoulder to help. Sebastian moved his hold to the cloak at the other shoulder and together they dragged the weight of the man, who loomed as dangerous to her in death as he would have in life, across the gravel and slick patches of smooth rock.

  Still panting from the effort, and before pushing the soldier into the crevice that was to be his final resting place, Sebastian rolled him over. Jermsen saw for the first time that he wore a short sword strapped over his shoulder, under his pack. She hadn't seen it before because he was lying on it. Hooked on the weapons belt around his waist, at the small of his back, hung a crescent-bladed battle-axe. Jennsen's level of apprehension rose at seeing how heavily armed the soldier had been. Regular soldiers didn't carry this many weapons. Or a knife like he had.

  Sebastian tugged the straps of the pack down off the arms. He unstrapped the short sword and set it aside. He pulled off the weapons belt and tossed it atop the sword.

  "Nothing too unusual in the pack," he said after a brief inspection. He added the pack to the short sword, the weapons belt, and the axe.

  Sebastian started searching the dead man's pockets. Jennsen was about to question what he was doing when she recalled that she had done the same. She was somewhat more disturbed when he returned the other items after picking out the money. She thought it rather coldblooded, stealing from the dead.

  Sebastian held the money out to her.

  "What are you doing?" she asked.

  "Take it." He offered the money again, more insistently this time. "What good is it going to do in the ground? Money is of use to relieve the suffering of the living, not the dead. You think the good spirits will ask him for the price of a bright and pleasant eternity?"

  He was a D'Haran soldier. Jennsen expected the Keeper of the underworld would have something somewhat more dark in store for this man's eternity.

  "But ... it's not mine."

  He frowned a reproving look. "Consider it partial compensation for all you've suffered."

  She felt her flesh go cold. How could he know? They were always so careful.

  "What do you mean?"

  "The years taken off your life by the fright this fellow gave you today."

  Jennsen finally was able to let her breath go in a silent sigh. She had to stop fearing the worst in what people said.

  She allowed Sebastian to put the coins in her hand. "All right, but I think you should have half for helping me." She handed three gold marks back.

  He grasped her hand with his other and pressed all three coins into her palm. "Take it. It's yours, now."

  Jermsen thought of what this much money could mean. She nodded. "My mother has had a hard life. She could use it. I will give it to my mother. "

  "I hope it helps you both, then. Let it be this man's last good acthelping you and your mother."

  "Your hands are warm." By the look in his eyes, she thought she knew why. She said no more.

  He nodded and confirmed her suspicion. "I've got a touch of fever. I came down with it this morning. When we get finished with this business I'm hoping to get to the next town and rest up in a dry room for a while. I just need some rest to regain my strength."

  "Town is too far for you to make today."

  "You sure? I can make good time. I'm used to traveling."

  "So am I," Jennsen said, "and it takes me most of a day to make it. There's only a couple of hours of light left-and we have yet to finish with this task. Not even a fast horse would get you near town today."

  Sebastian let out a sigh. "Well, I guess I'll make do."

  He knelt again and rolled the soldier partway over in order to unstrap the knife. The sheath, fine-grain black leather, was trimmed with silver to match the handle and decorated with the same ornate emblem. On one knee, Sebastian held the gleaming, sheathed knife up to her.

  "Silly to bury such a fine weapon. Here you go. Better than that piece of junk you showed me before."

  Jennsen stood stunned and confused. "But, you should keep it."

  "I'll take the others. More to my taste anyway. The knife is yours. Sebastian's rule."

  "Sebastian's rule?"

  "Beauty belongs with beauty."

  Jennsen blushed at the intended compliment. But this was not a thing of beauty. He had no idea of the ugliness this represented.

  "Any idea what the 'R' in the hilt stands for?"

  Oh yes, she wanted to say. She knew only too well what it represented. That was the ugliness.

  "It stands for the House of Rahl."

  "House of Rahl?"

  "Lord Rahl-the ruler of D'Hara," she said in simple explanation of a nightmare.

  CHAPTER 3

  By the time they were finished with the laborious task of covering the troublesome body of the dead D'Haran soldier, Jennsen's arms were weak with fatigue. The damp wind scything through her clothes felt like it cut to the bone. Her ears and nose and fingers were numb.

  Sebastian's face was covered in a sheen of sweat.

  But the dead man was at last buried under gravel and then rocks that were in abundance at the base of the cliff. Animals were not likely to be able to dig through all the heavy stone to get at the body. The worms would feast undisturbed.

  Sebastian had said a few simple words, asking the Creator to welcome the man's soul into eternity. He made no plea for mercy in His judgment, and neither did Jennsen.

  As she finished scattering gravel with a heavy branch and her feet, obscuring the marks left by their work, she gave the area a critical examination and was relieved to see that no one would ever suspect that a person lay buried there. If soldiers came through they wouldn't realize that one of their own had met his end here. They would have no reason to question local people, except, perhaps, to ask if anyone had seen him. That would be a simple enough lie to feed them and one easily swallowed.

  Jennsen pressed her hand against Sebastian's forehead. It confirmed her fears. "You're burning with fever."

  "We're done, now. I can rest more easily, not having to worry that soldiers will be rousting me out of my bedroll to ask me questions at the point of a sword."

  She wondered where he was going to sleep. The drizzle was thickening. She expected it would soon be raining. Given the persistence of the darkening clouds, once it started it would likely rain the whole night. Cold rain soaking him to the skin would only further inflame his fever. Such a winter rain could easily kill someone who lacked proper shelter.

  She watched as Sebastian strapped the weapons belt around his waist. He didn't place the axe at the small of his back the way the soldier had worn it, but rather positioned it at his right hip. After testing its edge and finding it satisfactory, he fastened the short sword to the left side of the belt. Both
weapons were placed so as to come readily to hand.

  When he'd finished he flipped his heavy green cloak closed over it all. He seemed again a simple traveler. She suspected he was more. He had his secrets. He wore them casually, almost in the open. She wore hers uneasily, and held close.

  He handled the sword with the kind of smooth ease that came only with long acquaintance. She knew because she handled a knife with effortless grace, and such proficiency had come only with experience and continual practice. Some mothers taught their daughters to sew and cook. Jermsen's mother didn't think sewing would save her daughter. Not that a knife would, either, but it was better protection than needle and thread.

  Sebastian lifted the dead man's pack and threw back the flap. "We'll divide the supplies. Do you want the pack?"

  "You should keep the supplies and the pack," Jennsen said as she retrieved her stringer of fish.

  He agreed with a nod. He appraised the sky as he cinched the pack closed. "I'd best be on my way, then."

  "Where?"

  His weary eyelids blinked at the question. "No place special. Traveling. I guess I'll walk for a while and then I suppose I'd better try to find some shelter. "

  "Rain is coming," she said. "It doesn't take a prophet to tell that."

  He smiled. "Guess not." His eyes bore the prospect of what lay ahead with resigned acceptance. He swiped his hand back over his wet spikes of white hair, then pulled up his hood. "Well, take care of yourself, Jermsen Daggett. Give my best to your mother. She raised a lovely daughter."

  Jermsen smiled and acknowledged his words with a single nod. She

  stood facing the damp wind as she watched him turn and start off across. the flat expanse of gravel. Craggy rock walls rose up all around, their snow-crusted shoulders disappearing into the low gray overcast that concealed the bulk of the mountains and the nearly endless range of high peaks.

  It seemed so funny, so freakish, so futile that in all this vast country their paths should cross so briefly, at that instant in time, for such a tragic moment as one life ended, and then that they would both go off again into that infinite oblivion of life.

  Jennsen's heart pounded in her ears as she listened to his footsteps crunching across the jagged gravel, watched his long strides carrying him away. With a sense of urgency, she debated what she should do. Was she always to turn away from people? To hide?