Clovis's eyes went wide. First from surprise, and then from the pressure of the hand that had clamped around his throat. Whatever sort of squeal or plea was trying to make its way out didn't get past Oba's viselike fingers.
Fatigue forgotten, Oba dragged the murderous little thief, kicking and twisting, back between two wagons. The wagons' canvas tops shaded the narrow space between. To the rear of the tight space was a tall wall of crates. Oba's back blocked the constricted opening between the wagon beds, closing off the cramped spot from view as effectively as a prison door.
Oba could hear people behind him going about their business, laughing and talking as they hurried by in the brisk air. Others, in the distance, argued and bargained with merchants over the price of goods. Horses clopped past, their tack jangling. Peddlers plied the streets, calling out the benefits of their wares in a high-pitched singsong, trying to entice buyers.
Only Clovis was silent, but not by choice. The hawker's lying little mouth opened wide trying to say something. But as Oba lifted him clear of the ground and the man's eyes rolled from side to side, it was clearly a scream for help trying unsuccessfully to escape. With his feet kicking only air, Clovis pried at the powerful fingers around his neck. His dirty finger-
nails broke backward as he clawed in desperation at the iron fist of justice. His eyes grew as big around as the gold marks he had stolen from Oba.
Holding him aloft with one hand, pressing him against one of the heavy wooden crates in the back, Oba searched the man's pockets, but found nothing. Clovis desperately pointed at his chest. Oba felt a lump under the tattered layers of rags and shirt. Ripping the shirt open, he saw his familiar fat purse hanging by a leather thong around the thief's neck.
A mighty pull burned the thong down into the man's flesh until the leather snapped.
Oba slipped his pouch safely back into a pocket. Clovis tried to smile, to make an apologetic face as if to say that everything was square, now.
Oba was long past forgiveness. His head pounded with rage unleashed. Holding Clovis's shoulders up against the heavy wooden crates, Oba rammed his fist up into the little man's gut. Clovis was turning purple. Oba threw a heavy punch into the dirty little face. He felt bone break. He whipped his elbow around and into the lying, conniving little mouth and broke all the front teeth out. Oba growled as he walloped the little weasel with three more rapid blows. With each blow, Clovis's head snapped back, his greasy hair throwing back blood each time the back of his skull whacked the crates.
Oba was furious. He had suffered the indignity of being a helpless victim of a thief who had left him for dead. He had been attacked by a giant snake. He had nearly been drowned. He had been taunted and tricked by Althea. She had looked into his soul without his permission. She had cheated him out of his answers, belittled him for making something of himself, and died before he could kill her besides. He had suffered through a long march across the Azrith Plains dressed in rags-he, Oba Rahl, practically royalty. The utter indignity was humiliating.
He was enraged and aptly so. He could hardly believe that he finally had the object of that rightful anger at hand. He would not be denied just retribution.
Holding Clovis down on the ground, with a knee pressed to the man's chest, Oba at last let the full and rightful rage of vengeance free. He didn't feel the blows any more than he felt the aches and pains he had come down with. He cursed the murderous little thief as he dealt out justice, turning Clovis to a bloody pulp.
Copious sweat poured down Oba's face. He gasped for air as he slugged away. His arms felt like lead. As he became worn out, he felt his
head pounding as hard as his fists. He had trouble focusing on the target of his anger.
The ground was soaked with blood. What had been Clovis was no longer remotely recognizable. His jaw was shattered and hung completely unhinged to the side. One eye socket had been altogether caved in. Oba's knee had broken the man's sternum and crushed his chest. It was glorious.
Oba felt hands snatching his clothes and arms, pulling him back. He didn't have the strength left to try to stand. As he was dragged backward from between the wagons, he saw a crowd of people formed in a half circle-all stricken with horror. Oba was pleased by that, because it meant that Clovis had gotten what he deserved. Proper punishment for crimes should horrify people so as to serve as an example. That's what his father would have said.
Oba looked up, closer, at the men hauling him out from between the wagons. A wall of leather armor, chain mail, and steel had poured in to surround him. Pikes and swords and axes glinted in the sunlight. They were all pointing at him. He could only blink, too drained to lift a hand to wave them away.
Exhausted, out of breath, and soaked in sweat, Oba couldn't hold his head up. As he started to sag in the arms of the men holding him, blackness enveloped him.
CHAPTER 40
in a somber daze, Friedrich used the shovel to steady himself as he sank to his knees. Sitting back on his heels, he let the shovel topple to the cold ground. The chill wind ruffled his hair as well as the long grasses around the freshly turned soil.
His world was ashes.
Dazed with grief, his mind wouldn't focus on any other thought.
A sob overwhelmed him. He worried that he might not have done the right thing. It was cold, here. He worried that Althea would be cold. Friedrich didn't want her to be cold.
But it was sunny, too. Althea loved sunlight. She always said that she liked the feel of the sun on her face. Despite the heat in the swamp, the sunlight rarely made it down to the ground, at least anywhere near where she could see it from her confinement.
To Friedrich, though, her hair was golden sunlight. She would always scoff at such sentiment, but occasionally, if he hadn't mentioned it in a while, she would innocently ask if he thought her hair was brushed enough and looked all right for visitors due for a telling. She always could keep her face blameless when she was angling for what she wanted. Then, he would tell her that her hair looked like sunshine. She would blush like an adolescent girl and say, "Oh, Friedrich."
Now, the sun would never shine for him again.
He had considered what to do, and had decided this would be better for her-to be up here, in the meadow, out of the swamp. If he could never take her out of that place in life, at least he could take her out now. The sunny meadow was a better place to lay her to rest than in her former prison.
He would have given anything to have taken her out before, to show her beautiful places again, to see her smile, carefree, in the sunlight. But she could not leave. For everyone else, including him, only the path in the front could be safely traversed. There was no other way past the dark things created of her power. For her, there was not even that safe passage.
Friedrich knew that the dire consequences for anyone who ventured anywhere else in the swamp were not imaginary. Several times over the years, the unwary or the foolhardy had wandered off the path, or tried to make it through the back way, where not even he dared go. It had been torturous for Althea, knowing that her power had ended innocent lives. How Jennsen had made it in the back way unharmed, not even Althea knew.
For her last journey, Friedrich had carried Althea out that back way as a symbol of her freedom reclaimed.
Her monsters were gone. She was with the good spirits, now.
Now, he was alone.
Friedrich bent forward in agony, sobbing over her fresh grave. The world was suddenly an empty, lonely, dead place. His fingers clutched at the cold ground covering his love. He felt crushing guilt that he had not been there to protect her. He was sure that if he had been there, she would still be alive. That was all he wanted. Althea alive. Althea back. Althea with him.
He had always delighted in returning home, such as it was, to tell her about any little thing he had seen-a bird skimming over a field, a tree with its leaves shimmering in the sunlight, a road lying like a ribbon over rolling hills, anything that would have brought a little of the world home to her in her pri
son.
In the beginning, he hadn't talked about the world beyond. He thought that if he told her about the things he had seen outside her swamp, about what was suddenly out of her reach, she would only feel more confined, more isolated, more heartsick. Althea smiled that special smile of hers and said that she wanted to hear every detail of what he saw, because in that way she could deny Darken Rahl his wish to confine her. She said that Friedrich was her eyes, and through them, she could escape her
prison. With the descriptions Friedrich brought her, Althea's mind soared up and away from her confinement. In that way, Friedrich helped her deny that vile man his wish that she should never again see the world.
To that extent, Friedrich could feel good about leaving the swamp when she had to remain behind. He wasn't sure who was giving who the gift. Althea was like that-making him think he was doing something for her, when it was she who was really helping him live his life in the best way he could.
Now, Friedrich didn't know what he would do. His life seemed suspended. He had no life without Althea. She was a presence that had given him life, given him himself, made him whole. Without her in his life, life was pointless.
How her life had ended, Friedrich didn't know for sure. The things he'd found made little sense to him. She hadn't been touched, but the house had been ransacked. The strangest things had been taken; their entire lifetime of savings, along with food, a few odd supplies, and old clothing of little worth. Yet, other valuable items were left-gilded carvings, gold leaf, and tools. Try as he might, Friedrich could make no sense or order out of it.
The one thing he did understand was that Althea had poisoned herself. And, there had been another cup. She had tried to poison someone else. Maybe someone who had come for a telling, someone who hadn't been invited.
Friedrich realized, though, that Althea must have been expecting whoever it was and had kept that knowledge from him, encouraging him to make a trip to the palace to sell his gilded carvings. She had seemed somewhat insistent, and he had thought that, since she had invited no visitors, she must have wanted to be alone for a while, which wasn't entirely unusual, or perhaps she was just impatient for him to take a little journey out into the world and see some sights since he hadn't done so in a while. She had held his face in her hands as she kissed him that last time. savoring the feel of him.
Now he knew the truth. That long kiss had been her farewell. She had wanted him safely out of the way.
Friedrich reached in a pocket and pulled out the note she had left him. She sometimes wrote notes for him-things she thought of while he was away, things she wanted to remember to tell him. He had checked in the gilded cup he had carved for her, which she kept down on the floor under
her chair behind the pillow she sat on, and was surprised to find a letter to him. He carefully unfolded it and read it again, even though he had read it so many times that he knew every word by heart.
My beloved Friedrich,
I know that you can't understand right now, but I want you to know that I have notforsaken my duty to the sanctity of life-rather, I am fulfilling it. I realize it won't be easy for you, but you must trust me when I say that I had to do this.
I am at peace. I have had a long life-longer by far than nearly any other person is fortunate enough to have. But the best of it was the part I lived with you. I have loved you almost since the day you walked into my life and awakened my heart. Do not let grief crush your heart; we will be together in the next world andfor all time.
But in this world, you, like me, are one of thefiburprotectors-the four stones at the corners on my Grace. You remember. You asked who they were and I told you that Lathea and I were two of the stones in my last telling. I wish I could have told you then that you are one as well, but I dared not. I am blind to much of what is happening, but with what I do know, I must do what I can or the chance for others to live and love would be forever lost.
Know that you are always in MY heart, and will be even when I cross the veil to be with the good spirits.
The world of life needs you, Friedrich. Your part in this has yet to begin. I beg of you that when you are called upon, you willfulfill that purpose.
Yours for eternity, Althea.
Friedrich wiped the tears from his cheeks and then read Althea's words again. When he read, he could hear her voice in his head, speaking to him, almost as if she were right there beside him. He feared to let go of that voice, but at last, he carefully folded the note and returned it to his pocket. When he looked up, a tall man was standing before him. "I was an acquaintance of Althea's." His powerful voice was solemn and earnest. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss. I came to pay my respects and to offer my sympathy." Friedrich slowly rose to his feet, watching the older man's dark azure
eyes. "How could you know? How do you know what happened?" Friedrich's anger rose, too. "What part have you played in this?"
"The part of a sad witness to that which I cannot change." The man, much older but vigorous-looking, laid a hand on Friedrich's shoulder, squeezing in a gentle manner. "I knew Althea from long ago, when she came to study at the Palace of the Prophets."
"You didn't answer my question. How did you know?"
"I am Nathan, the prophet."
"Nathan, the prophet ... Nathan Rahl? Wizard Rahl?"
The man nodded as he took his hand away, letting his arm slip back under the edge of his open, dark brown cape. Friedrich dipped his head out of deference, but couldn't muster the concern to do more, to bow, even if he was in the presence of a wizard, even if this wizard was a Rahl.
The man wore brown wool trousers and high boots, not the robes of a wizard. For the most part, he didn't look like what Friedrich expected of a wizard, and he looked not at all like a man Althea had said was close to a thousand years old. His strong jaw was clean-shaven. His straight white hair was long enough to touch his broad shoulders. He was not stooped with age, but had the fluid posture of a swordsman, though he wore no sword, and the effortless bearing of authority.
His eyes, though, so piercing from under his hawkish brow, were what Friedrich would expect of such a man. They were the eyes of a Rahl.
Friedrich felt a twinge of jealousy. This man knew Althea long before Friedrich had met her, back when she was young and exquisitely beautiful, a sorceress at the prime of her power and ability, a woman sought after, a woman courted by many a great man. A woman who knew what she wanted and went after it with fierce passion. Friedrich wasn't so naive as to believe he was the first man in her life.
"I spoke with her briefly a few times," Nathan said, as if in answer to questions unspoken, making Friedrich wonder if a man of this ability could also read minds. "She had an exceedingly talented gift for prophecy-at least for a sorceress. Compared, though, to a true prophet, she was but a child trying to play at adult games." The wizard softened his words with a kindly smile. "That is not to discount at all her heart or intellect, but merely to put it into perspective."
Friedrich looked away from the man's eyes, back to the grave. "Do you know what happened?" When no answer came, he gazed back up at the tall man watching him. "And if you knew, could you have stopped her?"
Nathan considered the question for a moment. "Did you ever know Althea to be able to alter that which she saw when she cast her stones?"
"I guess not," Friedrich admitted.
A few times, he had held her as she wept with the sorrow of wishing she could change something she saw. She had often told him when he asked about it, or asked what could be done, that such things were not as simple as they seemed to those without the gift. While Friedrich couldn't understand many of the complexities of her ability, he did know that at times the burden of prophecy nearly crushed her with anguish.
"Do you know why she would have done this?" Friedrich asked, hopeful for some explanation that might make the pain more bearable. "Or who it was that brought her to it?"
"She made the choice of how she would die," Nathan said in simple summation. "You mu
st trust that she made that choice of her own free will and for sound reasons. You must understand that what she did was not only done because it was the best for her, and for you, but for others as well."
"Others? What do you mean?"
"You both know what love brings to life. By her choice, she was doing what she could so that others might have their chance to know life and love."
"I still don't understand."
Nathan gazed off distantly as he slowly shook his head. "I know only bits of what is happening, Friedrich. In this, I feel blind in a way I have never felt before."
"You mean, this has to do with Jennsen?"
Nathan's brow twitched as his eyes focused abruptly and intently on Friedrich. "Jennsen?" His voice was laced with suspicion.
"One of the holes in the world. Althea said that Jennsen is a daughter of Darken RAU'
The wizard drew back his cape and propped a hand on his hip. "So, that was her name. Jennsen." His mouth turned up with a private smile. "I've never heard that term, hole in the world, but I can see how apt it would seem to a sorceress's restricted gift." He shook his head. "Despite her talent, Althea couldn't begin to comprehend what is involved with those like Jennsen. The inability of the gifted to recognize aspects of their existence, and so referring to them as a hole in the world, is but the tail of the bull. The tail is the least important part. 'Hole' is not even really accurate. I should think 'void' would be better."
"I'm not so sure you're right about her not comprehending. Althea was involved with those like Jennsen for a long time. She may have been more aware than you realize. She explained to Jennsen and me that she didn't know any more, but that the most important part was that the gifted were blind to them."
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