Chainfire: Chainfire Trilogy Part 1 tsot-9

by Terry Goodkind

  “I’m not sure. Maybe they simply wanted to have a way to escape without being followed. Maybe they intend to spirit her away and then, at a time of their choosing, parade their prisoner before their subjects to show their power, to show that they can capture anyone who opposes them. The fact remains that she’s gone and no one but me remembers her. It makes sense to me that a spell must have been used, like the spell Zedd used to make people forget him.”

  Nicci pinched the bridge of her nose in a way that somehow made Richard feel just a little stupid, as if his idea was so foolish it was giving her a headache. “Everyone was looking for this old one, this great wizard. They remembered that he was the great wizard, that he was an important, accomplished man, even that he was from the Midlands. They merely couldn’t remember his name and probably what he looked like. So, without his name or a description of him they were having a great deal of difficulty finding him.”

  Richard nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Don’t you see, Richard? They knew that he existed, knew that he was the old wizard, and probably had a great many memories of things he had done, but they simply couldn’t recall his name—because of the spell. That’s all—his name. They couldn’t remember his name even though they remembered that the man existed.

  “But this wife of yours is remembered by no one except you. We don’t know her name or anything else about her. We have no memory of her or of anything she supposedly did with us. We have no knowledge of anything at all about her. Not one thing. She exists in no one’s mind but yours.”

  Richard saw the distinction but wasn’t ready to concede the point. “But maybe this was just a stronger spell, or something. It must have been much the same, but just more powerful so that everyone not only forgets her name, but forgets her altogether.”

  Nicci gently gripped his shoulders in an almost painfully sympathetic manner.

  “Richard, I admit that to someone like you, who grew up without understanding magic, that might seem like it makes sense—and it’s very inventive, it really is—but it simply doesn’t work that way in the real world. To someone without an understanding of how such power works it must seem entirely logical, at least on the surface. But when you look deeper the difference between a spell to make everyone forget a person’s name and a spell making everyone forget that the person ever existed, it’s the difference between lighting a fire at camp and igniting a second sun in the sky.”

  Richard threw up his hands in frustration. “But why?”

  “Because the first alters only one thing, the memory of a person’s name—and I must add that such a thing, as simple as it might seem on the face of it, is profoundly difficult and beyond the ability of all but a handful of the most gifted individuals and even then they must have extensive knowledge. Still, everyone knows that they have forgotten the great wizard’s name so even as it does the work of making people forget that name, the spell only has to accomplish this one clearly defined and limited task. The difficulty with spells of this nature is in how broadly the task is applied, but for the purpose of this example that is beside the point.

  “Where the first example alters one thing, the name of the vanished wizard, the second alters nearly everything. That is what makes it beyond difficult; it makes it impossible.”

  “I still don’t understand.” Richard paced from the statue partway out across the platform and back, gesturing as he spoke. “It seems to me like it does roughly the same thing.”

  “Think of all the ways a person, especially an important person such as the Mother Confessor, touches the lives of nearly everyone. Dear spirits, Richard, she oversaw the Central Council of the Midlands. She made decisions that affected every land.”

  Richard closed the distance to the sorceress. “What difference does that make? Zedd was First Wizard. He was important, too, and he touched a lot of lives.”

  “And people only forgot his name; they did not forget the man himself. Try, for a moment, to imagine what would be the result if a spell could make everyone forget a simple man.” Nicci walked off a few paces and then abruptly turned back. “Say, Faval, the charcoal maker. Not just forget his name, but forget the man entirely. Forget that he exists or ever did, just like you suggest happened to this woman, Kahlan.

  “What would happen? What would Faval’s family do? Who would his children think fathered them? Who would his wife think made her pregnant and gave her children, if she couldn’t remember Faval? Where was this mystery man who sired a family? Would her mind invent another man to soothe her panic and fill the void? What would her friends believe how would all of their thoughts mesh with hers? What would everyone believe without the truth to support their thinking? What would happen when people’s mind’s fabricated patches filling the gaps in their memories, and those patches didn’t match? With the charcoal ovens all around his home, how would his wife and children think they got there and how had all the charcoal been made? What would happen at the foundry when Faval sold his charcoal? What would Priska think—that somehow basket of charcoal had magically appeared in the bins in the storage room of his foundry?

  “I’m not even beginning to scratch the surface of the ever expanding complications such a fanciful forget-me spell cast on Faval would cause—the accounting of money, the allocation of work, the agreements with lumbermen and other workers, the documents, the promises he’d made and all the rest. Think of all the confusion and disarray such a thing would cause, and that’s with one little-known man living in a tiny house down lonely lane.”

  Nicci lifted an arm as if in grand introduction, “But with a woman like the Mother Confessor herself?” She let the arm drop. “I can’t even begin to imagine the tangle of consequences left snarled in the wake of such an incomprehensible event.”

  Nicci’s mane of blond hair stood out against the dark background of trees on the hills beyond the broad, level grassy expanse. Her hair’s length and its sweeping curves looked casual, even comfortably intimate, and complemented her shapely form in her black dress, but the power of her presence was not to be taken lightly. At that moment, as she stood illuminated by a ray of light from the setting sun, she was a breathtaking figure of astute perception and knowledgeable authority, a force that seemed beyond reproach. Richard stood mute and motionless as she went on in an instructional tone.

  “It’s the cascade of connections to all those specific incidents that would make such a spell impossible. Every little thing that the Mother Confessor had ever done would snowball together with connected circumstances in which she may not even have been personally involved, compounding the number of events that would become tainted by such a spell. The power, the complexity, the sheer magnitude of it is beyond comprehension.

  “Those complications must draw power from the spell in order to counteract the disruptive potential of such complications. Those exigencies feed off the power of the spell that seeks to command the nature of the spell. At some point, a spell without the power to compensate for a growing vortex of such dissipative events would simply sputter and die like a candle in a downpour.”

  Nicci stepped close and jabbed a finger at his chest. “And that’s not even taking into account the most glaring inconsistency of your dream. In your delirium you dreamed up an even more complex predicament. You dreamed up not only this woman, this wife, who is remembered by no one else, but in your irrational dreaming state you went further, much further, without realizing the fateful consequences. You see, it wasn’t merely some country girl, who no one knew, that you dreamed up for yourself. No, you made her a known person. In the context of a dream that might seem a simple thing, but in the real world a known person creates a congruency dilemma.

  “And yet, you went further still! Even a known person would not be as complicated as what you did.

  “In your state of delirium you picked the Mother Confessor herself, a near mythic individual, a person of great importance, but at the same time a person far away, a person that neither Cara nor I nor Victor wo
uld know. None of us is from the distant Midlands, so we would have no way to easily offer up facts that are inconsistent with your dream. That distance might have made sense in your dream because it seemed to also solve the problem of contradictory facts, but in the real world it still creates for you a problem of insurmountable magnitude: Such a woman is widely known. It’s only a matter of time until your carefully constructed world clashes with the real world and begins to fall apart. By picking a known person, you have doomed your idyllic dream to destruction.”

  Nicci lifted his chin and made him look into her eyes. “In your troubled slate of mind, Richard, you dreamed up someone comforting. You were facing the abyss of death; you desperately wanted someone to love you, someone who made you feel less afraid, less terrified, less alone. That’s completely understandable, it really is. I don’t think any less of you I couldn’t—because you created such a solution for yourself when you were so afraid and so alone, but it’s over and you have to come to grip with it.

  “If it had been an unknown woman you imagined, then the dream would have been nothing more than an ethereal abstraction. But you inadvertently linked it to reality because the Mother Confessor is known by a great many people. If you ever get back to the Midlands, or run into people from the Midlands, your dream will come face-to-face with the indisputable reality. For you, each one of those people is a lurking shadow ready to shoot an arrow, but this time an arrow that will not fail to pierce your heart.

  “It could even be worse. What if the real Mother Confessor is dead?”

  Richard drew back. “But she’s not.”

  “Lord Rahl,” Cara said, “I remember several years ago when Darken Rahl sent the quads to kill all the Confessors. The quads don’t fail at the task of assassination.”

  Richard stared at the Mord-Sith. “But they failed to get her.”

  “Richard,” Nicci said in a gentle tone, drawing his gaze back to her, “what if you someday get to the Midlands and you discover that the real Mother Confessor was not what you imagined, but was in fact an old woman? After all, the Confessors didn’t name women as young as this love of yours would have been to be the Mother Confessor. What if you find out that the real woman was old, and worse, that she is long dead? The truth, now. What would you do then, if you were confronted by that and it was real?”

  Richard’s mouth was so dry that he had to work his tongue in order to be able to wet his lips enough to speak. “I don’t know.”

  Nicci smiled wistfully. “An honest answer, at last.” Even that smile was more than she could manage, and it vanished. “I’m afraid for you, Richard, afraid for what will become of your state of mind if you continue to cling to this, let it take over your whole life, and then it finally comes to something like that, which it will. Sooner or later you are going to come face to face with the stone cold reality of the situation.”

  “Nicci, just because you can’t envision . . .”

  “Richard,” she said, quietly cutting him off, “I’m a sorceress. I’ve been a Sister of the Light and a Sister of the Dark. I know a thing or two about magic. I’m telling you that such a thing as you suggest is simply beyond the power of any magic I know of. It is not beyond the power of a desperate man to dream up, but it is unworkable in the real world. You can’t even begin to imagine the dire consequences were such a thing to even be attempted, much less possible.”

  “Nicci, I grant you your great knowledge on the subject, but you don’t know everything. Just because you don’t know how to do something, that does not mean it’s impossible. It only means that you don’t know how it can be done. You just don’t want to admit that you might be wrong.”

  Her hands fisted at her sides as she blinked. “Do you think that I want to oppose you in this? Is that what you think? Do you think I enjoy trying in make you see the truth? Do you think that I like being against you in everything?

  “What I know is that somehow, in some way, someone has made all of you forget that Kahlan exists. I know that she’s real, and I intend on finding her. Even if you don’t like it.”

  Nicci, her blue eyes brimming with tears, turned her back on him and gazed up briefly at the statue towering over her. “Richard, I would eagerly grand you your dream were it within my power to make it real. You cannot imagine what I would give to have you have what you want—to make you happy.”

  Richard watched the violet clouds at the horizon turning dark. It somehow seemed too peaceful to be real. Nicci stood with her arms folded, glaring off in the opposite direction, staring into the gathering darkness. Cara stood nearby, keeping an eye on all the people roaming the former palace grounds.

  “Nicci,” Richard finally said into the uncomfortable silence atop the vast marble circle, “do you have any explanations other than this being a dream? Is there anything within your knowledge that has any chance at all of being the cause of this? Is there anything at all, any kind of magic, that you can think of that would help solve this puzzle?”

  He watched her back, wondering if she would answer. A long shadow lay across the curved, bronze dial plane encircling the proud figure, telling him what he knew, that the day was dying, that valuable time was slipping away. Finally, Nicci turned to him. The fire seemed to gave gone out of her.

  “Richard, I’m sorry that I can’t make it real for you.” She brushed away a tear as it ran down her cheek, “I’m sorry to let you down.”

  With a grim expression, Cara met Nicci’s gaze. “I guess we have something in common.”

  Richard gently touched his fingertips to the statue of Spirit. The uplifted face, its proud gaze set in white marble, lost its glow as the last rays of the setting sun sank behind the hills.

  “Neither one of you let me down,” he said. “You both are telling me what you believe. But Kahlan is not a dream. She’s as real as her spirit carved in this stone.”

  Chapter 15

  Richard turned to a distant commotion and spotted a group of people heading toward the monument. From atop the prominence he could see yet more people strung out behind, perhaps drawn by the activity, or perhaps by the purposeful look of the cluster of men as they made their way across the open expanse of ground. At the head of the small crowd was just the man Richard wanted to see.

  Still some distance off, the man waved an arm. “Richard!”

  Despite everything, Richard couldn’t help but smile at the familiar stocky fellow wearing his customary, curious red hat with a narrow brim. When the man saw that Richard had seen him, he picked up his pace, trotting across the grass.

  “Richard,” he called again. “You’ve come back—just as you promised!”

  As the group of people swarmed up the hill of steps, Richard started down to meet them. It was then that Richard also saw that Victor was making his way steadily through the gathering throng. At a wide marble landing, Ishaq rushed up and seized Richard’s hand, pumping it with great glee.

  “Richard, I’m so happy to see you back in Altur’Rang. You come to drive a wagon for my transport company, yes? I have orders stacked up. How do I get myself into these messes? I need you back. You can start tomorrow?”

  “Glad to see you, too, Ishaq.”

  Ishaq was still pumping Richard’s hand. “Then you will come back? I will make you a full partner. We share everything equal, you and I.”

  “Ishaq, with as much money as you owe me . . .”

  “Money,” Ishaq scoffed. “What is this talk of money? I have so much work now and more all the time that there is no time to worry about money. Forget money. We can earn all the money you want. I need a man with a good head. I will make you a partner. If you want, you can make me your partner—we will gel more work this way. Everyone asks after you, ‘Where is Richard?’ they all say. I tell you, Richard, if you . . .”

  “Ishaq, I can’t. I’m trying to find Kahlan.”

  Ishaq blinked. “Kahlan?”

  “His wife,” a scowling Victor said as he stepped through the men behind Ishaq.

 
Ishaq turned to gawk at Victor. He turned back to Richard.

  “Wife?” He swept his red hat off his head. “Wife? But this is wonderful!” He spread his arms. “Wonderful!” He threw his arms around Richard and hugged him as he laughed and danced back and forth on the balls of his feet. “You took a wife! This is wonderful news. We will have a banquet and . . .”

  “She’s missing,” Richard said, easing Ishaq back to arm’s length. “I’m looking for her. We don’t know what happened.”

  “Missing?” Ishaq swiped back his dark hair and replaced his red hat. “I will help. I will go with you.” His dark eyes turned serious. “Tell me what I can do.”

  It was no empty offer Ishaq made for the sake of courtesy. He was sincere. It was heartwarming to know that this man would drop everything to help.

  Richard didn’t think, though, that this was the time or place to explain. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Richard,” Victor said as he leaned closer, “we’ve got trouble.”

  Ishaq frowned at Victor, gesturing irritably. “Richard’s wife is missing. Why you bring him more worries on top of that?”

  “It’s all right, Ishaq. Victor already knows about Kahlan.” Richard rested his left hand on the pommel of his sword. “What sort of trouble?” he asked Victor.

  “Scouts have just returned to report Imperial Order troops coming this way.”

  Ishaq swept his hat from his head again. “Troops?”

  “Another supply convoy?” Richard asked.

  “No,” Victor said with a firm shake of his head. “These men are combat troops and they’re coming this way.”

  Ishaq’s eyes grew round. “Soldiers are coming? How soon?”

  Voices carried the worrisome news back through the growing crowd.

  “At the rate they’re marching, they’re still a few days out. We have some time to get our defenses organized. But not a lot of time.”