2 - Stone of Tears

by Goodkind, Terry

  The words melted away, and instead, she saw the prophecy as if seeing a vision. She was pulled into it. She was no longer in the palace, but in the vision itself.

  She saw a beautiful woman with long hair, dressed in a satiny white dress: the Mother Confessor. Margaret saw the other Confessors being killed by quads sent from D'Hara and she felt the blinding horror of it. She saw the woman's best friend and sister confessor die in her arms. She felt the grief of the Mother Confessor.

  Then, Margaret saw the Mother Confessor before the one from D'Hara who had sent the quads to kill the other Confessors. The handsome man in white stood before three boxes. To Margaret's surprise, each box cast a different number of shadows. The man in white robes performed rituals, cast evil spells, underworld spells, late into the night, through the night, until the sun rose. As the day brightened, somehow Margaret knew that it was this day. She was seeing what had happened this very day.

  The man in white had finished with the preparations. He stood before the boxes. Smiling, he reached out and opened the one in the center, the one that cast two shadows. Light from within the box bathed him in its brilliance at first, but then in a flash of power, the magic of the box swirled about him and snuffed out his life. He had chosen wrong; he forfeited his life to the magic he sought to claim.

  She saw the Mother Confessor with a man. A man she loved. She felt her happiness. It was a joy the woman had never experienced before. Margaret's heart swelled with the bliss the Mother Confessor felt at the side of this man. It was a vision of what was happening at this very moment.

  And then Margaret's mind swept forward in a swirl. She saw war and death sweep across the land. She saw death brought by the Keeper of the underworld, to the world of the living with a wicked lust that choked her with terror.

  Again the prophecy swept her forward to a great crowd. At the center was the Mother Confessor, standing on a heavy platform. The people were excited and in a celebratory mood.

  This was the joyous event that would bring the fork of the prophecy, one of the forks that must be passed correctly to save the world from the darkness snatching at it. She was caught up in the festive mood of the crowd. She felt a tingle of expectant hope, wondering if the man the Mother Confessor loved was to be the one she was to wed, and if that was the happy event the Prophecy spoke of that would bring joy to the people. Her heart ached for it to be so.

  But something wasn't right. Margaret's warm delight cooled until her flesh prickled with icy bumps.

  With a wave of worry, Margaret saw that the Mother Confessor's hands were bound, and next to her stood a man, not the man she loved, but a man in a black hood. He held a great axe. Margaret's worry turned to horror.

  A hand forced the Mother Confessor to kneel, seized her hair and laid her face to the block. Her hair was short now, not long as it had been before, but it was the same woman. Tears seeped from the Mother Confessor's closed eyes. Her white dress shimmered in the bright sunlight. Margaret couldn't breathe.

  The great crescent axe rose into the air. It flashed through the sunlight, thunking solidly into the block. Margaret gasped. The Mother Confessor's head dropped into the basket. The crowd cheered.

  Blood gushed and spread down the dress as the headless, lifeless corpse collapsed to the wooden floor. A pool of bright blood spread under the body, turning the white dress red. So much blood. The crowd roared with elation.

  A wail of horror escaped Margaret's throat. She thought she might vomit. Nathan caught her as she fell forward, crying and sobbing. He held her to him as a father would a frightened child.

  'Ah, Nathan, is that the event that will bring joy to the people? Is this what must happen if the world of the living is to be saved?'

  'It is,' he said softly. Almost every prophecy down this true branch is a fork. If the world of the living is to be saved from the Keeper of the underworld, then every event must take the correct branch. In this prophecy, the people must rejoice at seeing the Mother Confessor die, for down the other fork lies the eternal darkness of the underworld. I don't know why it is so.'

  Margaret sobbed into his robes as his strong arms held her tight against him. 'Oh dear Creator,' she cried, 'take mercy on your poor child. Give her strength.'

  There is no mercy when fighting the Keeper.'

  'Ah, Nathan, I have read prophecies of people dying, but it was only words. To see it as real has wounded my soul.'

  He patted her back as he held her. 'I know. How well I know.'

  Margaret pushed herself up, wiping tears from her face. 'This is the true prophecy that lies beyond the one that forked today?'

  'It is.'

  And this is the way they are meant to be seen?'

  'It is so. This is the way they come to me. I have shown you the way I see them. The words, too, come with the prophecy, and those are what are to be written down, so those not meant to see the prophecies will not see them as they truly are, but those who are meant to will see them when they read the words. I have never before shown anyone a prophecy.'

  'Then, why have you shown me?'

  His sad eyes regarded her a moment. 'Margaret, we are in a battle with the Keeper. You are meant to know the danger we are in.'

  'We are always in a battle with the Keeper.'

  'I think, perhaps, this is different.'

  'I must tell the others. I must tell them what you can show them. We must have your help to understand the prophecies.'

  'No. I will show no other what I have shown you. No matter the pain they would think to inflict upon me, I will not cooperate. I will never again do this for you, or another Sister.'

  'But why not?'

  'You are not meant to see them. Only to read them.'

  'But that can't be ...'

  'It is meant to be; otherwise, your gift would work to unlock them. You are not meant to see them, just as you often tell me others with common minds are not meant to hear them.'

  'But they could help us.'

  'They would help you no more than the one I told that girl helped her, or the thousands who died. Just as you keep me a prisoner here, so others may not hear what they are not meant to hear, so I must keep all but another prophet a prisoner of their ignorance. It is the will of He who has given the gift, and all else. Had He meant you to, He would have given you the key with your gift, but He has not.'

  'Nathan, there are others who would hurt you until you revealed it to them.'

  'I will not reveal it to them, no matter how much they hurt me. They will kill me before I do so.' He tilted his head toward her. 'And they won't try, unless you tell them.'

  She stared at him, seeing him differently than she had ever seen him before. None before had ever been as devious as he. He was the only one they had never been able to trust. All the others had told the truth about their gift and its capabilities, but they knew Nathan lied, knew he was not telling them all he was able to do. She wondered what he knew, what he was capable of.

  'I will go to my grave with what you have shown me, Nathan.'

  He closed his eyes and nodded. 'Thank you, child.'

  There were other Sisters who would have hurt him for addressing a Sister so. She was not one of them. She stood and straightened her dress.

  'In the morning, I will tell those in the vaults of the prophecy that has forked, and of the ones on the false and on the true branches. They will have to decipher them as best they can, with what the Creator has given them.'

  That is the way it is meant to be.'

  She returned the ink, pen, and sand shaker to the desk drawer. 'Nathan, why did you want the Prelate to come? I don't recall you ever asking for her before.'

  When she looked up, he was studying her with cool detachment.

  'That, too, Sister Margaret, is not for you to know. Do you wish to bring me pain, to attempt to make me tell you?'

  She picked up the book of prophecy off the desk. 'No, Nathan, I will not do that.'

  'Then, will you deliver a message to the Prelate f
or me?" She nodded, sniffling back the tears that still burned at her eyes. 'What would you have me tell her?'

  'Will you take this, too, to your grave, and tell no other but the Prelate?'

  'If you wish it, although I don't see why. You can trust the Sisters.

  'No. Margaret, I want you to listen to me. When it is the Keeper you battle, you must not trust anyone. I am taking a dangerous chance in trusting you, and the Prelate. Trust no one.' His bunched eyebrows gave him a frightening look. 'Only those you trust can betray you.'

  'All right, Nathan. What is the message?'

  He peered intently at her. At last his words came in a whisper. Tell her that the pebble is in the pond.'

  Margaret blinked at him. 'What does that mean?'

  'You have been frightened enough, child. Don't tempt your endurance again.'

  'Sister Margaret, Nathan,' she said softly. 'I am not "child," but Sister Margaret. Please treat me with the respect I am accorded.'

  He smiled. 'Forgive me, Sister Margaret.' Sometimes his eyes ran shivers up her spine. 'One more thing, Sister Margaret.'

  'What is it?'

  He reached out and brushed a tear from her cheek. 'I don't really know of your death.' She sighed inwardly with relief. 'But I do know something else of importance pertaining to you. Of importance in the battle with the Keeper.'

  'If it will help me to bring the Creator's light upon the world, then tell me.'

  He seemed to draw himself inward, looking out at her as if from a great distance. 'A time will come, soon, when you stumble upon something, and you will have need to know the answer to a question. I don't know the question, but when you have the need to find the answer, come to me, and that, I will know. This, too, you must tell no other.'

  Thank you, Nathan.' She reached out and touched his hand. The Creator's blessing on His child.'

  'No thank you, Sister. I do not wish anything more from the Creator.'

  She stared at him in surprise. 'Because we keep you locked inhere?'

  His small smile returned. There are many different kinds of prisons, Sister. As far as I am concerned, His blessings are tainted. The only thing worse than being touched by the Creator is being touched by the Keeper. And of that, I am not even resolved.'

  She took her hand back. 'I will still pray for you, Nathan.'

  'If you care so much for me, then free me.'

  'I'm sorry, I can't do that.'

  'You mean, you won't do that.'

  'Look at it how you will, but you must remain here.'

  At last he turned away from her. She started for the door.

  'Sister? Would you send a woman to visit me? To spend a night or two with me?'

  The pain in his voice almost made her weep. 'I thought you would be beyond that age.'

  He slowly turned to her. 'You have a lover, Sister Margaret.'

  She reeled at this. How could he know? He didn't know; he was guessing. She was young, and thought attractive by some. Of course she would be interested in men. He was only guessing. But then, none of the Sisters knew what he was able to do.

  He was the only wizard they couldn't trust to be truthful about his powers.

  'You listen to gossip, Nathan?'

  He smiled. 'Tell me, Sister Margaret, do you have the day planned out in advance, when you will be too old for love, even if it is only for a time as fleeting as a night? Exactly how old, Sister, is it, when we lose the need for love?'

  She stood silent, ashamed, for a time. 'I will go myself, Nathan, into the city, and bring back a woman to visit you for a time. Even if I must pay her price myself. I can't pledge she will be beautiful to your eyes, as I don't know what your eyes fancy, but I can vow she will not be empty between the ears, as I think you value this more than you will admit.'

  She saw a single tear fall from the corner of his eye. 'Thank you, Sister Margaret.'

  'But Nathan, you must promise me you will tell her no prophecy.'

  He bowed his head slightly. 'Of course, Sister. I swear it on my word as a wizard.'

  'I mean it, Nathan. I do not wish to have a part in being responsible for people dying. Not only men died in those battles, but women, too. I could not bear having a part in it.'

  His eyebrows lifted. 'Not even, Sister Margaret, if one of those women would bear, had she lived, a boy child who would grow into a brutal tyrant who would go on to torture and slaughter tens of thousands upon tens of thousands of innocent people, women and children among them? Not even, Sister, if you had a chance to choke off this fork of a terrible prophecy?'

  She stood stunned, frozen. At last she made herself blink. 'Nathan,' she whispered, 'are you saying ...'

  'Good night, Sister Margaret.' He turned and strode off to the solitude of his small garden, pulling up his black hood as he went.

  CHAPTER 6

  The wind ripped at her, tugging at her clothes and snapping the loose ends. After yesterday's tangled mess, Kahlan was at least glad she had thought to tie back her hair. She clung to Richard for dear life, pressing the side of her face against his back as she squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

  It was happening again - the thick feeling of growing heavy that made the knot in the pit of her stomach sink lower of its own accord. She thought she might be sick. She was afraid to open her eyes; she knew what always happened when she felt heavy like this. Richard called back for her to look.

  She opened her eyes just a little, peeking through narrow, squinting slits. As she suspected, the world was tilted at a crazy angle. Her head spun sickeningly. Why did the dragon have to tip over whenever it made a turn? She could feel herself being pressed against the red scales. She couldn't understand why she wasn't falling off.

  Richard had told her he had figured out that it was just like when you swung a bucket of water around over your head and the water didn't fall out. She had never swung a bucket of water over her head and wasn't entirely sure he was telling the truth about the water not falling out. She looked longingly at the ground and saw what Richard was pointing at - the Mud People's village.

  Siddin squealed with glee from his place in Richard's lap as Scarlet's huge, leathery wings caught the air and pulled them into a tight spiral. As the red dragon plummeted earthward, the knot of Kahlan's stomach felt as if it were coming up in her throat. She didn't understand how they could like doing this. They enjoyed it. They actually enjoyed it! Arms stuck up in the air, they were both laughing with delight, acting like little boys. Well, one was a little boy, and she guessed he had a right.

  She suddenly smiled and then laughed herself. Not at flying on a dragon, but at seeing how happy Richard was. She would fly on a dragon every day just to see him laughing and happy. She stretched up and kissed the back of his neck. He brought his hands down and rubbed one on each of her legs She clasped them tighter around him and forgot a little about feeling sick.

  Richard called forward for Scarlet to land in the open field in the center of the village. The sun was almost down, making the tan, plastered, mud-bricked buildings in the circle of the village stand out brightly in the slanting light. Kahlan could smell the sweet smoke from the cooking fires. The long shadows trailed the people running for cover. Women ran from the cooking shelters and men from their weapons making, all shouting and calling out.

  She hoped they wouldn't be too frightened. The last time Scarlet had come here she had carried Darken Rahl, and when he didn't find Richard he had killed people. These people didn't know Rahl had forced Scarlet to fly him around after he had stolen her egg. Of course, even without Darken Rahl riding her, no one ever thought of a red dragon as anything but a deadly threat. She herself would have run for her life at seeing a red dragon. The red were the most fearsome of all the dragons, and no one would ever imagine doing anything with a red dragon except trying to kill it, or running for his life.

  No one but Richard, that is. Who else but Richard would think to befriend one? He had risked his life to get her egg free from Rahl's control so she would help him, a
nd in the process had made a friend for life, although Scarlet still professed her intent to eat him someday. Kahlan suspected it was some private joke between the two, as Richard laughed whenever she said it. At least Kahlan hoped it was only a joke - she wasn't entirely sure. Kahlan looked down at the village and hoped the hunters didn't start shooting poison arrows before they saw who was riding the red dragon.

  Siddin suddenly recognized his home. He pointed excitedly, and jabbered to Richard in the Mud People's language. Richard couldn't understand a word of it but smiled and nodded and ruffled Siddin's hair. They both gripped the spikes on Scarlet's back as she pulled out of the steep descent. Dust swept up around them, lifted by the fluttering of Scarlet's huge wings as she settled on the ground.