2 - Stone of Tears

by Goodkind, Terry

  'You can do what a wizard can?'

  'No. Only some of it. That is how we are able to teach its use. We understand the feel of it. The Sisters have some control of the life force, and the gift, but nothing like a wizard who knows how to control his Han.'

  'How do you get this life force to go outside your body?'

  That can't begin to be explained until you learn to recognize the force within yourself, learn to touch the Han.'

  'Why?'

  'Because every person is different. Every person uses the force differently. It isn't used the same in any two people. Love is a form of Han being projected outside one's self, into another. It is, though, a very mild, weak form. Even though love is universal, it is used and felt differently by all. Some use it to bring out the best of the Han in another. Some use it to bring out the best in themselves. Some use it to control, to dominate another. It can heal or wound.

  'Once we understand how the gift works within you, how you use it, we can guide you through exercises called forms. The forms are a method of practice that will help you learn to control the power once it is free of your body. But for now, that is not important. First you must learn to feel the Han within yourself, before you can project it anywhere outside your body.

  After you are able to touch the Han, then we must discover what it is you can do with it. Every wizard is different, and uses Han differently. Some can use it only through the use of mind, like wizards who study the prophecies. The use of their Han to understand prophecies is the major way the gift manifests itself with them. It is their unique talent. Some can only use their Han to create beautiful, inspiring objects. Some use their Han to create things invested with magic. It is their unique talent, how they are able to express Han. Some are able to use their thoughts to influence the world about them, as I showed you when I lifted the rock. Some can do other things with Han. Some are able to do a little of everything.'

  Her frown returned. 'The truth is of the utmost importance in this, Richard. You must be completely truthful in telling us how the Han feels within you. Lying will cause grave difficulty.' She relaxed a bit. 'But first, you must be able to call upon your Han before we can discover what sort of wizard you are.'

  'I told you: I don't want to be a wizard. I just want to learn to control the gift so I can stop the headaches and get this collar off my neck. You said I didn't have to be a wizard.'

  'Controlling Han, with the gift, is what it means to be a wizard. When you learn to control it, you will be a wizard. That is the very essence of a wizard. But wizard is only a word. You should not fear a word. If you choose not to use the gift, that is your business, we can't force you, but a wizard you will be.'

  'Teach me what I need to know, but I'll not be a wizard.'

  'It is not something evil, Richard. It is just learning to know yourself, what you are capable of, what your talents are.'

  Richard sighed. Tine. So how do I control it?'

  Teaching control of the gift is a process taken in steps. I cannot explain it to you all at once because you would be unable to understand steps further along. Each step must be mastered before you can move on to the next.

  'Before we can show you how to project the Han outside yourself, you must first recognize it, and then be able to touch it, join with it within yourself. You must know what it is. You must be able to feel it. You must be able to reach, for it, touch it, at will. You understand what I am saying, yes?'

  Richard nodded. 'A little, I guess. So what is it? How will I know it? What is it like to know it, to touch it?'

  Sister Verna's eyes became distant, seeming to go out of focus. 'You will know it,' she whispered. 'It is like seeing the light given off by the Creator. It is almost like joining with Him.'

  Richard watched her glazed expression. She seemed enthralled by what she was seeing within herself.

  'So how do I find it?' he asked at last.

  Her eyes focused on him. 'You must search for it, within yourself.'

  'How?'

  'You simply sit, and search within. You put all other thoughts aside, and seek the quiet, the calm, within yourself. At first, it is helpful if you close your eyes, breathe slowly, evenly, and let yourself find the peace of nothingness. In the beginning, it helps to focus on a single thing, in order to exclude all distracting thoughts.'

  'A single thing? Like what?'

  She shrugged. 'Whatever you wish. It is only a device to help you reach the end, not the end in itself. Everyone is different. Some use a single word, repeating it over and over to the exclusion of all else. Some use a mental picture of a simple object, using it to bring their mind into focus. Eventually, after you learn to recognize the power, to touch it and become one with it, you won't need to focus on a device first. You will know the nature of Han, and be able to reach directly for it. It will become second nature to you. I know it sounds strange and difficult to you now, Richard, but in time you will find it as easy as it is for you to call forth the magic of your sword.'

  Richard had the uneasy feeling that he already knew what she was talking about. He could almost understand what she was saying. The words seemed strange, but they described something that was somehow familiar, yet different.

  'So you just wish me to sit and close my eyes and seek the quiet within?'

  She nodded. 'Yes.' Sister Verna pulled her heavy brown cloak tighter around her shoulders. 'You may begin.'

  Richard let out a breath. 'All right.'

  He closed his eyes. It seemed his thoughts were scattering in all directions at once. He tried to herd them away. He tried to think of a word or a picture to focus on. He thought of Kahlan's name before anything else. He let it flow like liquid through his mind. Kahlan. He rejected the idea. He hated his magic, and didn't want to associate her with anything he hated. Besides, the thought of her only brought pain, the pain of loving her enough to give her what she wanted, of having set her free.

  He thought of simple words, simple objects, but none held any interest for him. He calmed his mind and relaxed his breathing. He sought peace within himself, a calm center, the way he had always done when he needed to think of a solution to a problem. In the quiet, he tried to think of an image he could use. It popped into his mind, almost of its own accord.

  The Sword of Truth.

  It was already magic, and therefore he wouldn't be tainting it. It was a simple image. It seemed to fit the requirements. It was settled. It would be the Sword of Truth.

  Richard pictured it floating by itself on a field of black. He studied the details he knew so well: the polished blade with the fuller down its length, the aggressive, downswept crossguards, the hilt covered in fine, twisted silver wire with twisted gold wire woven through it forming the raised letters of the word Truth.

  As he pictured it, fixing it in his mind, floating on a black background, something fought him. It was the background, not the sword. Around the edge of the black was white, forming the black into a square. Richard remembered it from before.

  It was one of the instructions in the Book of Counted Shadows, the book he had memorized when he was a boy. Clear your mind of all thought, and in its place put nothing but the image of white with a square of black in its center. It was part of the instructions for removing the covers from the boxes of Orden and using the magic of the book. He had used that magic to show Darken Rahl how to remove the cover from a box to prove to him he truly did know the book. But why would it be in his mind now? Just a random memory forcing its way to the surface, he decided.

  It was as good a background as any to put the sword on. After all, he was trying to use magic. If his mind wanted to use it, it made no difference to him; he would let it be. At that thought, the image of the sword and a square black background with white around it solidified and became still.

  Richard concentrated on the mental image of the sword against the black square with the white border. He concentrated as hard as he could. Something began to happen.

  The sword, the black
square, and the white border all began to shimmer as if seen through heat waves. The solid form of the sword softened. It became transparent, and then it was gone. The background dissolved. He was looking into a place he knew.

  The Garden of Life, at the People's Palace.

  Richard thought it odd, and somewhat annoying, that he wasn't able to hold his concentration enough to keep the image of the sword in his mind. The memory of the place where he killed Darken Rahl must have been so strong that it forced its way into his mind while he was relaxed.

  He was about to try to force the image of the sword to come back when he smelled something. Burned flesh. The stench made his nostrils flare. He almost gagged. His stomach turned sickeningly.

  He searched the image of the Garden of Life. It was like looking through a dirty windowpane. There were bodies lying over the short walls, fallen, partly hidden, in bushes, and sprawled on the grass. All were hideously burned. Some held weapons, swords or battle-axes, in charred fists. Others lay with open hands, their weapons resting where they had tumbled as their owners fell dead. Choking apprehension swelled in Richard's chest.

  Richard saw the back of a white, glowing figure standing before the stone altar, before the three boxes of Orden. One of the boxes stood open, as Richard remembered. The white figure with long blond hair lifted his face away from the boxes.

  Darken Rahl turned and looked right into Richard's eyes. His blue eyes glowed. A smile spread slowly on his lips. It seemed as if Richard was helplessly pulled closer. Closer to the grinning face.

  Darken Rahl lifted a hand to his mouth and licked the tips of his fingers. 'Richard,' he hissed. 'I'm waiting for you. Come watch while I tear the veil.'

  Unable to draw a breath, Richard slammed the image of the sword back into his mind, like slamming a door. He held it there, rigidly, without the background, as he tried to make himself breathe.

  It was just a stray memory, and his fear, making him see the image, he told himself. He concentrated on the sword as he finally decided that what he had seen wasn't real, but maybe a manifestation of his heartache over Kahlan, and his lack of sleep.

  That's what it had to be. It couldn't have been real. That would be impossible. He would have to be insane to believe it had been real.

  He opened his eyes. Sister Verna was sitting calmly watching him. She gave a heavy sigh - he thought maybe out of displeasure.

  Richard swallowed. 'I'm sorry. Nothing happened.'

  'Don't be discouraged, Richard. I did not expect anything to happen. It takes a long time to learn to touch the Han. It will happen when it happens. There is no way to rush it. It does no good to push too hard; it comes from finding the inner peace and not by force. That is long enough for today.'

  'A few minutes? That's all you want me to try?'

  She lifted an eyebrow. 'You have had your eyes closed for over an hour.'

  He stared at her, and then glanced to the sun. It seemed to have jumped up into the sky. Over an hour. How was that possible? A tingle of apprehension spread through him.

  She cocked her head. 'It seemed only a few minutes to you?'

  Richard stood. He didn't like the frown on her face. 'I don't know. I wasn't paying any attention. I guess it did feel like an hour.'

  ----------

  He started packing the few things he had taken out. The more he thought about what he had seen, the more unreal it seemed. It began to feel like a dream after waking, the fear, the hard edges, the reality, fading. He began to feel foolish for being so frightened by a dream.

  A dream? He hadn't been sleeping. How could he have been dreaming when he was awake?

  Maybe he hadn't been awake. He had been dead tired. Maybe while he was sitting there concentrating on the sword, he had fallen asleep. That's how he went to sleep, sometimes: by concentrating on something until he drifted off. That was the only explanation for the time going so fast. He was asleep, and the rest of it had been a dream.

  He let out a heavy breath. He felt silly for having been so frightened, but he felt relieved, too. When he turned, Sister Verna was still watching him.

  'Do you wish to shave now? Now that I have shown you I only wish to help you.'

  Richard straightened. 'I told you: prisoners don't shave.'

  'You are not a prisoner, Richard.'

  He stuffed his blanket into his pack, tucking in the corners to make it fit. 'Will you remove the collar?'

  Her answer was slow in coming, but firm. 'No. Only when it is time.'

  'May I leave, and go where I wish?'

  She sighed impatiently. 'No. You must go with me.'

  'And if I don't, if I try to leave you?'

  Her eyes narrowed a little. Then I would be forced to prevent it. You would find you did not like that.'

  Richard nodded solemnly. 'That fits my definition of a prisoner. As long as I'm a prisoner, I will not shave.'

  The horses nickered at his approach, their ears pricking toward him. Sister Verna eyed them suspiciously. He returned the greeting with gentle words and a stiff scratch to the side of each horse's neck. Taking out the brushes, he gave each a quick grooming, paying particular attention to their backs.

  Sister Verna folded her arms. 'Why are you doing that? You groomed them last night.'

  'Because horses like to roll in the dirt. They could have something under where the saddle goes. Feels kind of like walking around with a rock in your boot, only worse; it could give them a sore, and then we won't be able to ride them. So, I like to check them over before I put their saddles on.'

  When he finished, he cleaned the brushes against each other. 'What are their names?'

  Sister Verna gave a sour frown. 'They don't have names. They are just horses. We don't give names to dumb animals.'

  He pointed with the curry brush at the chestnut gelding. 'You don't even give your own a name?'

  'He is not my own. They all belong to the Sisters of the Light. I ride whichever one is available. The bay you rode yesterday is the one I rode before you came with me, but it makes no difference. I simply ride whichever one is available.'

  'Well, from now on, they're going to have names. Avoids confusion. Yours is the chestnut, and he will be Jessup, my bay will be Bonnie, and the other bay will be Geraldme.'

  'Jessup, Bonnie, and Geraldine,' she huffed. 'No doubt from The Adventures of Bonnie Day.'

  'Glad to hear you read something other than prophecies, Sister Verna.'

  'As I told you before, ones with the gift who come to the palace are brought when they are young. One boy brought The Adventures of Bonnie Day with him. I read it to see if it was appropriate for young minds, and to see if it was of good moral teachings. I found it to be a preposterous story of three people who would have had no troubles if a one of them had been blessed with brains.'

  Richard smiled a little. 'Perfect names for "dumb animals" then.'

  She scowled at him. 'It was a book of no intellectual value. No value of any kind. I destroyed it.'

  Richard's smile tried to fade, but he didn't let it. 'My father ... well, the man who raised me as his son, and who I think of as my father, George Cypher, well, he traveled often. One time, when he came home, he brought me The Adventures of Bonnie Day, as a gift for learning to read. It was the first book I ever had. I read it many times. It brought me pleasure, and made me think, each time I read it. I, too, thought the three heroes did foolhardy things, and I always vowed not to repeat the same mistakes they made. You may have seen no value in it, but it taught me things. Things of value. It made me think. Perhaps, Sister Verna, that is something you don't like your students to do?'

  He turned away from her and started taking apart the bridles. 'My real father, Darken Rahl, came to my house, just this autumn, looking for me. He wanted to cut my belly open and read my entrails - to kill me. Just as he killed George Cypher.' He stole a quick glance over his shoulder. 'Anyway,

  I wasn't at home, and while he was waiting for me, he tore that book apart and threw the pages all ar
ound. Maybe he didn't want me learning any of its lessons or thinking for myself either.'

  Sister Verna didn't say anything, but he could feel her eyes watching him take the bridles apart, undo the headstalls and reins from the bits. After he had them apart, he packed the headstalls away and flipped the reins over his shoulder.

  He could hear her let out a little, angry breath. 'I'll not be calling horses by names.'

  Richard stacked the three spade bits atop one another on the dirt, where the horses had pawed the ground bare. 'You might want to reconsider the wisdom of that, Sister Verna.'

  She stepped out to the side of him, where he could see her, pointing at the ground. 'What are you doing? Why did you take the bridles apart? What are you doing with those bits?'