2 - Stone of Tears

by Goodkind, Terry

  With gnarled fingers, one drew the coarse black fabric tight at her chin. She bowed her head to Sister Verna. 'Welcome, wisewoman. Our sentries have told us of your approach for nearly a day now. We are pleased to have you among us, for it is the time of the planting sacrifice. Though we had not expected your presence, it will be a great homage to the spirits to have the blessing in the sacrifice.'

  The old woman, who only came up to the height of his breastbone, looked Richard up and down, then she spoke again to Sister Verna.

  'This is a magic man? He is not a boy.'

  'We have never before brought one so old to the palace of the wisewomen,' Sister Verna said. 'But he is a magic man, the same as the others.'

  The old woman in black looked into Richard's eyes as he watched her without expression. 'He is too old to give the blessing.'

  Sister Verna tensed. 'He is still a magic man.'

  The woman nodded to the Sister. 'But he is too old to have others perform the sacrifice for him. He must do it himself. He must give our sacrifice to the spirits by his own hand.' She gestured for a woman behind to come forward. 'Lead him to where the offering waits.'

  With a bob of her head, the woman came forward and indicated he was to follow. Sister Verna tugged on his shirtsleeve. Richard could feel the heat of magic radiating from her fingers, up his arms, terminating in an uncomfortable tingling sensation at his neck under the Rada'Han.

  'Richard,' she whispered, 'don't you dare swing the axe this time. You know not what you will bring to ruin.'

  Richard met her eyes before turning away without a word.

  The round old woman led him off down a muddy street, past old men sitting in doorways, watching, and then turned them down a narrow alley. At the end she stooped through a low doorway. Richard had to bend nearly in half to follow.

  Inside, carpets of intricate designs but dull colors covered the floor. There was no furniture except several low, leather-covered chests holding oil lamps. Four men with shaved heads squatted, rather than sat, on the rugs, two to each side of a passageway hung with a heavy tapestry instead of a door. Short spears with sharp, leaf-shaped iron heads rested across their knees. The unexpectedly high ceiling held a cloud of pipe smoke.

  The men stood and bowed to the old woman. She bobbed her head to them and, as she did so, drew Richard forward.

  'This is the magic man. Since he is the age of a man, the Queen Mother directs that the spirits take the sacrifice through his hands.'

  They all nodded and gave grim agreement that it was a wise decision, and prayed she would tell the Queen Mother that it would be done as directed. The woman in black bid them fair fortune in the task. She closed the rough spruce door behind herself after stooping through the low opening. ; When she was gone, the men broke into grins. They all slapped Richard on the back, as if taking him into their confidence. The back of one man's shaved neck wrinkled in rows of furrows as he turned to glance at the tapestry-covered passageway. He put an arm around Richard's shoulder, giving it a squeeze with powerful fingers.

  'You are fortunate indeed, lad. You'll like what we have for you.' His sly smile revealed a missing, bottom tooth. 'Come with us. You'll like this, lad. We can promise you, you will.' He gave a hardy chuckle. Today you'll be a man, if you're not one yet.' The other three laughed with him.

  The three pushed the tapestry aside, taking one of the lamps with them. The last man patted Richard's back, ushering him through. They all chuckled with anticipation.

  The next room was much the same as the first, minus the pipe smoke. They led on through a sequence of rooms, each bare of decoration except for a few carpets scattered about. The men finally squatted beside a last covered passageway, planted the butts of their spears, and with a hand on them for support leaned toward him. They all shared the same cunning smiles.

  'Careful now, lad. Don't be too anxious. Keep your head about yourself, and you'll have yourself a time with this savage.'

  They chuckled again with the private joke as they pushed the hanging aside and went through. Inside, the small, square room had a bare dirt floor. The ceiling was at least three stories high. A window near the top of one wall cast the small room in dim light. The place smelled of the chamber pot off to the side.

  Crouched to the far left was a naked woman. She tried to push herself farther into the corner when she saw the men. Arms around her knees, she pulled them tight to herself.

  She was covered with dirty marks and smears, cuts and bruises. Her mass of long, tangled, black hair frizzed out, framing her filthy face. Her dark eyes narrowed with loathing as she watched the four men. By their leering smiles, she had cause to know them.

  Around her neck was a thick iron collar connected by heavy chain to a massive pin in the wall.

  The men spread out around the room, squatted, and leaned their backs against the walls. Their fists held their spears upright between their knees. Richard imitated them, squatting and leaning against the wall to the woman's right.

  'I wish to speak with the spirits,' Richard said. The four men blinked at him. 'I must ask them how they wish it done.'

  There is only one way to do it,' the man with the missing tooth said. 'You must cut off her head. Now that the iron collar is around her neck, it's the only way to get her out. Her head must be separated from her body.'

  'Even so, it must be done in the manner the spirits wish. I must talk with them. I must know exactly how to do this ... to please them.'

  They all considered this. The man with the missing tooth pushed his cheek out with his tongue as he pondered. Finally he brightened. The Queen Mother and her women drink juka to speak with the spirits. I could bring you some juka, and then you, too, could speak with the spirits.'

  Then bring me this juka, so I may speak with the spirits and do as they command. I would not want to make a mistake, and ruin your planting sacrifice.'

  The men agreed that this was a wise request, considering that Richard was to make the sacrifice himself instead of simply blessing it. One of the men hurried off.

  The other three waited in silence, again leering at the woman. She moved her feet closer together to cover herself as she squatted in the corner, and glowered back.

  One man pulled a thin-stemmed pipe and a long splinter from a pocket. He lit the splinter in the flame of the lamp, and used it to light his pipe. He puffed as he watched the woman, eyeing her in an intimate way. Her chin held defiantly up, the woman glared back. The smoke drifted up into the dim air as his steady puffing quickened.

  Richard crouched, leaning against the wall, with his arms folded across his lap so as to partially hide his right hand draped nonchalantly near the hilt of his sword. The fourth man finally came back, carrying a round clay pot in both hands. The pot had a small opening in the top and white symbols painted around the sides.

  The Queen Mother and her women agreed, and sent this juka so you may call the spirits. When you drink this, the spirits will visit you.' He set the pot in front of Richard and then, pulling a knife from his belt, held the green malachite handle out to him. It was carved with figures in obscene poses. This is the sacred knife, to be used in the sacrifice.' When Richard took the knife and slid the stout blade behind his belt, the man joined his fellows squatting against the walls.

  The man closest to the woman, on the other side, seemed pleased that the Queen Mother had sent the juka. He gave Richard a knowing wink. Then he lifted his spearpoint to the woman's face.

  The magic man has come to offer you to the spirits.' He smiled encouragement past her, to Richard. 'But first, he would like to give you the spirits' gift of his seed.' She didn't move. His smile transformed into a sneer as he thumped the butt of his spear to the dirt. 'Do not insult the spirits! You will take their offering!' His voice lowered to a growl. 'Now.'

  Her eyes never leaving him, she uncoiled herself and obediently lay down on the dirt, on her back. She opened her legs and cast Richard a defiant glance. She obviously knew the consequence of denying these
men what they wished.

  The man sprang forward and stabbed his spear into her thigh muscle. She screamed out and flinched back.

  'You know better than that! You will not insult us! We are not stupid!' He feigned another jab. 'Do it properly!'

  Richard's fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, but otherwise he did not move. The woman made no effort to tend the bleeding gash on her leg, but instead obediently turned over onto her elbows and knees, sticking her bottom up in the air.

  The men chuckled to Richard.

  'You would not like to lie with this one face-to-face,' the man with the missing tooth said. 'She bites.' The others nodded their certain knowledge of that. 'Mount her this way, and hold her by her hair. She will not be able to bite you this way, and you can have all you wish.'

  The men waited. Neither Richard nor the woman moved.

  'Can you fools not see?' the woman said. 'He does not wish to mount me like a dog in front of you!' Her face lying against the dirt, she gave Richard a mocking smile. 'He is shy. He does not wish you to see how little his magic stick is.'

  Every eye was on him. Richard's knuckles were white around the hilt. He strained to put an emotionless face over the rage of the magic searing through him from the sword. He struggled to maintain reason.

  Letting the magic loose in here would accomplish nothing.

  One of the men gave a playful elbow to another and laughed. 'Perhaps she is right. He is a young one. Maybe he is not used to others watching his pleasure.'

  The seams around his control were strained near to bursting. Richard concentrated on keeping his free hand steady and making it move gracefully. He lifted the clay pot with the juka, showing it to them. He labored mightily to keep his voice even. 'The spirits wish to speak to me of important matters.'

  The smiles all withered. They knew him as a magic man, but not a young one as they were used to seeing. They didn't have any idea of his power, but were obviously worried about it, worried about his smoldering, too quiet smoothness.

  'We must leave him to his duty,' one of the men said. 'We should leave him to be with the spirits, and to take his pleasure from the savage if he wishes before he gives the spirits this offering.' He bowed his shiny head to Richard. 'We will leave you to your peace. We will wait in the room where you saw us first.'

  Solemn-faced, the four hurried off. After they were gone, and she could be sure they were a good distance away, the woman spat at him.

  She arched her back like a cat in heat, sticking her behind higher in the air. 'You may mount me now, like the dog you are. Come, magic man, prove you can mount a woman when she is held for you by a chain. You can do no worse to me than the other dogs.' She spat at him again. 'You are all dogs.'

  Richard extended his leg and shoved a foot against her hip, tipping her over. 'I'm not like those men.'

  She rolled onto her back. She threw her arms and legs open and gave him a contemptuous glare. 'So. You wish to have me like this, to prove you are better than they?'

  Richard gritted his teeth. 'Stop it. I'm not here for that.'

  She sat up. She lifted her chin, but her eyes filled with sudden terror. 'So, you will sacrifice me now?'

  Richard realized his hand was still gripping the hilt. He had forgotten to maintain a calm expression. He took his hand away, letting the magic recede and his rage cool. As she watched, he poured the juka on the dirt floor.

  'I'm going to get you out of this. My name is Richard. What's yours?'

  Her eyes narrowed. 'Why do you wish to know?'

  'Well, if I'm going to take you out of here, I need to know what to call you. I can't call you "woman."'

  She surveyed him silently for a moment. 'I am Du Chaillu.'

  'Do I call you Du? Or Chaillu? Or Du Chaillu?'

  Puzzlement wrinkled her brow. 'Du Chaillu. That is my name.'

  Richard gave her a smile of reassurance. 'All right, then. Du Chaillu. Who are your people? What are they called?'

  'We are Baka Ban Mana.'

  'And what does that mean, Baka Ban Mana?'

  Her chin came up again. 'Those without masters.'

  Richard smiled to himself. 'I think you are worthy of your people. You don't look to be a woman to be mastered.'

  Chin still held up, she studied his eyes. 'You say these words, but you intend to mount me as the others.'

  Richard shook his head. 'No. I told you I wouldn't do that. I'm going to try to get you out of here, and back to your people.'

  'None of my people captured by the Majendie ever returns.'

  Richard leaned toward her. Then you shall be the first.'

  Richard drew his sword. Du Chaillu scooted back against the wall, drawing her knees up to her chest, hiding her face. He realized that she had misinterpreted his action and expected the worst.

  'It's all right, Du Chaillu. I'm not going to hurt you. I simply need to get that collar off you.'

  She shrank from him; then, thinking better of her shameful retreat, she lifted her head and spat at him. 'Yes, by taking off my head. You do not speak the truth. You wish to kill me now, and just want me to meekly offer you my neck.'

  With his sleeve, Richard wiped the spittle off the side of his forehead. He reached out and put a comforting hand to her shoulder. 'No. I'm not going to hurt you. I simply need to use this sword to get the collar off. How else can I get you out of here? You will be safe, you'll see. Let me get it off you?'

  'Swords cannot cut iron!'

  Richard lifted an eyebrow. 'Magic can.'

  She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath as he gently put an arm around her shoulder and rolled her facedown in his lap. He laid the sword's point to the side of her neck. He had seen the Sword of Truth cut through iron before, and he knew the sword's magic could do the job. She lay dead still as he slid the sword under the heavy iron band.

  And then she lunged at him. In a blink, she had a fierce grip on his left arm. Her teeth clamped around his forearm, pinching the nerves.

  Richard froze. He knew that if he were to try to yank his arm back, her teeth would probably tear the muscle from the bone. He still had his right hand on the sword. The rage of the magic pounded through him. He used the anger to help Slim block the pain and remain still.

  With the sword under the collar as it was, it would be a simple matter to give it a twist and a push. It would cut her throat, if not decapitate her, and he would be free of her teeth. The pain from her locking bite was agonizing.

  'Du Chaillu,' he managed through gritted teeth. 'Let go. I'm not going to hurt you. If it were my intention to hurt you, I could cut you right now with the sword to make you let go.'

  After a long moment, silent of everything but his labored .breathing, she relaxed the pressure of her teeth, but didn't release his arm from her grip.

  She tilted her head a bit. 'Why?' Her eyes peered up at him. 'Why do you wish to help me?'

  Richard stared down into her dark eyes. He took a chance and removed his hand from the sword. He brought the hand up, and touched his fingers to the cold metal collar around his neck.

  'I, too, am a prisoner. I, too, know what it is to be held by a collar. I don't like collars. Though I can't free myself in this way, I can try to free you.'

  Her ferocious grip on his arm relaxed. She cocked her head to the side as she frowned up at him.

  'But you are a magic man.'

  That's why I was taken prisoner. The woman I'm with is taking me to a place called the Palace of the Prophets. She says the magic will kill me if I don't go to this place.'

  'You are with one of the witches? From the big stone witch house?'

  'She is not a witch, but one with magic, too. She put this collar on me to make me go with her.'

  Du Chaillu's eyes flicked over the collar around his neck.

  'If you let me go, the Majendie will not allow you to go through their land to the big stone house.'

  Richard gave her a little smile. 'I was hoping that if I helped you get back to your pe
ople, you would permit us to pass through your land, and maybe that you would guide us, so that we might reach the palace.'

  A sly smile spread on her lips. 'We could kill the witch.'

  Richard shook his head. 'I don't kill people unless I'm forced to. It would not help anyway. I must go to the palace to get my collar off. If I don't go there, I will die.'

  Du Chaillu looked away from his gaze. Richard waited while she glanced around her prison.

  'I do not know if you speak the truth, or if you mean to cut my throat.' She gently rubbed his arm where she had bitten him. 'But if you kill me, I was to be killed anyway, and had no chance, and at least I will not be mounted any more by those dogs. If you tell the truth, then I will be free, but we must still escape. We are still in the land of the Majendie.'