Stone of Tears tsot-2

by Terry Goodkind

  Richard gritted his teeth. “If she has hurt anyone . . .”

  “She said she will not hurt them . . . if you come to her.”

  “What does she want?”

  “You.”

  “What does she want with me?”

  “Mistress not tell Samuel. Tells me only to get you.”

  Kahlan had relaxed half the tension on the bowstring. “Richard, Shota said she would kill you if she ever saw you again.”

  He kept his eyes on Samuel as he spoke. “No. She said she would kill me if I ever went back to Agaden Reach. She’s not in the Reach.”

  “But . . .”

  “If I don’t go, she said she will kill people. Do you doubt her?”

  “No . . . but she still might kill you.”

  He grunted and then smiled. “Kill me? I don’t think so. She likes me. I saved her life. Indirectly at least.”

  Kahlan bristled. Shota had once tried to bewitch him, and she didn’t like that one bit. Other than the Sisters of the Light, the witch woman was just about the last person Kahlan ever wanted to see again. “I don’t like it.”

  Richard stole a quick glance at her. “If you have a better idea, put words to it.”

  Kahlan let out an angry breath. “I guess we have no choice. But you just keep her hands off you.”

  Richard gave her a startled look, then turned to the witch woman’s companion. “You take the lead, Samuel, and don’t forget who’s carrying the sword. And remember what I told you the last time. I might still have some Samuel stew if you try doing anything to harm us.”

  Samuel eyed the blade a moment. Without another word he turned and started off, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they followed. Richard kept the sword out, slung his bow over his shoulder, and put himself between Kahlan and Samuel. The anger of the sword’s magic blazed in his eyes. Samuel loped through the grass ahead of them, turning back occasionally to hiss at them.

  Kahlan stayed close on Richard’s heels. “She’d better not put snakes on me again. No snakes!” she said emphatically. “And I mean it.”

  “As if we have a choice,” Richard muttered.

  It was near dark by the time they reached the village. They came in from the east, and noticed immediately that the entire population of the village was clustered at the south end of the common field, shielded by armed hunters standing shoulder to shoulder. Kahlan knew the Mud People were deathly afraid of the witch woman. They wouldn’t even speak her name aloud.

  For that matter, everyone she ever knew was deathly afraid of the witch woman—including her. Shota would have killed her the last time if Richard hadn’t used a wish Shota had granted him, to save her. She didn’t think Shota would be granting Richard any more wishes.

  Samuel led them through the narrow passageways, toward the spirit house, walking as if he had lived here all his life. He gurgled his odd laugh as he bounded along, giving them an occasional glance. He grinned with bloodless lips, as if he knew something they didn’t. When his grin showed too many teeth and Richard prodded him with the sword, Samuel growled and hissed, his yellow eyes glowing in the fading light.

  Samuel laid his long-fingered hand on the latch to the spirit house. “Pretty lady waits here. With me. Mistress wants only Seeker.”

  “Richard, I’m going in too,” Kahlan said firmly.

  He gave her a sidelong glance and then looked at Samuel. “Open the door.”

  One powerful arm drew the door back, as shining yellow eyes glowered at him. Richard held his sword out, indicating that he wanted her to go in. The door squeaked closed behind them, with a sour-faced Samuel on the other side.

  In the center of the room sat a tall, elegant throne. Torchlight danced and flared on the carved, gold-leaf vines, snakes, cats, and other beasts that covered every inch of the stately structure. A canopy draped with heavy red brocade and trimmed with gold tassels jutted out overhead. The throne itself sat atop three square, white marble platforms that served as steps. The whole thing was massive and imposing. Tufted red velvet covered the seat, the back, and the tops of the arms. Kahlan couldn’t imagine how it could have possibly fit through the door. Or how many men it must have taken to carry it.

  Shota sat regally, her impassive almond eyes watching Richard. She reclined slightly, against the red velvet, one leg crossed over the other, her arms resting on the chair’s high, wide-spaced arms, with hands draped haughtily over gold gargoyles. The gargoyles licked her wrists while she clicked one long, lacquered fingernail against a thumbnail. Luxuriant auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders.

  Shota redirected her ageless eyes to Kahlan. The long, rock-solid gaze felt as if it paralyzed her, penetrated her. A red, white, and black banded snake slumped down, hanging from the canopy. It flicked its tongue at Kahlan, hissing, and then dropped into Shota’s lap, coiling up like a contented cat.

  It was a message to say that she had not been invited, and was now warned of what would happen if Shota became displeased. Kahlan swallowed, trying not to let it show. After what seemed an eternity, and after the witch woman seemed satisfied that the message was understood, she turned her unblinking eyes back to Richard.

  “Put your sword away, Richard.” Shota’s voice was like smooth velvet rubbed the right way. Kahlan didn’t think it was fair that anyone that beautiful should also be graced with a voice that could melt butter, or a man’s heart.

  “From the impression you left when we parted, I fear you might try to kill me.” His voice, also, was annoyingly smooth.

  “If I decide to kill you, my dear boy, and I may, your sword will not help you.” Richard suddenly yelped and dropped the sword as if it was a hot coal. He stared down at the sword as he comforted his hand. “Now, put it away.” That time the quality of her voice was more of velvet rubbed the wrong way.

  From under his eyebrows, Richard looked up at Shota on her throne, before bending to retrieve his sword and slide it back into its scabbard.

  A self-satisfied smile spread across Shota’s full lips. She lifted the snake from her lap and set it aside. Shota watched Richard a moment longer and then stood, leaning forward enough in the process to offer her breasts the opportunity to fall out of her wispy, low-cut, variegated gray dress. How they managed not to, Kahlan didn’t know. A little stoppered bottle tumbled from its snug place between her breasts and swung on a fine silver chain.

  Kahlan’s face heated as Shota gracefully descended the three platforms, never taking her eyes from Richard. The loose points of the dress floated gently, as if in a light breeze. But there was no breeze inside the spirit house.

  That fabric, Kahlan decided, was definitely too thin for a dress. She wondered what she would look like in it, and blushed at the mental image.

  Once standing on the ground, Shota turned and pulled the stopper from the little bottle. The entire throne wavered, like something seen through heat waves. Abruptly it turned to gray smoke and swirled in a circle, diminishing all the time in size, and sucked itself into a fine line that went into the little bottle. Shota replaced the stopper, tucked the bottle back between her breasts, and with a finger, pushed it so far down it could no longer be seen. Kahlan took a deep, noisy breath.

  Shota’s gaze glided from Richard’s eyes and took in his open shirt with what might have been amusement. Or satisfaction. Richard’s face reddened.

  Shota’s smile widened. “How delightfully indecent.” She ran one of her long, red nails all the way down his chest to his navel, and then she gently patted his stomach. “Button your shirt, Richard, or I may forget why I’m here.”

  His face turned a deeper red. Kahlan moved deliberately closer to his side as he began redoing the buttons.

  “Shota,” he said as he tucked the tails in his pants, “I have to thank you. You may not know it, but you really helped me before. Helped me to figure it out.”

  “It was my intention to help you.”

  “You don’t understand. I mean you helped me figure out how to be with Kahlan. You help
ed me figure out how we could be together. How to love her.” He smiled. “We’re going to be married.”

  There was a moment of icy silence.

  “That’s right,” Kahlan said, holding her chin up, “we love each other . . . and can be together now . . . Forever.” She hated the way Shota made her feel explanations were necessary, and the way she fumbled with them.

  Shota’s intense gaze slid to her and her smile slowly evaporated, making Kahlan have to swallow again. “You ignorant children,” Shota whispered as she slowly shook her head. “You foolish, ignorant children.”

  Richard’s expression was becoming heated. “We may be ignorant, but we are not children, and we love each other. And we are going to be married. I was hoping you would be happy for us, Shota, since you played a small part in it.”

  “What I told you, dear boy, was that you needed to kill her.”

  “But that’s all over,” Kahlan protested. “The problem has been solved. It’s all right for us now. Everything is all right.”

  Kahlan gasped as she felt her feet lift off the ground. Both she and Richard were flung across the room and up against the wall. The impact knocked the wind from her lungs. Little points of light floated and danced before her eyes. She looked down, trying to clear her vision.

  She and Richard were flattened against the mud-brick wall, a good three feet off the ground. She could hardly breathe. The only thing she could move was her head. Even her clothes were flattened. Her cloak lay against the wall as if it were the floor. Richard was as helpless as she. They both struggled, twisting their heads, but it was useless; they were stuck tight.

  Shota glided across the room toward them, her eyes hot and dangerous. She stopped in front of Kahlan. “He didn’t need to kill you? And it’s all right now, is it, Mother Confessor?”

  “Yes,” Kahlan managed, trying to sound confident as she hung helpless.

  “Did it ever occur to you, Mother Confessor, that perhaps there are reasons behind what I say?”

  “Yes, but that has all . . .”

  “Did it ever occur to you, Mother Confessor, that there is a reason why Confessors are not supposed to love their mates? And perhaps another reason he should have killed you?”

  Kahlan couldn’t answer. Her mind raced with frantic thoughts.

  “What are you talking about?” Richard demanded.

  Shota ignored him. “Did it, Mother Confessor?”

  Kahlan’s throat was so dry, she had to swallow twice before she could speak. “What do you mean? What reason?”

  “Have you lain with this man you love? Have you done that yet, Mother Confessor?”

  It was Kahlan’s turn to blush. “What kind of question is that to ask someone!”

  “Answer the question, Mother Confessor,” Shota hissed, “or I will skin you right now and use your hide to make myself something pretty. I am of a mind to do it anyway. You had better not even think of lying to me.”

  “I . . . We . . . No! And what business is it of yours anyway!”

  Shota stepped closer. Her eyes sent a silent shriek through Kahlan. “Maybe you’d better think twice before you do, Mother Confessor.”

  “What do you mean?” she breathed, wide-eyed.

  Shota folded her arms across her breasts. Her voice became more menacing. “Confessors are not supposed to love their mates, because if they bear a male child, she has to ask the husband to kill the baby. The husband is supposed to have been taken by the Confessor’s power, so that he will do whatever she asks. Without question.”

  “But . . .”

  Shota stepped even closer, her eyes filled with fury. “If you love him, how could you ask that of him! How could you ask Richard to kill his son? Do you think he would? Would you? Would you kill the son of the man you love? Would you, Mother Confessor?”

  Shota’s words knifed into Kahlan’s heart and soul, leaving her barely able to whisper the answer. “No.”

  She felt her hopes and happiness collapsing. In the joy of finding she could be with Richard, she hadn’t given any thought to the future. To the consequences. To children. She had thought only of Richard and her being together.

  Shota was screaming at her. “And then what, Mother Confessor! You will raise him? And you will visit upon the world a male Confessor? A male Confessor!” She unfolded her arms, her white-knuckled fists dropping to her sides. “You will bring the world to the dark times again! The dark times! Because of you! Because you love this man! Did you ever think of that, you ignorant child?”

  The lump in Kahlan’s throat threatened to choke her. She wanted to run from Shota, but she couldn’t move. “Not all male Confessors are that way.”

  “Almost every one is! Almost every one!” She pointed a single finger at Richard without looking at him. “Are you going to risk the world, because you love this man? Risk sending everyone into the terror of the dark times, just because you would selfishly want the son of this man to live?”

  “Shota,” Richard’s voice was surprisingly calm. “Most Confessors bear girls. You are worrying about something that probably won’t even happen. We may not even have children. Not all couples conceive. You are extending your worries along a lot of forks in the road.”

  Richard suddenly slid down the wall, landing with a grunt. In a rage, Shota grabbed his shirt in her fists and lifted him, slamming him against the wall, knocking the wind from his lungs. “Do you think I am as stupid as you? I know the flow of time! I am a witch woman! I told you before, I know how certain events flow and unfold! If you lie with this woman, she will have a male child! She is a Confessor! Every Confessor bears a Confessor! Always! If you give her a child, it will be a boy!”

  She slammed him against the wall again. Kahlan winced at the sound of his head hitting the wall. Shota’s behavior was frightening, and seemed out of character. She had impressed Kahlan before as menacing in the extreme, but she also seemed intelligent and reasonable. At least to an extent. She seemed different now, unstable.

  Richard didn’t try to remove her hands, but Kahlan could see he was getting angry. “Shota—”

  She slammed him up against the wall again. “Keep your tongue still or I will cut it out!”

  Richard’s rage looked to match Shota’s. “You were wrong before, Shota! Wrong! There are many ways for events to flow forward in time. Had I listened to you the last time, and killed Kahlan when you wanted me to, Darken Rahl would rule us all now! And it would have been because I followed your stupid advice! It was through her that I defeated Darken Rahl! If I had done as you wished, we would have lost!”

  His chest heaved as he glared at her. “If you have come all this way to threaten us about some perceived threat, you have wasted your time. I didn’t do it your way the last time, and I will not do it your way now! I will not kill her nor will I give her up on your word! On anyone’s!”

  Shota stared at him a moment and then removed her hands from his shirt. “I did not come here about some ‘perceived’ threat to the future,” she whispered. “I did not come here to argue with you about making babies with Confessors, Richard Rahl.”

  Richard jerked back in shock. “I’m not . . .”

  “I came here, because I may want to kill you for what you have done, Richard Rahl. That you two ignorant children want to go make babies is a flea on the back of the true monster you have already created.”

  “Why are you calling me that?” Richard whispered.

  Shota studied his pale face. “Because that is who you are.”

  “I am Richard Cypher. George Cypher was my father.”

  “You were raised by a man named Cypher. You were sired by one named Darken Rahl. He raped your mother.”

  Richard’s face turned whiter. Kahlan ached for him. She understood now, knew it was true. This was what she had seen in him; she had seen the face of his father, Darken Rahl. She tried desperately to free herself, to go to him, but couldn’t.

  Richard shook his head. “No. That’s not true. It just isn’t possi
ble.”

  “True,” Shota snapped. “Your father was Darken Rahl. Your grandfather is Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander.”

  “Zedd?” he whispered. “Zedd is my grandfather?” He straightened. “Darken Rahl . . . No, he can’t be. It’s not true.”

  He turned and looked up at Kahlan. He saw it in her face, saw that she knew it was. He turned back to Shota. “Zedd would have told me. He would have. I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care,” she said in a flat tone. “I don’t care what you believe. I know the truth.” Her emotion came back. “And the truth is you are the bastard son of a bastard son of a bastard son! And each one of those bastard sons, all the way back, had the gift. Worse, Zedd has the gift. You have the gift, but it is from two bloodlines of wizards.” She glared at his wide eyes. “You are a very dangerous person, Richard Rahl.” Richard looked like he might fall down. “You have the gift. In this case, I would be more inclined to call it a curse.”

  “I would agree with you about that,” Richard whispered.

  “You know you have the gift? We are going to have no argument about that?” Richard could only nod. “The rest of it I could not care less about. You are the son of Darken Rahl, and on the other side, the grandson of Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander. He is the father of your mother. If you choose to ignore the truth of that, I don’t care. Believe as you will. Delude yourself as you will. I am not here to argue your ancestry.”

  Richard leaned back until the wall stopped him. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Go away, Shota. Please, go away.” His voice sounded as if all life had gone out of him. “I don’t want to hear anything else you have to say. Just go away. Leave me alone.”

  “I am disappointed in you, Richard.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I didn’t know you were this stupid.”