Stone of Tears tsot-2

by Terry Goodkind

  She smiled at the other’s eagerness. “Everything. I promise. From beginning to end. Every last scream. Now go see to my lessons for me.”

  The woman danced through the doorway like a giddy schoolgirl. She was too eager. That kind of eagerness was dangerous. That kind of lust made one forget to be careful, made one take chances. She pulled a knife from a drawer, and made a mental note to use her less in the future, and keep an eye on her.

  She tested the edge gingerly with a thumb and, satisfied it was razor sharp, tucked the knife up her sleeve, the sleeve without the dacra. She plucked a small, dusty statue from the shelf, and slipped it into a pocket. Before she was around the desk and through the door, she remembered one more item, and turned back to pick up the stout rod leaning against the side of her desk.

  It was late, and the halls were quiet and mostly empty. Despite the heat, she pulled her short, thin, blue cotton cloak tighter across her shoulders. Thoughts of this new one with the gift gave her a chill. Grown. A man.

  She shook her head as she walked silently over the long carpets, past lamps set in wall brackets centered in the raised cherry paneling, past tables set with dried flowers, and past heavily draped windows looking out over the bailey and courtyard below. Lights of the city in the distance twinkled like a carpet of stars. Slightly rank air drifted in the windows. Must be near low tide, she thought.

  The cleaning staff, polishing a chair-rail molding here, or a banister there, dropped into deep curtsies as she swept past. She hardly noticed them, and certainly didn’t acknowledge them. They were beneath her attention.

  Grown. Into a man.

  Her face heated with anger at the thought. How could this be? Someone had made a serious mistake. A mistake. An oversight. It had to be that.

  A maidservant on her hands and knees, concentrating on wiping at a spot on a carpet, looked up just in time to leap back out of the way with a “Forgive me, Sister.” On her hands and knees, she touched her head to the floor with another apology.

  Grown. It would have been difficult enough to turn this one if he were still a boy. But a man? She shook her head again. Grown. She smacked the rod against her thigh in frustration. Two maidservants nearby jumped at the sound and fell to their knees, burying their tightly closed eyes behind prayerful hands.

  Well, grown or not, he would have a Rada’Han around his neck, and a whole palace full of Sisters to watch over him. But even wearing a Rada’Han, he was still grown into a man. And the Seeker. He might be difficult to control. Dangerously difficult.

  If necessary, she guessed, he could always have a “training accident.” If not that, there were certainly enough other dangers to one with the gift, dangers that could leave a man worse than dead. But if she could turn him, or use him, that would make all the trouble worthwhile.

  She turned into a hall she at first thought empty, then noticed a young woman standing in the shadows between lamps, gazing out a window. She thought she recognized her. One of the novices. She stopped behind the young woman and folded her arms. The novice tapped her toe on the carpet as she leaned on her elbows through the opened window, looking at the gates below.

  She cleared her throat. The young woman spun, gasped, and dropped into a curtsy.

  “Forgive me, Sister, I didn’t hear you coming. A good evening to you.”

  When the big brown eyes came up, she put the end of the rod under the young woman’s chin and lifted it a little more. “Pasha, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sister. Pasha Maes. Novice, third rank. Next in line to be named.”

  “Next in line,” she sniffed. “Presumption, my dear, does not befit a Sister, and less so a novice. Even one of the third rank.”

  Pasha cast her eyes down and gave a curtsy, as best she could with the rod still under her chin. “Yes, Sister. Forgive me.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Just watching, Sister. Watching the night.”

  “Watching the night. I would say you were watching the gates. Am I wrong, novice?”

  Pasha tried to look down, but the rod lifted her chin, keeping her eyes to her superior. “No, Sister,” she admitted, “you are not wrong. I was watching the gates.” She licked her full lips several times.

  At last she spilled out the words. “I heard the talk, the talk among the girls. They say, well, they say three of the Sisters have been gone a long time now, and that could only mean they are bringing back one with the gift. A new one. In all the years I have been here, I have never seen a new one brought in.” She licked her lips again. “Well, I am . . . I mean . . . I hope to be next in line. And if I am to be named, I will have to be assigned a new one.” She knitted her fingers together. “I so want to be named a Sister. I have studied hard, worked hard. Waited and waited. And no new one has come yet. Forgive me, Sister, but I just can’t help being excited, and hopeful, that I will be worthy. So . . . yes, I was watching the gate, hoping I would see him brought in.”

  “And you think you are strong enough to handle the job? To handle a new one?”

  “Yes, Sister. I study and practice my forms every day.”

  She looked down her nose at the novice. “Is that so? Show me.”

  As they stared at each other, she felt her feet rise off the ground a few inches. Solid grip of air, strong. Not bad. She wondered if the novice could handle interference. With that thought, fire ignited at both ends of the hall, sweeping with a howl toward the two women. Pasha didn’t flinch. The fire hit a wall of air before reaching them. Air was not the best for fire. A small error Pasha quickly corrected. Before the fire burned through, the air became moist, dripping. The fire hissed out.

  Although she didn’t try to move, she knew she couldn’t. She could feel that the grip held her firmly. She turned it cold, brittle, with ice, and broke it. When she was free, she lifted Pasha from the floor. Defensive webs from the girl wove through her snaking onslaught, but failed to break the grip. Her feet rose again. Impressive—the girl could counter even while being held.

  Spells tangled together, conflicting, fighting, snarling into knots. Each matched and defended, striking back at any opportunity. The silent, motionless battle raged on for a time, the two of them hanging inches off the ground.

  At last, she tired of the sport and severed herself from the webs, tying them to the girl, locking them on. She settled gently to the ground, and left Pasha with the whole weight of the load to juggle. A simple, if devious, escape: giving the opponent not only the attacking spells to deal with, but dumping her own back on her. Pasha hadn’t been expecting this, and wasn’t able to defend against it; it was not the way she had been taught.

  Sweat ran down the novice’s face as she grimaced slightly. The force radiating through the hall made carpets curl up at their corners. Lamps chattered in their brackets. Pasha was getting angry. Her brow wrinkled. With a loud crack that shattered a mirror far off down the hall, she broke the spells. Her slippered feet settled to the ground.

  Pasha took a few deep breaths. “I have not seen that done before, Sister. It is not . . . by the rules.”

  She put the rod back under the other’s chin. “Rules are for children’s games. You are no longer a child. When you are a full Sister, you must deal with situations where there are no rules. You must be prepared for that. If you always stick to somebody’s ‘rules,’ you may find yourself at the point of a very sharp knife, held by a hand that doesn’t know about your ‘rules.’ ”

  Pasha didn’t flinch. “Yes, Sister. Thank you for showing me.”

  She smiled inwardly, but kept it off her face. This one had a spine, if a small one. A rare commodity in a novice, even one of the third rank.

  She let her eyes take in Pasha again: soft brown hair that just touched her shoulders, big brown eyes, attractive features, lips of the sort men stared at, proud, upright shoulders, and a sweep of curves that even a novice’s dress failed to conceal.

  She let the rod trail from Pasha’s chin, down her neck, down into the heart of her e
xposed cleavage.

  Grown into a man.

  “And since when, Pasha,” she said in a quiet voice that could have been taken for either threatening, or kind, “have novices been allowed to wear their dresses unbuttoned like this?”

  Pasha blushed furiously. “Forgive me, Sister. It’s such a warm night. I was alone . . . I didn’t think there was anyone about. I just wanted to let the breeze cool my skin.” Her face turned a deeper red. “I sweat so, there. I never meant to offend anyone. I’m so embarrassed. Forgive me.”

  Pasha’s hands rushed to the buttons. With the rod, she gently pushed the hands away from the swell of the young woman’s bosom.

  “The Creator made you this way. You should not be embarrassed of what He has chosen, in his wisdom, to bestow upon you. You should never be ashamed, Pasha, of what He has graced you with. Only those of questionable loyalty to the Creator would scorn you for being proud of showing the Maker’s hand in all its magnificence.”

  “Why . . . thank you, Sister. I never looked at it in quite that way.” A frown wrinkled her brow. “What do you mean, ‘questionable loyalty’?”

  She pulled the rod away and lifted an eyebrow. “Those who worship the Nameless One don’t hide in the shadows, my dear. They could be anywhere. Why, even you could be one. Even me.”

  Pasha fell to a knee, bowing her head. “Oh, please, Sister,” she implored, “don’t say such a thing of yourself, even in jest. You are a Sister of the Light, and we are in the Palace of the Prophets, safe, I pray, from the whispers of the Nameless One.”

  “Safe?” With her rod, she motioned the novice up. After she was on her feet, she gave her a stern look. “Only a fool assumes she is safe, even here. Sisters of the Light are not fools. Even they must always be alert to the dark whispers.”

  “Yes, Sister. I will remember.”

  “Remember it, any time someone would make you ashamed of how the Creator has formed you. Ask yourself why they blush at seeing the Maker’s hand. Blush, as the Nameless One would.”

  “Yes, Sister . . . Thank you,” she stammered. “You have given me things to think on. I have never thought about the Creator in this way before.”

  “He has reasons for the things He does. Is this not true?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when He gives a man a strong back, what does that say?”

  “Everyone knows that. He was given the strong back to use. It means the Creator has given him the strong back so that he might work to feed his family. Work to make his way. Work to make the Creator proud. And not waste the Creator’s gift by being lazy.”

  She whisked the rod up and down in front of Pasha. “And what do you think the Creator had in mind when he gave you this body?”

  “I . . . don’t know . . . exactly. That I should use it to . . . make the Creator proud of His work . . . in some way?”

  She nodded. “You think on it. You think on your reason for being here. Being here at this time. We are all here for a reason. The Sisters of the Light are here for a reason, are they not?”

  “Oh, yes, Sister. We are here to teach the ones with the gift, teach them to use it, and guide them so they may not hear the whispers of the Nameless One, that they may hear only the Creator.”

  “And how are we able to do that?”

  “We were given the gift of being sorceresses, so that we may be able to guide them in their gift.”

  “And if the Creator was wise enough to give you that gift, the gift of being a sorceress, do you not think He may have given you your looks for a reason too? Maybe to be a part of your calling as a Sister of the Light? To use your looks to serve Him?”

  Pasha stared. “Why, I never thought of it that way before. In what way are my looks to be of aid?”

  She shrugged. “We cannot always know what the Creator has intended. When He wishes, it will be revealed.”

  “Yes, Sister.” Her voice was unsure.

  “Pasha, when you see a man that the Creator has graced with good looks, a finely shaped body, what do you think? What do you feel?”

  Pasha blushed. “I . . . sometimes . . . it makes my heart race. I guess. It makes me feel . . . good. Feel longings.”

  At last she allowed a small smile. “There is no need to blush, my dear. It is a longing to touch what the Creator’s hand has wrought. Don’t you suppose it pleases the Creator that you appreciate His work? Don’t you think He wants you to like what He has done? To enjoy it? Just as you must know that men enjoy witnessing your beauty and long to touch the work of the Creator’s hand. It would be a crime against the Creator not to use, in your service to Him, what He has given you.”

  Pasha smiled shyly. “I never thought about it in that way. You have given me new eyes, Sister. The more I learn, the more it seems I don’t know. I hope that someday I will be a Sister of the Light half as wise as you.”

  “Knowledge comes as it will, Pasha. Life’s lessons come at the most surprising times. Like tonight.” She swished the rod toward the window. “Here you are, looking out a window, hoping to learn one thing, and you have learned something more important.”

  Pasha touched her arm. “Oh, thank you, Sister, for taking the time to teach me. No Sister has spoken so frankly to me before.”

  “This is one lesson, Pasha, that is outside the palace curriculum. It is a lesson the Nameless One would be angry you learned, so keep it to yourself. As you think on what I have told you, and the Creator’s hand is revealed, you will understand better how it is to work for Him. And if you need more understanding, I will always be here to help guide you. But keep our talk from others. As I said, you can never tell who listens to the whispers of the Nameless One.”

  Pasha curtsied. “I will, Sister. Thank you.”

  “A novice is given many tests. Tests of the palace’s devising.

  “There are rules to them. The final test to be named a Sister of the Light is being charged with a new one. In this, the final test, there are not always rules. New ones can be difficult to control. But that does not mean they are bad.”

  “Difficult?”

  “Of course. They come here, plucked from the only life they knew, and are thrust into a new place, with new demands they don’t understand. They can be rebellious, difficult to control. It is because they are afraid. We must have patience.”

  “Afraid . . . ? Of the Sisters? And the palace?”

  “Weren’t you afraid, when you first came here? Just a little?”

  “Well, maybe just a little. But it was my dream to come. I wanted it more than anything.”

  “For the new ones, it is not always their dream. They are confused about their power. With you, it grew as you grew. You were accustomed to it; it was part of you. With them, it is sometimes sudden, unexpected. Not what they planned or wanted. The Rada’Han can ignite the power, and it is new to them. It can be frightening. That fear makes them fight it, sometimes. Fight us.

  “Your job, the responsibility of a novice of the third rank, is to control them, for their own good, until they can be taught by the Sisters. In all your other lessons, there have been rules. In this, there sometimes are no rules. The new ones don’t know of our rules yet. They can be difficult to control if you follow only the rules you know. Sometimes the collar is not enough. You must use whatever the Creator has given you. You must be able to do whatever it takes to control the will of these untrained wizards. That is the true, and final test to be a Sister. Novices have failed in this final test, and been put out of the palace.”

  Pasha’s eyes were wide. “I have never heard such things.”

  She shrugged. “Then I have been of aid to you. I am pleased the Creator has chosen me to help. Perhaps others have not wanted so strongly for you to succeed, and have held back. Perhaps you would do well to bring to me your questions about any new one you are assigned.”

  “Oh, yes. Thank you for your help, Sister. I must admit it worries me to learn that new ones can be difficult. I guess I always imagined they would
be eager to learn, and that it would be a joy to show them and to help teach them.”

  “They are all different. Some are as easy as a babe in a crib. Let us hope you are given one like that. Some will test your wits. Why, I have even seen old records that tell of ones that have triggered the gift before we could get to them, before we could get a Rada’Han on them and help them.”

  “No . . . That must be frightening for them—to have the power awakened without guidance from us.”

  “Indeed. And fear can make them troublesome, as I have said. I have even seen an old report of one who refused the collar on the first offer.”

  Pasha’s fingers covered her mouth as she gasped. She took them away. “But . . . that means . . . one of the Sisters . . .”

  She nodded solemnly. “It is a price we are all prepared to pay. We bear a heavy responsibility.”

  “But why wouldn’t the parents make him accept the offer?”

  She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “In the report I saw, the one with the gift was grown. A man.”

  Pasha stared in wide-eyed disbelief. “A man . . . ?” she whispered. “If a boy can be difficult to control . . . what of a grown man?”

  She gave the novice an even look. “We are here to serve in the Creator’s work. You can never tell what the Creator has in His plan, why you are given what you have. A novice in charge of a new one must use whatever the Creator has given her. The collar is not always enough. You can never tell what you might need to do. The rules don’t always work.

  “Do you still want to be a Sister of the Light? Even knowing you may be given a new one who could be more difficult than any other novice has ever been given?”

  “Oh, yes! Yes, Sister! If the new one is difficult, I know it is a test from the Creator himself, to see if I am truly worthy. I will not fail. I will do whatever must be done. I will use everything I have learned, everything the Creator has given me. I will be on guard that he may be from a strange land, or have strange customs, and be afraid, or troublesome, or difficult. And that I may have to make my own rules to succeed.” She hesitated. “And if you are so kind as to mean what you said about helping me, then I know I will have your wisdom backing me, and I will not fail.”