“Also,” Prindin said, “as they were going, others joined them, from the north where they had been waiting, and went with them.”
Kahlan’s eyes narrowed as she frowned in thought. “Did they have many wagons? Big wagons?”
Prindin snorted a laugh. “They must have hundreds. These men do not carry anything. They use wagons. They have victory, because they are many, but they are lazy. They ride in wagons, or use them to carry their things.”
“It takes a lot of supplies,” she said, “to support an army that big. And if they ride in wagons it keeps them fresh for fighting.”
“It also makes them soft,” Chandalen said defiantly. “If you carry what you need, like we do, then you grow strong. If you walk without carrying what you need, or ride in wagons, or on horses, then you grow soft. These men are not strong, like us.”
“They were strong enough to crush this city,” Kahlan said, looking up from under her eyebrows. “They were strong enough to win the battle and destroy their opponent.”
“Only because they are many,” Chandalen argued, “like the Jocopo, not because they are strong, or good fighters.”
“Large numbers,” she said, quietly, “has a strength all its own.”
None of the three men disagreed with that.
Prindin downed the last of his tea before speaking. “Their numbers are all gone now. They stay together as they go east.”
“East.” She thought a moment while the three waited. “Did they go through a pass that has a thin rope bridge stretched above it? A bridge that can only be crossed by one person at a time, on foot?”
The brothers nodded.
Kahlan stood. “Jara Pass,” she whispered to herself as she turned to stare out the door. “It’s one of the few big enough for their wagons.”
“There is more,” Tossidin said as he stood, too. “Maybe five days after they left, more men came here.” He held up the spread fingers of both hands. “This many did the killing here.” He closed all but a lone little finger on his right hand. “This many came here after it was done.”
Kahlan glanced to Chandalen. “The ones who closed the doors.”
He nodded as the two brothers frowned.
“They searched the city,” Tossidin went on. “There were no people left here to kill, so they followed the tracks, followed those that went east, to join with them.”
“No,” Kahlan said. “They were no allies of those who did this. They didn’t go to join them. They’re going after them, though.”
Prindin considered this a moment. “Then if they catch the ones who did this, then they, too, will die. They have no numbers like those they chase. They will be like fleas trying to eat a dog.”
Kahlan snatched up her mantle and flung it around her shoulders. “Let’s get going. Jara Pass is wide and easy enough for large wagons, but it’s also very long and meandering. I know small passes—like the one that takes that rope bridge over the Jara, and then up through Harpies Cleft—that an army cannot travel, but we can, and it’s much shorter. What they travel in three or four days, we can travel in one.”
Chandalen stood, but did so in an easy manner. “Mother Confessor, following these men will not take us to Aydindril.”
“We have to go over one of the passes to get us to Aydindril. Harpies is as good as any.”
Chandalen still made no move to recover his mantle. “But that way lies an army of thousands. You wanted to get to Aydindril with as little trouble as possible. That way lies trouble.”
Kahlan squatted with her boot over a snowshoe, and began lacing on the binding. The faces of the dead young women wavered before her eyes. “I’m the Mother Confessor. I will not allow this to happen in the Midlands. It’s my responsibility.”
The men glanced uneasily at one another. The brothers moved to retrieve their snowshoes. Chandalen did not.
“You said your responsibility was to go to Aydindril as Richard With The Temper asked. You said you must do as he asked.”
Kahlan paused her work at the binding of the second snowshoe. Anguish seared though her. She considered Chandalen’s words, but only briefly. “I’m not abandoning that responsibility.” She finished the binding and stood. “But we’re Mud People. We have other responsibilities, too.”
“Other responsibilities?”
Kahlan tapped the bone knife that was tied to her arm, under her mantle. “To the spirits. The Jocopo, the Bantak, and now these men, have listened to spirits that would have them do great evil—spirits that come through the tear in the veil. We have responsibilities to the spirits of our ancestors, and their living descendants.”
She knew that to close the veil, she needed to reach Zedd, to get help for Richard. It was possible that Richard was the only one who could close the veil. Chandalen was right; they must reach Aydindril.
But the faces of the young women still filled her mind. The horror of what had been done to them still coursed through her.
The two brothers were sitting on the bench putting on their snowshoes. Chandalen stepped close to her and lowered her voice.
“What good will come of us catching this army? It is wrong.”
She looked into his brown eyes. They were not filled with defiance as they had been in the past, but with genuine concern.
“Chandalen, the men who did this killing, and went east, are perhaps fifty thousand strong. The ones who closed the doors in the palace and are chasing that army are perhaps five thousand. They are filled with anger, but if they catch the ones they’re chasing, they’ll be slaughtered, too. If I have a chance to prevent five thousand men from dying, then I must try for that chance.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “And if you are killed in this, then what greater evil will break its bounds?”
“That’s what you three are supposed to prevent—my being killed.”
She started for the door. Chandalen gently gripped her arm and brought her to a halt. He spoke calmly.
“It will be dark soon. We can rest here tonight, and cook food. We can leave in the morning after we are rested.”
“The moon will be up soon to light our way. We have no time to waste.” She leaned toward him. “I’m going on, now. If you’re as strong as you say, you’ll go with me. If you’re not, you may rest here.”
Chandalen put his hands on his hips. His lips tightened as he let out a deep breath. He appraised her with frustration.
“You cannot walk more than Chandalen. We go, too.”
Kahlan gave him a quick, tight smile, and swept through the door. The brothers snatched up their bows and jumped to fall in behind her while Chandalen bent to tie on his snowshoes.
Chapter 31
Richard watched the horses eating grass that wasn’t there, and scratched his itchy beard. The surface of the valley was baked and barren, but the horses seemed contented in their grazing, as if there were lush green grass beneath their feet. Illusion, it seemed, deluded and enticed even the horses. He wondered what wasn’t there that he was going to see.
Sister Verna at last moved, pulling up on Jessup’s lead line, pulling him away from his browsing. “This way.”
Ominous, dark clouds hugged the ground ahead, boiling as if alive and eagerly awaiting them. Richard pulled the other two horses on, following after the Sister. She had told them that they must walk because the horses could be suddenly spooked by things unseen and could carry them, helpless, into a spell.
Sister Verna abruptly altered her course across the featureless ground, taking them a little to the right. The dark cloud of dust and dirt lifted and tumbled, driven by the gusts that, as of yet, didn’t touch them. Sister Verna looked over her shoulder, her expression as dark as the cloud.
“Whatever you see, you ignore it. Whatever it is, it isn’t real. You just ignore it. Do you understand?”
“What am I going to see?”
She redirected her attention to the way ahead. Her white blouse was damp with sweat, as was his shirt. “I can’t tell you. The spells seek tho
se things in your own mind you fear or long for, so everyone sees different things. Yet some visions are the same. Some fears are the same in all of us. Some of the magic we will see is not visions, but real. Like those clouds of dust.”
“And what did you see the last time that you’re so afraid of?”
She walked in silence for a time. “One I loved.”
“If she was a loved one, why would you be afraid to see her?”
“Because he tried to kill me.”
Richard blinked at the stinging sweat in his eyes. “He? Do you have a man you love, Sister?”
She watched the ground as she walked. “Not anymore.” Her voice was soft with sorrow. She glanced up at him a moment, before seeking the ground once more with her eyes. “When I was young, I had a love. Jedidiah.”
She was silent, so he asked. “He is not your love anymore?” She shook her head. “Why not?”
Pausing only a moment, she wiped her brow with a finger before moving on. “I was young, perhaps younger than you, when I left the Palace of the Prophets. Left to find you. We didn’t know if you had been born yet. We knew that if you had not been, you would be, but we didn’t know when, so three Sisters were sent.
“But that was many years ago. I’ve spent better than half my life away from the palace. From Jedidiah.” She stopped again, peering first right, then left, before starting ahead once more. “He will have long ago forgotten me, and found another.”
“If he really loved you, Sister, he won’t have forgotten you and found another. You haven’t forgotten him.”
She tugged on her horse’s line, pulling him away from something he wanted to investigate. “Too many years have passed. We’ve grown older apart. I have grown old. We are not the same people we were. He is one with the gift, and has his own life. It would not include me.”
“You’re not old, Sister. If you really love each other, time shouldn’t matter.” He wondered if he was talking about her, or himself.
Sister Verna gave a soft, private laugh. “Youth. Youth holds much hope, but not much wisdom. I know the ways of people. Of men. He has been too long from my skirts. He will long ago have sought another.”
Richard felt himself blushing in the heat. “Love has more to it than that.”
“Ah, so you know so much of love, yes? You, too, will soon be searching the charms of a new pair of pretty legs.”
Richard was about to vent a rush of sudden anger when Sister Verna stopped. She looked up. The dark cloud swirled in, closing in on them.
From somewhere, Richard heard the faint sound of someone screaming his name.
“Something is wrong,” Sister Verna whispered to herself.
“What is it?”
She ignored him, pulling Jessup to the left. “This way.”
Lightning lit the air about them. A blinding bolt struck the ground ahead, sending a shower of the chalky earth skyward. The ground shook with the impact. Every muscle flinched from the nearness of the strike.
When the lightning tore the dark wall open for an instant, Richard saw Kahlan. She was standing, watching him. And then she was gone.
“Kahlan?”
Sister Verna reversed course. “This way. Now! Richard, I told you, it is not real. Whatever you saw, you must ignore it.”
He knew it was an illusion, but the sight ran a sharp pang of longing through him. He groaned inwardly. Why did the magic have to attract him with visions of her? His own mind, Sister Verna had said, would bring forth the things he feared, or those for which he longed. Which was this, he wondered, fear or longing?
“Is the lightning real?”
“Real enough to kill us. But it’s not lightning in the sense of what you know. This is a storm of spells that are battling each other. The lightning is a discharge of their power as they fight each other. At the same time, it also seeks to destroy any intruder. Our way is among the gaps in their battle.”
Again, he heard the distant scream of his name, but it wasn’t Kahlan’s voice. It was a man’s voice.
Another lightning bolt struck directly in front of them. He and the Sister both protectively threw an arm up before their faces. The horses didn’t start. It must be as the Sister said; horses would have panicked had it been real lightning.
As the dirt thrown up by the lightning rained down around them, Sister Verna turned and snatched him by his shirtsleeve.
“Richard, listen to me. Something is wrong. The way is shifting too fast. I’m not able to feel it as I should be able to.”
“Why would that be? You’ve been through here before. You were able to do it before.”
“I don’t know. We don’t know a great deal about this place. It’s tainted with magic we don’t entirely understand. It could be that the magic has learned to recognize me, from when I was here before. Going through more than twice is not possible. Going through the second time is said to be more difficult than the first. It could just be that. But it might be something else.”
“What something else? You mean me?”
Her eyes glanced past him to things she was seeing, but he knew weren’t there. She refocused her gaze on him. “No, not you. If it were you, I would still be able to feel the pass as I did before, but I can’t. I can only feel it some of the time. I think it’s because of what happened with Sisters Elizabeth and Grace.”
“What do they have to do with it?”
The dark storm was all about them now, swirling and howling. Their clothes flapped in the gusts. He had to squint against the dust.
“In their death, they passed on their gift. That is the reason they gave their lives when you refused the offer, to pass their gift to the next, to make her stronger so she might succeed at the next try.”
That was why he had felt the pull to accept the collar more strongly each time the offer had been made. Kahlan had said that that might have been the reason they killed themselves when he refused—to add to their power, make them stronger.
“You mean you have the power, the Han, of the other Sisters?”
She nodded as her eyes darted about. “It gives me the power of all three.” Her eyes came back to his. “It could be that I have too much power to make it through.” She clutched his shirt tighter and pulled him closer to her face. “If I don’t make it, you must go on alone, try to make it on your own.”
“What! I don’t know how to make it through. I don’t feel anything of the spells about us.”
“Don’t argue with me! You felt the lightning. You felt that much of it. One without the gift would not feel it until it was too late. You must try.”
“Sister, you will be all right. You will sense the way.”
“But if I don’t, you must try. Ignore anything you see that tempts you. Richard, if I die, you must try to make it through, to the Palace of the Prophets.”
“If anything happens to you, I’ll try to make it back to the Midlands. It’s closer.”
She gave a sharp tug on his shirt. “No! Must you always challenge what I tell you?” She scowled at him a moment before letting her expression cool. “Richard, if you don’t have a Sister to teach you to control the gift, you will die. The collar alone will not save you. You must have a sister for the Rada’Han to be of use. Without a Sister, it would be like having lungs, but no air to fill them. We are the air. Some of us have already given our lives to help you. Don’t let them die in vain.”
He took her hand from his shirt and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re going to make it. I promise you, you’ll make it. If there is anything I can do to help, I’ll try. Don’t be afraid. Ignore what you’re seeing. Isn’t that what you said?”
She released an exasperated breath and then took her hand back, turning away. “You don’t know the things I see.” She looked over her shoulder, squinting at him. “Don’t test me, Richard, I’m not in the mood. You do as you’re told.”
Richard heard the thunder of horse’s hooves as Sister Verna quickly led them ahead. The darkness swirled around them as lightni
ng crackled through it. He found it difficult to accept the calmness of the horses. Could it be that he really was using the gift to feel it?
To his left, the wall of dust lifted. Light beyond shone through. Richard stared at the sight. It was the Hartland Woods, the woods he knew, longed to return to. They were here before him. He had only to step through. The peace of the place he stared at made him ache with longing, as if stepping through to them would be his salvation.
But he knew it was an illusion, a spell of longing meant to trap him, and let him wander for all time in ensorcellment. He wondered what would be so bad about that, even if it wasn’t real. If it was a place he loved, and he would be happy there, what would be so bad about that?
He heard his name called again, again in a scream. Horses’ hooves were almost upon him. He spun around, realizing it was Chase’s voice screaming his name.
“Ignore it, Richard,” came the Sister’s growl. “Keep moving.”
Richard longed for his friend as much as he longed for the Hartland Woods. He walked backward, watching.
Chase was riding at a full gallop, his black cloak flying behind, his weapons glinting in the light of the merciless sun. The horse was covered with lather. Someone else was with him, in his lap. Richard squinted, trying to see better, and realized it was Rachel. That was natural; Rachel would be with Chase. Rachel was screaming his name, too. Richard watched the illusion as it bore down upon him.
Something about Rachel riveted his attention. Something about her gave Richard the strong sense of Zedd’s presence. His eyes were lured to an amber stone hanging by a gold chain about her neck. The sight of the stone drew Richard’s interest as if it were Zedd himself calling to him.
“Richard!” Chase was screaming. “Don’t go in there! Don’t go in there! Zedd needs you! The veil is torn! Richard!”
Chase suddenly drew the horse to a skidding stop. Richard took slow, backward steps as he watched the illusion. Chase had gone calm, and was no longer screaming. With Rachel in his arms he dismounted, looking about in wonder. The dust was passing between them again, and Richard was having difficulty seeing his old friend. Chase set Rachel down and took her hand as they both turned about, staring off at nothing. Richard thought that an odd thing for a vision to do, but then decided it must just be a way of trying to entice him to go see what they were looking at.
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