Stone of Tears tsot-2

by Terry Goodkind

  “Can’t you follow the simplest instructions? Must you always act a child?”

  Richard looked up from under his eyebrows. “Those were your exact words. You came into the tower. I was sure it was you. You were angry with me, much as you are now, and you used those exact words.”

  He gritted his teeth as he put a finger to the collar at his neck. “You used this. You used it to throw me against the wall, and pin me there with it. Can this collar do that, Sister?”

  She sat much quieter. “Yes. We don’t have the power of a wizard, the male Han. The collar amplifies our power, so we may be stronger than the one wearing it. So we can teach them.”

  His voice was deep with anger. “Then you used it to give me pain, like the pain you did for real, when you were in the spell. Only it was stronger, and went on and on. Can the collar do that, too, Sister?”

  She pulled a clump of grass to her side and began cleaning her hands with it, avoiding his glare. “Yes. But that was a vision, Richard. I wasn’t really doing it.”

  “I told you to stop hurting me or I would put a stop to it. You wouldn’t stop, so I called the sword’s magic and broke the bond of the power holding me. You were furious. You said that I had made my last mistake. You said you were going to kill me for fighting you. You were going to kill me, Sister.”

  “I’m sorry, Richard,” she whispered as she looked up, “that you had to suffer that.” Her voice regained some of its strength. “So, what did you do to me . . . to the vision of me?”

  He leaned over and touched the edge of his first finger to the side of her shoulder. “I cut you in half with the sword. Right here.”

  Her hands stopped; she was stone still. Some of the color had left her face. Finally, she regained her composure.

  Richard picked at the clump of grass by his foot again. “I didn’t want to do it, but I was positive you were going to kill me.”

  She tossed the grass aside. “I’m sure you were, Richard. But that was only a vision. If it were real, it wouldn’t have turned out that way. You would not have been able to do what you did.”

  “Who are you trying to convince, Sister? Me, or yourself?”

  She met his glare. “The things you saw were not as they are in the real world. They were simply illusions.”

  Richard let it drop. He turned the stick with the rabbit to cook the other side, and slid the iron plate with the bannock to the side of the fire to let it cool.

  “Anyway, when I saw you again, I didn’t know if you were a vision, or real, but I truly hoped you were alive. I didn’t want to kill you.” He looked up and smiled. “Besides, I promised you that you would get through the Valley of the Lost.”

  She nodded. “Yes, you did. More desire than wisdom indeed.”

  “Sister, I was only doing what I could think of to survive. To help you survive, too.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “Richard, I know you’re trying to do your best, but you must understand that what you think is best is not necessarily right. You’re calling your Han without knowing what you’re doing, or even realizing you’re doing it. In so doing, you tempt danger you can’t fathom.”

  “How was I using my Han?”

  “Wizards make promises that their Han strives to keep. You promised me you would help me through the valley—save me. But in so doing, you have invoked prophecy.”

  Richard frowned. “I’ve given no prophecy.”

  “Not only given it, but used your Han without realizing it, used prophecy without knowing its form, to do something in the past to aid you in the future.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You destroyed the horses’ bits.”

  “I told you at the time why I did that. They’re cruel.”

  She shook her head. “That’s what I’m talking about. You think you did it for one reason, but it served another purpose. Your conscious mind is simply seeking to rationalize what your Han is doing. When we were running from the valley, I didn’t believe in what you were doing, and I tried to turn my horse. Because he didn’t have a bit, I was unable to.”

  “So what?”

  She leaned closer. “Destroying the bits in the past satisfied a need of a promise in the future. That was using prophecy. You’re swinging the axe blindly.”

  Richard gave her a skeptical expression. “That’s a stretch, Sister. Even for you.”

  “I know how the gift works, Richard.”

  Richard thought about it, and finally decided he didn’t believe her, but decided, too, that he didn’t want to argue with her about it. There were other things he wanted to know.

  “Is your little book full? I haven’t seen you writing in it.”

  “I sent a message yesterday, that we have come through the valley. I have nothing else to write, that’s all. The book is magic. With magic, we erase old messages. I erased all but two pages, but with what I added yesterday, there are now three pages full.”

  Richard tore off a corner of the hot bannock. “Who is the Prelate?”

  “She charges the Sisters of the Light. She is . . .” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve never mentioned her. How do you know of her?”

  Richard licked the crumbs from his fingers. “I read it in your book.”

  Her hand flew to her belt, groping for the book. It was there, where it always was. “You’ve read my private writing! You have no right! I will . . .”

  “You were dead at the time.” Her mouth snapped shut, and he went on. “When I killed you, or the illusion of you, the book fell on the ground. I read it.”

  The tension left her muscles. “Oh. Well, that’s simply part of the illusion. I told you, it’s not as things are in life.”

  Richard tore off another corner of bannock. “There were only two pages with writing, just as the real book. Not until after we were through the valley did you add the third. Back then, there were only two.”

  She watched him eating the bannock. “Illusion, Richard.”

  He looked up. “One page said: ‘I am the Sister in charge of this boy. These directives are beyond reason if not absurd. I demand to know the meaning of these instructions. I demand to know upon whose authority they are given.—Yours in the service of the Light, Sister Verna Sauventreen.’ The second page said: ‘You will do as you are instructed, or suffer the consequences. Do not presume to question the orders of the palace again.—In my own hand, The Prelate.’ ”

  The Sister’s face had drained of color. “You had no business reading something belonging to another.”

  “As I said, you were dead at the time. What instructions did they give you about me that made you so angry?”

  The color came back to her face in a rush. “It has to do with a technicality. It’s nothing you would understand, and anyway, it is not your business.”

  Richard lifted an eyebrow. “Not my business? You claim you are only trying to help me, yet you’ve taken me prisoner, and you say it’s not my business? I have this collar around my neck, and with it you can hurt me, perhaps kill me, and you say it is not my business? You tell me I must do the things you say, that I must take them on faith, even though that faith is shaken with every new thing I discover, yet it’s not my business? You tell me that the illusion I saw was not as things are in the real world, yet I find it was, and you tell me it’s not my business?”

  Sister Verna was silent. She watched him without emotion. Watched him, he thought, as if he were a bug in a box.

  “Sister Verna, will you tell me one thing I’ve been wondering about?”

  “If I can.”

  He pulled his legs up tighter under himself. He tried to keep any hostility out of his tone. “When you first saw me, you were surprised that I was grown. You thought that I would be young.”

  “That’s right. We have ones at the palace who can sense one born with the gift. But you were hidden from us, so it took us a very long time to find you.”

  “But you told me just the other day that you had spent over half your life awa
y from the palace, searching for me. If you’ve spent twenty-odd years looking for me, how could you expect me to be young? You would have expected me to be grown, unless you didn’t know I had been born, and started searching for me long before anyone at the palace sensed me.”

  Her answer came in a cautious, quiet voice. “It is as you say. It has never happened this way before.”

  “So why would you come looking for me before any of you sensed that one with the gift had been born?”

  She chose her words carefully. “We didn’t know precisely when you would be born, but we knew you would be, so we were sent in search.”

  “How did you know I would be born?”

  “You are spoken of in prophecy.”

  Richard nodded. He wanted to know about this prophecy and why they thought he was so important, but he didn’t want to stray from the trail he was following at the moment. “So you knew it might be many years before you found me?”

  “Yes. We didn’t know when you would be born. We were only able to narrow it to a range of decades.”

  “How are the Sisters who are to be sent chosen?”

  “We’re selected by the Prelate.”

  “You have no say in the matter?”

  She tensed, as if suspicious she might accidentally be slipping her neck through a noose, yet was unable to keep from voicing her faith. “We work in the service of the Creator. We would have no reason to object. The whole purpose of the palace is to help those with the gift. To be selected to save one with the gift is one of the greatest honors a Sister may receive.”

  “So, none of the others sent have ever had to give up so many years of their lives to rescue one with the gift?”

  “No. I’ve never heard of it taking more than a year. But I knew this assignment could last for decades.”

  Richard smiled to himself in triumph. He leaned back, stretching his muscles. He took a deep breath. “Now I understand.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What do you understand?”

  “I understand, Sister Verna, why you treat me the way you do. I understand why we’re always fighting, why we’re always at each other’s throats. I understand why you resent me. Why you hate me.”

  She looked like someone waiting for the trapdoor to fall put from under her. “I don’t hate you, Richard.”

  He nodded, and pulled the catch on that trapdoor. “Yes, you do. You hate me. And I don’t blame you. I understand. You had to give up Jedidiah because of me.”

  She flinched as if a noose had just tightened around her neck. “Richard! You will not speak to me in . . .”

  “You resent me because of that. Not because of what happened to the other two Sisters. It’s because of Jedidiah. If it weren’t for me, you would be with him. You would have been with him for the last twenty years. You had to give up the love of your life to go on this accursed quest to find me. They sent you. You had no choice; you had to go. It’s your duty, and it cost you your love, and the children you might have had. That’s what I’ve cost you; why you hate me.”

  Sister Verna sat and stared; she neither spoke nor moved. Finally, she said, “The Seeker, indeed.”

  “I’m sorry, Sister Verna.”

  “No need to be, Richard. You don’t know what you are talking about.” She slowly lifted the rabbit from the fire, setting it on the iron plate with the bannock. For a moment she stared off into nothing. “We had better finish eating. We must be on our way.”

  “Fine. But I just want you to consider, Sister, that it’s not by my choice. I didn’t do this to you. The Prelate did. You should either be angry with her, or if you’re so devoted to your duty, to your Creator, as you claim, then you should have joy in His service. Either way, please stop blaming me.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but then instead fumbled with the stopper on the waterskin, finally getting it off, and took a long drink. Drawing deep breaths when she finished, she dabbed her sleeve to her wet lips.

  Her unwavering gaze locked on his. “Soon, Richard, we will be to the palace, but first we have to pass through the land of a very dangerous people. The Sisters have an arrangement with them, to be allowed to pass. You will have to do a task for them. You will do it, or there will be great trouble.”

  “What will I have to do?”

  “You will have to kill someone for them.”

  “Sister Verna, I promise you, I’m not going to . . .”

  Her index finger rose from her fist, commanding silence. “Don’t you dare swing the axe this time, Richard,” she whispered. “You have no idea of the consequences.”

  She rose to her feet. “Get the horses ready. We must be leaving.”

  Richard stood. “Aren’t you going to have your breakfast?”

  She ignored his question and stepped close to him.

  “It takes two to argue, Richard. You’re always angry with me, with everything I tell you. You resent me. You hate me, because you think I made you put on that collar. But I didn’t, and you know it. Kahlan made you put it on. It’s because of her you wear the Rada’Han. If it weren’t for her, you wouldn’t be with me. That’s what I’ve cost you, and why you hate me.

  “But I think you should consider, Richard, that it’s not by my choice. I didn’t do this to you. Kahlan did. You should either be angry with her, or if you’re so devoted to her, as you claim, then have joy in carrying out her wishes. Perhaps she has valid reasons for them. Maybe she has your interests at heart. Either way, please stop blaming me.”

  Richard tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

  Chapter 37

  The bloodred light of day’s death oozed through the bones of trees lining the spine of the next ridge. Her green-eyed gaze left the well-hidden places where outposts of sentries were stationed. They were too far apart, she noted, or she would not be standing unnoticed where she was. She tallied the men in rank upon rank of tents marching up the valley floor below. Five thousand would be generous, she concluded.

  Horses were picketed to her left, near supply wagons all neatly lined up. To the far side of the valley, latrines had been dug in the snow. Cook wagons stationed between the men and the supply wagons were packing up for the night. Colorful battle flags flew over the command tents. It was probably the most orderly army she had ever seen afield. Galeans did have a penchant for order.

  “They look very nice,” Chandalen said in a quiet voice, “for men about to be slaughtered.” The two brothers gave nervous chuckles of agreement.

  Kahlan nodded absently. That morning, they had seen the army these men were chasing. They were not neat. They were not orderly. They were not pretty. And their sentries were not stationed too far apart. Still, Chandalen and the two brothers had managed to get her close enough to see what she had wanted to see, and to take a tally.

  She had guessed their numbers at fifty thousand. And that was not being generous.

  She let out a long breath, its thin, white cloud drifting away in the cold air. “I have to stop this.” She hiked her pack and bow up on her back. “Let’s get down there.”

  Chandalen, Prindin, and Tossidin followed behind as she slogged down the hillside of fluffy snow. It had taken her longer than she had hoped to catch these men. A blizzard high in Jara Pass had left the four of them holed up in the shelter of a wayward pine for two days. Wayward pines always reminded Kahlan of Richard, and as she had lain in her fur mantle, listening to the howl of the wind, she had dreamed of him while she slept, and while she was awake.

  She was furious that she had to lose valuable time on the way to Aydindril to stop this army from their suicide pursuit—of the forces that had destroyed Ebinissia, but as the Mother Confessor she couldn’t allow nearly five thousand men to die to no purpose. She had to stop them before they got close to the army that had plundered Ebinissia. They were too close now. They would surely make contact by the next day.

  The army sprang to alert as the four figures in white wolf-pelt mantles marched toward them. Shouts erupted, and were repeated back throug
h the ranks. Tent flaps were flung open and men poured out. Swords were drawn, sending the ring of steel into the cold, twilight air. Men with spears came running through the snow. Men with bows took up positions, nocking arrows. A wall of several hundred men put themselves between her and the command tents. More were coming at a run, pulling on clothes, shouting to others still in their tents.

  Kahlan and the three men with her came to a halt. She stood tall and still. Behind her, Chandalen, Prindin, and Tossidin leaned lazily on their spears.

  A man of rank tumbled out of the largest tent as he pulled on a heavy, brown coat. He made his way through the wall of men, shouting at the archers to hold their arrows. He was joined by two others of rank as he stumbled through the line of defenders. She recognized his rank as he approached. He was the captain. The two men with him, one to each side, were lieutenants.

  When he drew himself to a panting halt before her, she let the hood of her mantle drop back. Her long hair fell across the white fur.

  “What is the . . .” The captain’s eyes went suddenly wide. He and the two lieutenants collapsed to a knee.

  Every man as far as she could see fell to his knees. Every head bowed. The rustle of wool, the creek of leather, and the clang of steel fell silent. The three men with her cast one another glances of wonder; they had never seen the Mother Confessor greeted by anyone but Mud People before. The only sound was the slow creak of branches in the cold breeze.

  “Rise, my children.”

  Accompanied by the renewed racket of movement, all came to their feet. The captain stood and gave her a smart bow, from the waist. He came up with a proud smile.

  “Mother Confessor, what an honor!”

  Kahlan stared in disbelief at his square jaw, his wavy light brown hair, his clear, blue eyes, his young, handsome face.

  “You’re a child,” she whispered. She looked around to the hundreds, the thousands, of young, bright eyes all fixed on her. She blinked at them. She could feel the blood going to her face.

  Her fists tightened as she shook with rage. “You’re children! You’re all children!”

  The captain glanced back to his men with an embarrassed expression bordering on hurt. “Mother Confessor, we’re new recruits, but we’re all soldiers of the Galean army.”