“I didn’t read it. It was brought to me in a vision of her.”
Warren’s eyes grew big, the way they tended to do when he was astonished. “You had a vision of prophecy?”
“Yes, she brought me the words, and also brought a vision of what it means.”
“What does it mean?”
Richard brushed at his pant leg. “I can’t tell you. She said that I could speak the words, but not of the vision. I’m sorry, Warren, but I dare not violate that warning without knowing the consequences. But I can tell you that the results of this prophecy coming true would not be joyful for her, or for me.”
Warren considered a moment. “Yes. You are right.” He looked over out of the corner of his eye. “Richard, there is something about prophecy I think I should tell you. Hardly anyone knows this, but the words don’t always reflect the true intent.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, a few times when I have read prophecies, I’ve had a vision. The vision turns out to be true, and so does the prophecy, but not in the way you would think from reading it. I believe that the true way prophecy is meant to be understood is through the gift, through the visions.”
“Do the Sisters know this?”
“No. I think this is what it means to be a prophet. Richard, if you had this vision, and heard the words, and saw the meaning, maybe that means you are a prophet.”
“According to the Prelate, I have a different talent. If she is right, then having the vision might just be part of my ability for what I truly am.”
“Which is?”
“The Prelate said I’m a war wizard.”
His eyes widened again. “Richard, war wizards have the gift for both Magics. None with the gift for Subtractive, too, has been born in . . . in thousands of years. Maybe the Prelate is wrong.”
“I hope she is, but it would explain some things. From what a friend of mine told me, Additive Magic is using what is, adding to it, multiplying it, altering it; the doing of things. Subtractive Magic is the counter, the undoing of things.
“All the shields are put up by the Sisters. They have only Additive. Even those with the gift cannot easily go through them, or break them, because they also have only Additive. Power against power. But somehow I’m able to walk right through the shields around here without even trying.
“Subtractive Magic would explain that. Subtractive would counter the Additive of the shields; undo it.”
“But you said you tried to go through the barrier that keeps us from leaving. That’s a shield, too. Why can’t you go through that shield, then, if you really have the Subtractive?”
Richard lifted an eyebrow and leaned in. “Warren, who put those shields in place?”
“Well, the ones who placed the rest of the magic of the palace, the wizards of old . . .”
“Who you said had Subtractive Magic. That shield is the only one placed by them. It’s the only one I can’t go through. It’s the only one my Subtractive Magic, if I truly have it, wouldn’t counter. See what I mean?”
Warren sat back on his heels. “Yes . . .” He rubbed his chin as he thought. “Well, that would make sense. It might fit with some of the prophecies about you. If you really are a war wizard, and are the one born true.”
“And do these prophecies say I will prevail?”
Warren hesitated. He glanced over at the Sword of Truth lying on the floor nearby. “If I said ‘white blade,’ would that mean anything to you?”
Richard let out a heavy breath at the memory. “I can turn the blade of my sword white, through magic.”
Warren wiped his hand over his face. “Then I think we might be in trouble. There is a prophecy that says, ‘Should the forces of forfeit be loosed, the world will be shadowed yet by darker lust through what has been rent. Salvations hope, then, will be as slim as the white blade of the one born true.’ ”
Through what has been rent. “The open gateway,” Richard said. “That would make ‘the darker lust’ be the Keeper.”
“Warren, I have to do something about the prophecy. The one about the one in white. It’s important. Do you have any ideas?”
Warren watched him, as if trying to decide something. “I do. I don’t know if it will help.” He put weight on his hands as he rubbed them on his thighs. “They have a prophet here, at the palace. I’ve never seen him. I want to, but they won’t let me. They say it’s too dangerous for me to talk to him until I learn more. They promised that when I learn enough, they will let me talk with him.”
“Here in the palace? Where?”
Warren pulled a fold of his robes from under his knees. “I don’t know. It would have to be one of the restricted areas, but I don’t know which one, and I don’t know how we can find out.”
Richard stood. “I do.”
Richard knew he had gone to the right guard when Swordsman Kevin Andellmere turned white as a spirit at the mention of the Prophet. He was reluctant, feigning ignorance at first, but when Richard gently reminded him of all the favors, Kevin whispered the location.
The compound Kevin had divulged was one of the most heavily guarded. Richard knew where all the guards were stationed because he had gathered white roses there, and had been up on the wall, to “look out at the sea.” He also knew all the guards. They were frequent visitors to the prostitutes he provided.
He didn’t slow at the outer gate, but simply gave a nod to the wink the guards gave him. The guards at the rampart were considerably more reticent, stammering and holding out a hand to halt him. He shook the hand, pretending that he thought that was what was meant by it. They finally sighed and resumed their post as he marched away, his mriswith cape billowing open.
At the end of the rampart was a small colonnade, and at the end of that, winding stairs that led down to the Prophet’s quarters. The guards at the door he wanted were the two he had had trouble winning over at first, and the first to receive his gift of female company. They stiffened when they saw him.
Richard casually made for the door between them. “Walsh, Bollesdun, how you doing?”
They crossed their pikes over the door. “Richard, what are you doing down here? The roses grow up top.”
“Look, Walsh, I have to go see the Prophet.”
“Richard, don’t put us in this spot. You know we can’t let you in. The Sisters would skin us alive.”
Richard shrugged. “I won’t tell them you let me in. I’ll say I tricked you. If anyone finds out, which they won’t, just tell them I snuck by, and you didn’t know until I was on my way out. I’ll back your story.”
“Richard, you’re really . . .”
“Have I ever done anything to cause trouble? Have I ever done anything but help all you men? I buy you drinks, I loan you money when you need it, I let you have free access to the girls, and it never costs you a copper. Have I ever asked for anything in return?”
Richard had his hand on the hilt of the sword. One way, or another, he was going through that door.
Walsh pushed a stone chip with his boot. With a heavy sigh, first one, and then the other, pulled their pikes up. “Bollesdun, go make your rounds. I’m going to the privy for a sit.”
Richard took his hand from his sword and gave the man a pat on the shoulder. “Thanks, Walsh. I appreciate it.”
Halfway down the inner hall, Richard felt layers of resistance, shields, like the ones that were outside the Prelate’s door, but they only slowed him a bit. The room inside was as spacious as his own, but perhaps more elegantly appointed. One wall held large tapestries, and another expansive bookshelves. Most of the books, though, seemed to be scattered about the room, on chairs and couches and covering the blue-and-yellow carpets on the floor.
Richard could see the back of a man in the chair beside the cold hearth.
“You must tell me how you do that,” the man said in a deep, powerful voice. “I would be most interested in learning the trick.”
“Do what?” Richard asked.
“Walk through sh
ields as if they weren’t there. Burns the flesh right off me if I try.”
“If I ever figure it out myself, I’ll let you know. My name is Richard. If you’re not busy, I would like to speak with you.”
“Busy!” The man’s shoulders shook with his hearty laugh. When he stood, Richard was a little surprised at how big he was. His long white hair had made Richard think he might be old and shriveled. Old, he was, shriveled he was not. He looked strong and full of vitality. His smile was welcoming and threatening at the same time. He wore a Rada’Han, the same as Richard.
“My name is Nathan, Richard. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I didn’t expect you would find your way in alone.”
“I wanted to come alone so we could talk freely.”
“And do you know that I am a prophet?”
“I didn’t come here to learn to bake bread.”
Nathan’s smile widened, but he didn’t laugh. His brows pulled together like a hawk’s. His voice took on a hiss. “Would you like me to tell you of your death, Richard? How you are to die?”
Richard flopped down on the couch and plunked his feet up on a table. He returned the hawklike glare and threatening smile in kind. “Sure. I’d love to hear all about it. And then when you’re done, I will tell you how you are to die.”
Nathan lifted an eyebrow. “And are you a prophet?”
“Enough of one to tell you how you are to die.”
The frown turned curious. “Really. Tell me then.”
Richard took a pear from a bowl on the table, polished it on his pant leg, and took a bite. He spoke as he chewed. “You are going to die right here, in these rooms, of old age, without ever seeing the outside world again.”
The creases in Nathan’s face deepened as his expression sagged. “Seems you are a prophet, my boy.”
“Unless you help me. Maybe if you help me, I’ll be able to come back here and help you get out, too.”
“And what is it you want?”
“I want this collar off.”
A sly grin spread on Nathan’s face. “Seems we share a common interest, Richard.”
“But the Sisters say I will die without it.”
The sly grin widened. “They demand truthfulness from others, but rarely inconvenience themselves with it. The Sisters have their own agenda, Richard. There is more than one path through the woods.”
“The Sisters say I must learn to use my Han, in order to get it off. They don’t seem to be helping much in that.”
“It would be easier to teach a stump to sing than for a mere Sister to teach you to use your Han. You have Subtractive Magic. They can’t help you.”
“Can you help me, Nathan?”
“Perhaps.” Nathan sat down in his chair, leaning forward intently. “Tell me, Richard, have you ever read The Adventures of Bonnie Day?”
“Read it? It’s my favorite book. I read it until my eyes nearly wore the words off the pages. I’d love to meet the person who wrote it, and tell him how much I liked the book.”
A broad, childlike grin stole onto Nathan’s face. “You just have, my boy. You just have.”
Richard came forward from the back of the couch. “You! You wrote The Adventures of Bonnie Day?”
Nathan quoted a few passages, to prove his intimate knowledge. “I gave the book to your father, to give to you when you were old enough to read. You were just born, at the time.”
“You were there with the Prelate? She didn’t tell me that.”
“I doubt the truth occurred to her. You see, Ann doesn’t have the power to get into the Wizard’s Keep in Aydindril. I helped George get in, so he could get the Book of Counted Shadows. They have some very interesting books of prophecy there.”
Richard stared in astonishment. “Seems we are old acquaintances, then.”
“More than acquaintances, Richard Rahl.” Nathan gave him a meaningful look. “My name is Nathan Rahl.”
Richard’s mouth dropped open. “You are my . . . great-great-something-or-other?”
“Too many ‘greats’ to count. I am nearly a thousand years old, my boy.” He waggled a finger in the air. “I have had an interest in you for a long time. You are in the prophecies.
“I wrote The Adventures of Bonnie Day for some of those who had potential. It is a book of prophecy, of sorts. A primer of prophecy, one you would be able to understand, so it would help you. It did help you, didn’t it?”
“More than once,” Richard said, still having trouble keeping his jaw up.
“Good. I’m pleased then. We gave the book to a few, special boys. You are the only one still alive. The rest died in ‘inexplicable’ accidents.”
Richard finished the pear while he thought. He definitely didn’t like the part about Subtractive Magic. “So can you help me with using my power?”
“Think, Richard. The Sisters have not given you pain with the collar, have they.”
“No. But they will.”
“Fighting the last war, Richard. What did Bonnie Day tell the Warwick troops guarding the moors? That the enemy would not come the same way as they had before. That they were foolishly wasting their energy trying to fight the last war.” Nathan lifted an eyebrow. “You seem to have missed the lesson. Just because something happened to you before, that does not mean it will happen again. Think ahead, Richard, not behind.”
Richard hesitated. “I . . . had a vision in one of the towers. A vision that Sister Verna used the collar to hurt me.”
“And it brought the anger forth.”
Richard nodded. “I called the magic and killed her.”
Nathan gave a small, disappointed shake of his head. “The vision was your own mind trying to tell you something, trying to show you that you could defend yourself if they did that, that you could defeat them. It was your gift and your mind working together, trying to help you. You were too busy fighting the last war to heed the message.”
Chagrined, Richard kept his mouth shut. He had worried about them hurting him, to the exclusion of everything else. He had ignored the true meaning of what Kahlan had done, because he had been so afraid of the past coming to life again. Think of the solution, not the problem; that was what Zedd had taught him. He had been blinded to the future by the past.
“I see what you mean, Nathan,” he admitted. “What did you mean about the Sisters not giving me pain with the collar?”
“Ann knows you are a war wizard, I told her before you were born. I told her near to five hundred years ago. She would have given orders to the Sisters. Giving pain to a war wizard is like kicking a badger on his rump.”
“You mean that pain is somehow the secret to my power?”
“No. The result of pain. Anger.” He gestured to the sword at Richard’s hip. “You use the sword in that way. Anger calls forth the magic. Actually, you call the magic, it brings you anger, and so the magic works. Would you like me to show you how to touch your Han?”
Richard scooted forward. “Yes. I never thought I would say that, but yes. I need to be able to get out of here.”
“Hold up your palm. Good.” He seemed to pull an aura of authority around himself. “Now, lose yourself in my eyes.”
Richard stared into the hooded, deep, dark, azure eyes. The gaze drew him in. Richard felt as if he were falling up into the clear, blue sky. His breath came in ragged pulls, not of his own will. He felt Nathan’s commanding words more than heard them.
“Call forth the anger, Richard. Call forth the rage. Call forth the hate and fury.” Richard felt it, just as when he drew the sword; as he felt his breath being drawn for him, he felt the anger being drawn. “Now, feel the heat of that rage. Feel the flames of it. Good. Now focus those feelings in the palm of your hand.”
Richard funneled the rage of the magic to his hand, directed its flow, feeling its force. His teeth gritted with the power of it.
“Look in your hand, Richard. See it there. See what you are feeling.”
Richard’s eyes moved slowly to his hand. A ball of
blue and yellow fire tumbled slowly above his outstretched palm. He could feel the energy flowing from himself, into the fire. He increased the flow of rage, and the angry ball of flame grew.
“Now, cast the rage, the hate, the anger, the fire, at the hearth.”
Richard threw his hand out. The slowly tumbling sphere of flame stayed with his hand. He looked to the hearth, focusing the rage outward, casting it away from himself.
The liquid light howled as it streaked to the hearth, exploding there with a crack, like lightning.
Nathan smiled with pride. “That is how it’s done, my boy. I doubt the Sisters could teach you that in a hundred years. You’re a natural. No doubt about it. You are a war wizard.”
“But Nathan, I didn’t feel my Han. I didn’t sense anything different. All I felt was angry, like when I use the sword. For that matter, like when I shut my finger in a door.”
Nathan nodded knowingly. “Of course not. You are a war wizard. Others have only one side of the gift. They use what is around them; the air, heat, cold, fire, water, whatever they need.
“War wizards aren’t like others. They instead tap the core of power within themselves. You don’t direct your Han, you direct your feelings. The Sisters teach the ‘how’ of how everything is done. That is irrelevant to your power. For you, results are all that are important, because you draw power from within. That is why the Sisters cannot teach you.”
“What do you mean that’s why they cannot teach me?”
“Have you ever seen a seamstress miss a pincushion? The Sisters want you to watch your hand, the pin, and the pincushion. That’s the way other wizards use their magic. War wizards don’t watch, they just do. Their Han acts instinctively.”
“Was that . . . wizard’s fire?”
Nathan chuckled. “That was to wizard’s fire what an annoyed moth is to an enraged bull.”
Richard tried again, but the fire wouldn’t come. The anger wouldn’t come. He could draw the sword’s anger, but it wasn’t the same kind he had done with Nathan, from within himself.
“It won’t work. Why can’t I do it again?”
“Because I was helping you, showing you with my own power what it’s like. You are not yet able to do it on your own.”
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