Shota stepped up on the side of him, beside where he sat on the short marble wall, opposite Nicci, and started to lay a hand on his shoulder. Cara snatched the witch woman’s wrist, stopping her.
“I’m sorry to have to do that, Richard,” Shota said, ignoring the Mord-Sith, “but you need to see, to understand, to—”
“Shut up,” Nicci said, “and keep your hands off him. Don’t you think you’ve brought him enough pain? Does everything you do have to be injurious? Can’t you ever help him without trying to hurt him or cause him trouble at the same time?”
As Shota withdrew her hand, Nicci cupped hers to his face and with a thumb wiped a tear from his cheek. “Richard . . .”
He nodded at her tender concern, unable to summon his voice. He could still see Kahlan crying out for him as she tried to fight off the hands of those men. As long as he lived he would be haunted by that sight. At that moment he wanted more than anything to spare her the pain of seeing him executed and of her being in the cruel clutches of the Order. He wanted to go back, to do something, to save her from such inhuman abuse. He couldn’t bear her world ending as she saw him murdered like that.
But it wasn’t real. He couldn’t have been there like that. Such a thing was impossible. He could only have imagined it.
Relief began to seep into him.
It wasn’t real. It wasn’t. Kahlan wasn’t in the hands of the Order. She wasn’t seeing him being executed. It was just a cruel trick by the witch woman. Just another of her illusions.
Except it had been real for all those people in Galea as well as untold other places where the Order had been. Even if it hadn’t been real for Richard, it had been all too real for them. That was what it had been like.
Their worlds had ended in just that manner. He knew exactly what they had suffered. He knew exactly what it felt like.
How many countless, unknown, unnamed, good people had lost their chance at life in just that way, all for the otherworldly ambitions of those from the Old World?
A new dread suddenly overwhelmed him. He had the gift. He was a war wizard. For most of those with the gift, it manifested itself in one specific area. But being a war wizard meant that he had elements of all the various aspects of the gift, and one aspect of magic was prophecy. What if what he had seen was really a prophecy? What if that was what was to happen? What if what he had seen was really a vision of the future?
But he didn’t believe that the future was fixed. While some things, such as death, were inevitable, that didn’t mean that everything was fixed or that one couldn’t work toward worthy goals in life, couldn’t avert disasters, couldn’t alter the course of events. If it was a prophecy, it only meant that he had seen what was possible. It didn’t mean that he couldn’t try to stop it from happening.
After all, Shota’s prophecies never seemed to come out the way she presented them. And anyway, what he had seen, what he had just experienced, was most likely Shota’s doing.
Richard squeezed Nicci’s hand in silent appreciation. Her other hand on his shoulder returned the squeeze. Her concern melted a little under the warmth of a small smile of relief at seeing him recovering his wits.
Richard rose up before Shota in a way that by all rights should have made her take a step back. She stood her ground.
“How dare you do that to me? How dare you send me to that place?”
“I did not send you anywhere, Richard. Your own mind took you where it would. I did nothing but release the thoughts you had suppressed. I spared you what would have otherwise come out in nightmares.”
“I don’t remember my dreams.”
Shota nodded as she studied his eyes. “This one you would have remembered. It would have been far worse than what you have just suffered. It is better to face such visions when you can confront them for what they are, and grasp what truth they contain.”
Richard could feel the blood heating his face. “Is that what you meant, before, when you said that if I married Kahlan she would bear a monster? Is that the real meaning hidden in your convoluted prophecy?”
Shota showed no emotion. “It means what it means.”
Richard could still hear the words of the Imperial Order soldier telling him what he was going to do to Kahlan, telling him how she was going to be treated, telling him how she would give birth to children who would grow up to spit on the graves of those who had wanted to live their own lives for themselves, those who believed in everything he held dear.
Richard abruptly lunged for Shota and in an instant had her by the throat. The collision and his fierce determination to take her down carried them both over the short wall and into the fountain. With Richard on top, grappling her, their momentum drove them both under the water.
Richard hauled her up by her throat. “Is that what you meant!”
Water streamed from her face. She coughed it out.
He shook her. “Is that what you meant!”
Richard blinked. He was standing. He was dry. Shota stood before him. She was dry. His hands were still at his sides.
“Get a hold of yourself, Richard.” Shota arched an eyebrow. “You are still partly in your dreams.”
Richard looked around. It was true. He wasn’t wet and neither was Shota. Not one wavy auburn hair on her head was out of place. Nicci’s brow twitched when he glanced over at her. She looked puzzled by what could be the cause of his confusion. It must be true; he was still dreaming. It really was just a dream, just like his execution, just like seeing Kahlan. He’d only imagined that he had Shota by the throat.
But he wanted to.
“Was that what you meant when you said that Kahlan would bear a monster child?” Richard asked, a little more quietly, but with no less menace.
“I don’t know who this Kahlan is.”
Richard’s jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth, thinking of having her by the throat for real. “Answer the question! Is it?”
Shota lifted a cautionary finger. “Believe me, Richard, you really don’t want a witch angry with you.”
“And you don’t want me angry with you, so answer me. Is that what you meant?”
She smoothed the sleeves of her dress as she chose her words carefully. “In the first place, I have revealed to you at different times, in the various things that I’ve told you, what I see of the flow of events in time. I don’t remember this woman, Kahlan, nor do I remember anything having to do with her. So, I don’t know what event or prediction you are talking about, as I don’t remember it either.”
Shota’s face took on the kind of darkly dangerous look that reminded him that he was talking to a witch woman whose very name inspired terrified trembling among most of the people of the Midlands. “But you are venturing into serious matters of grave peril in that flow of events forward in time.” Her brow drew down in displeasure. “What, precisely, do you mean about a . . . monster child?”
Richard turned to gaze into the still waters of the fountain as he thought about the terrible things he’d seen. He couldn’t bear to say it aloud. Couldn’t bear to say it in front of others, to even suggest aloud that Shota had once made a prediction that he feared might actually mean that Kahlan would conceive a child fathered by the monsters of the Imperial Order. It felt to him as if saying it out loud might somehow make it true. It was so painful an idea that he pushed the whole notion aside, and decided instead to ask another question.
He turned back to her. “What does it mean that I couldn’t call my gift through anger?”
Shota sighed heavily. “Richard, you must understand something. I did not give you a vision. I did nothing more than help you to release hidden thoughts that were your own. I did not give you a dream of my making, nor did I plant any ideas in your mind. I merely made you aware of your own intellection. I can’t tell you anything about what you saw because I don’t know what you saw.”
“Then why would you—”
“I only know that you are the one who must stop the Order. I helped you bring your own suppres
sed thoughts to the surface in order to help you to better understand.”
“Understand what?”
“What you must understand. I no more know what that is than I know what you saw within your own mind that so upset you. You might say that I am merely the messenger. I have not read the message.”
“But you made me see things that—”
“No, I did not. I opened the curtain for you, Richard. I did not make the rain you saw out of that window. You are trying to blame me for the rain, instead of appreciating the fact that I did nothing but open the curtain so that you could see it with your own eyes.”
Richard glanced over at Nicci. She said nothing. He looked up the steps at his grandfather standing with his hands loosely clasped, silently watching. Zedd had always taught him to deal with the reality of the way the world was, taught him not to rail at what some believed was the invisible hand of fate controlling and conjuring events. Was he doing that to Shota? Was he trying to blame her for revealing things that he hadn’t seen, or hadn’t been willing to see?
“I’m sorry, Shota,” he said in a quieter voice. “You’re right. You did indeed show me the rain. I don’t have a clue as to what to do about it, but I saw it. I shouldn’t blame you for what others are doing. I’m sorry.”
Shota smiled in a small way. “That is part of the reason why you are the one, Richard—the only one who can stop the madness. You are willing to see the truth. That is why I brought Jebra with such terrible accounts of what is happening at the hands of the Order. You need to know the truth of it.”
Richard nodded, only feeling worse, feeling even more despairing over not having any idea of how to do what she thought he could.
He met Shota’s unflinching gaze. “You’ve made a great effort to bring Jebra here. You’ve come a very long way. Your future, your very life, depends on this no less than does my life or the lives of all free people, all those with the gift. If the Order wins we all die, including you.
“Isn’t there anything you can tell me that will help me to do something to stop this madness? I could use any help you can give me. Isn’t there anything you can tell me?”
She stared at him a moment before speaking, stared as if her mind were in other places. “Whenever I bring you information,” she said at last, “it angers you—as if I were the one creating what is, rather than merely reporting it.”
“We’re all facing slavery, torture, and death, and you’re suddenly miffed about getting your feelings hurt?”
In spite of herself, Shota smiled at his characterization. “You think that I simply pluck revelations out of the air, as if I were picking a pear.”
The smile faded as her gaze focused off into the distance. “You could not begin to understand the personal cost of bringing forth such shrouded knowledge. I do not wish to undertake such a formidable task if that dearly gained knowledge is going to do nothing but feed a grudge.”
Richard shoved his hands in his back pockets. “All right, I get your point. If you’re going to make such an effort, you expect me to consider it earnestly. We all have everything at stake, Shota. I’d value whatever you can tell me.”
While Richard did honestly believe that Shota was telling him what she saw of the flow of events in time, he didn’t believe that the meaning of such tellings was necessarily straightforward or what Shota believed they meant. Still, she had always offered him information that in some way had been central to the issues at hand—Chainfire being only the latest. While her revelation of the word Chainfire had been without an explanation that would help him, that clue alone had sustained his effort to find the answer to what had happened to Kahlan. Without that single word he would never have recognized that particular book as the one holding the key to discovering the truth.
Shota took a deep breath, finally letting it out in resignation. She leaned toward him the slightest bit, as if to emphasize how serious she was.
“It is for your ears alone.”
Chapter 19
Richard glanced at Cara and Nicci. By their expressions there was no doubt in his mind as to what they thought of the very idea of leaving him without their protection. While he knew they were convinced of the necessity of their being close at hand, he didn’t really believe that he would be any safer for their watchful guard a step away rather than a few dozen—after all, Shota had just demonstrated as much. It was obvious, though, that they didn’t share such a view.
Richard thought that maybe he could find a solution that would satisfy everyone. “They’re on the same side. What difference—”
“The difference is that it is my wish.” Shota turned to the fountain, turning her back on him, and folded her arms. “If you want to hear what I have to say, then you will honor my wishes.”
Richard didn’t know if she was merely being obstinate or not, but he did know that this was not the time to test the point. If he was going to get any help from Shota he needed to show her his trust. Likewise, Nicci and Cara were just going to have to trust him.
He gestured toward the steps. “Please, both of you, go up there with Zedd and wait.”
Nicci clearly didn’t like the idea any more than did Cara, but she recognized by the look he gave her that he needed her to do as he asked. She shot the back of Shota’s head a hot glare. “If for any reason I believe you are about to harm him, I will reduce you to a charred cinder before you have a chance to act.”
“Why would I harm him?” Shota looked back over her shoulder. “Richard is the only one who has a chance to stop the Order.”
“Exactly.”
Richard watched as Nicci and Cara wordlessly turned and ascended the steps. He had expected more of an argument from Cara, but was glad not to have it.
He shared a long look with his grandfather. Zedd seemed to be uncharacteristically quiet. For that matter, so did Nathan and Ann. All three watched him as if studying a curiosity found under a rock. Zedd gave Richard a slight nod, urging him to go on, to do what needed doing.
Richard heard the fountain behind him abruptly start to flow again. When he turned back he saw the waters shooting up into the air at the pinnacle, falling back, and streaming from the points of the bowls to dance at last in the lower pool.
Shota sat on the short marble wall surrounding the pool, her back to him as she leisurely trailed the fingers of one hand through the water. Something about her body language made the hair at the back of Richard’s neck stand on end.
When she turned to look back over her shoulder, Richard found himself looking into the face of his mother.
His muscles locked stiff.
“Richard.” Her sad smile showed how much she loved and missed him. She didn’t look to have aged a day from his last boyhood memory of her.
As Richard stood frozen in place she rose fluidly before him.
“Oh, Richard,” she said in voice as clear and liquid as the waters of the fountain, “how I’ve missed you.” She slipped one arm around his waist as she ran the fingers of her other hand tenderly through his hair. She gazed longingly into his eyes. “How I’ve missed you so very much.”
Richard immediately choked off his emotions. He knew better than to be lulled into believing it was really his mother.
The first time he’d met Shota she had appeared to him as his mother, who had died in a fire when Richard had been but a boy. At the time, Richard had wanted to take Shota’s head off with his sword for what he interpreted as a cruel ruse. Shota had read the thought and reproached him for it, saying that appearing as she had was an innocent gift of a living memory of his love for his mother and her undying love for him. Shota had said that the kindness had been at a cost to herself that he would never be able to understand or appreciate.
Richard didn’t think that this time she was giving him a gift. He didn’t know what she was doing, or why, but he decided to confront it calmly and without jumping to conclusions.
“Shota, I thank you for the beautiful memory, but why is it necessary to appear as my m
other?”
Shota’s brow, in the likeness of his mother’s, wrinkled in thought. “Do you know the name . . . Baraccus?”
The hairs at the back of Richard’s neck, that had only just begun to settle, again stiffened. He gently placed his hands on her waist and with great care backed her away.
“There was a man named Baraccus who was First Wizard back in the time of the great war.” With one finger, Richard lifted the amulet hanging at his chest. “This was his.”
His mother nodded. “He is the one. He was a great war wizard.”
“That’s right.”
“Like you.”
Richard felt himself blush at the idea of his mother calling him “great,” even if it was Shota in her guise.
“He knew how to use his ability; I don’t.”
His mother nodded again, a slight smile curling the corners of her mouth just as he remembered. His mother had smiled that way when she’d been proud that he had grasped the point of a particularly difficult lesson. He wondered if Shota meant that memory to have meaning.
“Do you know what happened to him, to Baraccus?”
Richard took a settling breath. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. There was trouble with the Temple of the Winds. The Temple and its invaluable contents had been sent to the safety of another world.”
“The underworld,” she amended.
“Yes. Baraccus went there to try to fix the trouble.”
His mother smiled as she again ran her fingers through his hair. “Just as you did.”
“I suppose.”
When she finally finished fussing with his hair, her beautiful eyes turned down, her gaze settling again on his. “He went there for you.”
“For me?” Richard looked at her askance. “What are you talking about?”
“Subtractive Magic had been locked away in the Temple, in the underworld, withdrawn from the world of life so that no wizard would again be born with it.”
Richard didn’t know if she was merely repeating what he had learned or if she was giving him what she believed to be the facts. “From the accounts of the time that I’ve studied, that’s what I’ve come to suspect. As a consequence, people were no longer born with the Subtractive side of the gift.”
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