The command was spoken with such cold authority that Jennsen knew that she had no choice but to obey. The Sister took her cloak, then watched silently. After her dress slipped to the ground, Jennsen hugged her goose-bump-covered shoulders. Her teeth chattered, but it was more than from just the cold. Seeing the Sister’s silent glare, Jennsen swallowed in revulsion and then hurriedly took off the rest of her things.
Sister Perdita prodded her with a finger. “Go.”
“What is it I’m doing?” Jennsen’s own voice sounded surprisingly powerful to her.
Sister Perdita considered the question for a moment before finally answering. “You are going to kill Richard Rahl. To help you, we are breaching the veil to the underworld.”
Jennsen shook her head. “No. No, I’m not doing any such thing.”
“Everyone does it. When you die, you cross the veil. Death is part of life. In order for you to kill Lord Rahl, you are going to need help. We are giving you that help.”
“But the underworld is the world of the dead. I can’t—”
“You can and you will. You have already given your word. If you don’t do this, then how many more will Lord Rahl go on to murder? You will do this, or you will have the blood of each of those victims on your hands. By refusing, you will be invoking the death of countless people. You, Jennsen Rahl, will be aiding your brother. You, Jennsen Rahl, will be throwing open the doors of death and allowing all those people to die. You, Jennsen Rahl, will be the Keeper’s disciple. We are asking you to have the courage to reject that, and to turn death, instead, on Richard Rahl.”
Jennsen shivered, tears running down her face, as she considered Sister Perdita’s terrible challenge, her terrible choice. Jennsen prayed to her mother, asking what she should do, but no sign arrived to help her. Even the voice was silent.
Jennsen stepped over the candles.
She had to do this. She had to end the rule of Richard Rahl.
Thankfully, the center of the whole careful arrangement at least looked dark. Jennsen was mortified being naked in front of strangers, even if they were women, but that was the least of her fears at the moment.
As she stepped across the circle of glimmering white sand, it felt frighteningly colder, as if she were stepping into the grip of living winter. She shivered and shook, hugging herself, as she made her way to the center of the circle of women.
In the middle was a Grace made of the same white sand, sparkling in the moonlight. She stood staring down at it, a symbol she herself had drawn many times, but her hand was not guided by the gift.
“Sit,” Sister Perdita said.
Jennsen started with a gasp. The woman was standing right behind her. When she pressed on Jennsen’s shoulders, Jennsen sank to the ground, sitting cross-legged in the center of the eight-pointed star in the center of the Grace. She noticed, then, that each of the Sisters sat at the extension of a ray coming from each point of the star, save one directly in front. That spot was empty.
Jennsen sat naked, shivering, in the center of the circle as the Sisters of the Light began their soft chanting again.
The woods were dark and gloomy, the trees bare of leaves. The branches clacked together in the wind like the bones of the dead Jennsen feared the Sisters were calling forth.
The chanting suddenly halted. Rather than sit in the single empty spot remaining in the circle of Sisters, as Jennsen had expected, Sister Perdita stood behind her and spoke short, sharp words in the strange language.
At points in the long, singsong speech, Sister Perdita stressed a word—Grushdeva—and cast her arm out over Jennsen’s head, flinging out dust. The dust ignited with a roaring whoosh that made Jennsen jump each time she did it, the harsh light bathing the Sisters briefly in the light of the rolling flame.
As the fire ascended, the seven Sisters spoke as if with one voice. “Tu vash misht. Tu vask misht. Grushdeva du kalt misht.”
Not only were those words she knew, but Jennsen realized that the voice was speaking the words in her head along with the Sisters. It was both frightening and comforting to have the voice back. The anxiety when the voice had gone strangely silent had been unbearable.
“Tu vash misht. Tu vask misht. Grushdeva du kalt misht.”
Jennsen was lulled by the sound of the chanting, and as it went on, calmed, too. She thought about what it was that had brought her to this point, about the terror her life had been, from the time when she was six and she fled the People’s Palace with her mother, to all the times that Lord Rahl had come close and they’d run for their lives, to that awful rainy night when Lord Rahl’s men were in her house. Jennsen felt tears coursing down her cheeks as she thought about her mother there on the floor dying. As she thought about Sebastian fighting valiantly. As she thought about her mother’s last words, and having to run and leave her mother there on the bloody floor. Jennsen cried out with the terrible anguish of it.
“Tu vash misht. Tu vask misht. Grushdeva du kalt misht.”
Jennsen cried in racking sobs. She missed her mother. She was afraid for Sebastian. She felt so terribly alone in the world. She had seen so many people die. She wanted it to end. She wanted it to stop.
“Tu vash misht. Tu vask misht. Grushdeva du kalt misht.”
When she looked up, through her watery vision, she saw something dark sitting in the spot before her that had moments before been empty. Its eyes glowed like the candlelight. Jennsen stared into those eyes, as if staring into the voice itself.
“Tu vash misht, Jennsen. Tu vask misht, Jennsen,” the voice before her and in her head said in a low, growling voice. “Open yourself to me, Jennsen. Open yourself for me, Jennsen.”
Jennsen could not move in the glowing glare of those eyes. That was the voice, only not in her head. It was the voice in front of her.
Sister Perdita, behind her, cast out her dust again, and this time, when it ignited, it lit the person sitting there with the glowing eyes.
It was her mother.
“Jennsen,” her mother cooed. “Surangie.”
“What?” Jennsen whimpered in shock.
“Surrender.”
Tears flooded forth in an uncontrollable torrent. “Mama! Oh, Mama!”
Jennsen started to rise, started to go to her mother, but Sister Perdita pressed down on her shoulders, keeping her in place.
As the rolling flames lifted and evaporated, as the light faded, her mother vanished into the darkness, and before her was the thing with the glowing candlelight eyes.
“Grushdeva du kalt misht,” the voice growled.
“What?” Jennsen wept.
“Vengeance is through me,” the voice growled in translation. “Surangie, Jennsen. Surrender, and vengeance will be yours.”
“Yes!” Jennsen wailed in inconsolable agony. “Yes! I surrender to vengeance!”
The thing grinned, like a door to the underworld opening.
It rose up, a wavering shadow, leaning forward toward her. Moonlight glistened on knotted muscles as it stretched out, coming toward her, almost catlike, smiling, showing those heart-stopping fangs.
Jennsen was beyond knowing what to do, except that she had had all she could take, and wanted it to end. She could take none of it any longer. She wanted to kill Richard Rahl. She wanted vengeance. She wanted her mother back.
The thing was right before her, shimmering power and form that was there, but not, partly in this world and partly in another.
Jennsen saw then, beyond the thing, beyond the ring of Sisters and sparkling white sand and candles, huge shapes out in the shadows—things on four legs. There were hundreds of them, their eyes all glowing yellow in the darkness, breath steaming up from snarls. They looked like they could have come from another world, but were most definitely now wholly in this one.
“Jennsen,” the voice hovering close over her whispered, “Jennsen,” it cooed, “Jennsen.” It smiled a smile as dark as Emperor Jagang’s eyes, as dark as a moonless night.
“What…” She whispered throu
gh her tears. “What are those things out there?”
“Why, the hounds of vengeance,” the voice whispered intimately. “Embrace me, and I shall unleash them.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“Surrender to me, Jennsen. Embrace me, and I shall unleash the hounds in your name.”
Jennsen couldn’t blink as she sank back away from the thing. She could hardly breathe. A low sound, a kind of purring rattle, came from the throat of the thing as it stretched over her, looking down into her eyes.
She was trying to think of that little word, that important little word. It was somewhere in her mind, but as she stared up into those glowing eyes, she couldn’t think of it. Her mind felt frozen. She wanted that word, but it wasn’t there.
“Grushdeva du kalt misht,” the voice cooed in that throaty, echoing growl. “Vengeance is through me.”
“Vengeance,” Jennsen whispered numbly in answer.
“Open yourself to me, open yourself for me. Surrender. Avenge your mother.”
The thing passed a long finger over her face, and she could feel where Richard Rahl was—as if she could feel the bond that told others where he was. To the south. Distant, to the south. She could find him, now.
“Embrace me,” the voice breathed, inches from her face.
Jennsen was flat on her back. The realization both surprised and alarmed her. She didn’t recall lying back. She felt like she was watching someone else do these things. She realized that the thing that was the voice was kneeling between her open legs.
“Surrender your will, Jennsen. Surrender your flesh,” the voice cooed, “and I will release the hounds for you. I will help you kill Richard Rahl.”
The word was gone. Lost. Just like her…lost.
“I…I,” she stammered as tears ran from her wide eyes.
“Embrace me, and vengeance will be yours. Richard Rahl will be yours to kill. Embrace me. Surrender your flesh, and with it, your will.”
She was Jennsen Rahl. It was her life.
“No.”
The Sisters in the circle wailed in sudden pain. They held their hands to their ears, crying in agony, howling like hounds.
The glowing candlelight eyes peered down at her. The smile returned, this time vapor hissing from between wet fangs.
“Surrender, Jennsen,” the voice rumbled with such terrible command that Jennsen thought it might crush her. “Surrender your flesh. Surrender your will. And then you will have vengeance. You will have Richard Rahl.”
“No,” she said, shrinking back as the thing stretched closer to her face. Her fingers dug into the dirt. “No! I will surrender my flesh, my will, if that is the price, if that is what I must do to rid the world of life of the murdering bastard Richard Rahl, but I will not do so until you give me that, first.”
“A bargain?” the voice hissed. The glow in the eyes went red. “You wish to bargain with me?”
“That is my price. Release your hounds. Help me kill Richard Rahl. When I have vengeance, then I will surrender.”
The thing grinned a nightmare grin.
A long thin tongue snaked out, licking her, in terrible intimate promise, from her naked crotch all the way up to between her breasts. It sent a violent shudder through her to her very soul.
“Bargain struck, Jennsen Rahl.”
Chapter 53
Friedrich wove his way between the fat clumps of grasses at the edge of the small lake, trying not to think about how hungry he was. With the way his stomach grumbled, he was not having much success. Fish might be nice for a change, but fish had to be cooked, and first he had to catch one. He gazed along the water’s edge. Frog legs would be good, too. A meal of dried meat, though, would be quicker. He wished he had gotten a hard biscuit out of his pack the last time he’d stopped for a respite. At least if he had, he would have something to suck on.
In some places, shorter grass bowed over to line the lake’s edge like a green pelt. In other places there were hushed stands of tall reeds. As the sun sank behind the low hills beyond the lake, it began to turn gloomy in among the imposing trees, contorted by great age, on the other side of the path. The air was dead still, leaving the mirrored surface of the water gilded with the golden glow of the western sky.
Friedrich paused to stand at ease, stretching his back, as he peered into the shadows among the trees. He needed a brief break to rest his tired legs as he considered whether or not he should stop for the night to set up a shelter, or at least get out a biscuit. He could see dark stretches of standing water in among trees draped with long strands of gauzy moss.
The hilly countryside was easy enough traveling, when the path stayed up out of the low places. Down in the depressions it tended to be swampy and hard going. He didn’t like the swampy places; they brought back painful memories.
Friedrich swished at a small cloud of gnats flitting around his face, then shifted the shoulder straps of his pack as he tried to decide what to do—make camp, or push on. Even though he was tired and sore from an arduous day of traveling, he had grown stronger over the course of such a long journey and was now better able to stand the rigors of his new life—at least, much more so than he had been at first.
As he walked along, Friedrich often talked, in his mind, to Althea. He would describe to her all the sights he was seeing, the terrain, the vegetation, the sky, hoping that in the world beyond she was able to hear him and smiled her golden smile.
With the day drawing to an end, he had to decide what to do. He didn’t want to be traveling when it grew too dark. It was a new moon, so he knew that, once the afterglow of dusk receded, the darkness would be nearly total. There were no clouds, so at least the starlight would stave off the kind of smothering, total blackness he hated most, the kind where he couldn’t even see up from down—that was the worst. That was when he was most lonely.
Even with the stars out, it was difficult to travel unknown regions by starlight alone. In darkness it was easy to wander off the path and end up getting lost. Getting lost would mean that in the morning he would likely have to backtrack to find a way through an impassable area, or find the trail, and in the end it accomplished nothing but to waste time.
It would be wise to set up camp. It was warm, so he wouldn’t really need a fire, although for some reason he felt as if he wanted one. Still, with a fire, he might attract notice. He had no real way to know who might be around, and a campfire could be spotted for miles. Best not to have a fire, as much comfort as it would provide, in exchange for the security. At least there would be stars overhead.
He considered, too, the possibility that if he kept going the trail might shortly lift out of the boggy lowlands and he would come across a better place for a campsite—a place not as likely to be rife with snakes. Snakes, seeking warmth, would slither up to be close to a person sleeping on the ground. He’d not like to wake to find a snake cuddled up to him under his blanket. Friedrich hiked his pack up higher on his back. There was still enough light to push on for a while.
Before he could start out again, he heard a small sound. Even though it wasn’t loud, the inexplicable nature of it made him turn and look back up the trail to the north, the direction from which he had come. He couldn’t quite put the sound to anything that came to mind, to any frog or squirrel or bird. As he listened, it was again dead quiet.
“I’m getting too old for this sort of thing,” he muttered to himself as he started out once more.
The other reason nagging at him to keep going, the reason that was actually the most important, was that he hated to stop when he was this close. Of course, it could still be distant enough to require a walk of several days—it was hard for him to tell with any precision—but it was also possible that he was much closer. If that was the case, stopping for the night would be foolish. Time was of the essence.
He could walk for a little longer, at least. There was still time to make camp, if he had to, before it was too dark. He supposed he could push on until he couldn’t see the trail wel
l enough to follow it and then make himself a place to sleep in the grass beside the lake, but Friedrich didn’t really relish the notion of sleeping out in the open right beside a trail, either, not when he was so deep into the Old World, and not when he knew there could be night patrols about. He’d been seeing more of the Order’s patrolling troops in recent days.
He’d avoided cities and towns, for the most part sticking as close as he could to a straight course down through the Old World. Several times he’d had to change that course when the destination had changed. As he traveled, Friedrich had gone to great pains to avoid troops. Being near any of the Order soldiers meant there was always the potential of being detained for questioning. While he wasn’t as free of suspicion as a farmer in his own home might be, he knew that an older man traveling alone didn’t look very threatening to big young soldiers and wasn’t likely to raise suspicions.
However, he also knew, from bits of conversation he’d overheard when he had been in towns, that the Imperial Order had no qualms about torturing people when the fancy struck them. Torture had the great advantage of always eliciting a confession of guilt, which proved the questioner’s wise judgment in having suspicions in the first place, and, if desired, could produce the names of more conspirators with “wrong thoughts,” as he had heard told. A cruel questioner never ran out of work or guilty people needing punishment.
At a snapping sound, Friedrich turned around and stood still as a stump, listening, watching. The sky and lake were mirrored violet. Tree limbs stood out still and silent, hanging out over sections of the path like claws waiting to snatch travelers when it became dark enough.
The woods were probably full of creatures just coming out from a long day’s sleep to hunt at night. Owls, voles, opossum, raccoons, and other creatures became more active as it got dark. He watched, waiting to see if he heard the sound again. Nothing moved in the hush of twilight.
Friedrich turned back to the trail and hurried his steps. It must be some creature, searching through the forest litter, looking for a grub. His breathing quickened with his increased effort. He tried to wet his mouth by working his tongue, but it wasn’t really doing much good. Despite his thirst, he didn’t want to stop to have a drink of water.
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