Stone of Tears

by Terry Goodkind

  "No." Richard looked interested. "I didn't know it could be done."

  "Oh yes, it can be done." She turned and arched an eyebrow. "If you rip their skin off, the magic bleeds from them. That is the only way to remove the gift from a wizard. I am going to hang him up by his thumbs, and then I am going to skin him alive. Every inch of him. Then I am going to use his skin to cover my throne. Then I am going to sit on my throne, on his skin, and watch him scream to death as the magic bleeds from him." She made a fist. "Or I am going to die trying."

  "Shota, I need some help. I don't know anything about all this."

  Shota stared off flexing her fists. At last her hands relaxed and opened. "There is nothing I can tell you that will help."

  "You mean there is something you can tell me, but it won't help." Shota nodded. Richard sighed. "What is it."

  She folded her arms against her stomach. Her eyes were wet again. "You will be trapped in time. Don't ask what that means, because I don't know. You will have no chance of closing the veil unless you escape the trap. It will keep you locked away, and the Keeper will escape unless you are able to free yourself. Unless you learn something of the gift, you have no chance for either."

  Richard walked to the far side of the room. He stood with his back to them, one hand on a hip, his other combing through his hair. Kahlan didn't look at Shota. She didn't want to meet the witch woman's gaze if she didn't have to.

  "Is there anything else?" Richard called over his shoulder, "Anything you can tell me? Anything?"

  "No. And believe me, if there was I would be more than anxious to offer it. I don't wish to meet the Keeper's gaze."

  Richard thought by himself for a time. At last, he came back and stood before Shota. "I am having headaches. Bad headaches."

  Shota nodded. "The gift."

  "Three women came. They call themselves the Sisters of the Light. They said I have to come with them to learn to use the gift, or the headaches will kill me." Richard studied her face. "What do you know about them?"

  "I am a witch woman. I don't know much about wizards. But the Sisters of the Light have something to do with wizards. With training them. That is all I know. I don't even know where they are from. They come once in a great while, when they find one has been born with the gift."

  "What if I don't go with them? Will I die, as they say?"

  "If you don't learn to control the gift, the headaches will kill you. That much I know."

  "But are they the only way?"

  Shota shrugged. "I don't know. But I know you must learn to use the gift, or you will not escape the trap, or be able to close the veil—or even survive the headaches."

  "So you are saying you think I should go?"

  "No. I said you must learn to use the gift. There may be another way."

  "What way?"

  "I don't know, Richard. I don't even know if there is another way. I'm sorry, but I can be of no help in this. I just don't know. Only a fool will give advice about something she doesn't understand. I can give you no advice in this."

  "Shota," Richard pleaded, "I'm lost. I don't know what to do. I don't understand any of it, the Sisters, the gift, or the Keeper. Isn't there anything you can tell me to help me?"

  "I have told you everything I know. I feel as lost as you. Worse. I have no ability to influence what will happen. At least you have that. Dim as the chance is." Shota's eyes glistened. "I fear I am going to look into the Keeper's dead eyes. Forever. I haven't been able to sleep since I learned these things. If I knew anything, I would help. I just don't know anything about the world of the dead. It is not something the living have faced yet."

  Richard stared at the ground. "Shota," he whispered. "I don't have any idea what to do. I'm afraid. I'm very afraid."

  She nodded. "So am I." She reached out and touched his face. "Good bye, Richard Rahl. Don't fight who you are. Use it." She turned to Kahlan. "I don't know if you can help him, but if there is a way, I know you will do your best."

  Kahlan nodded. "That I will, Shota. I hope you get your home back."

  Shota gave her a small smile. "Thank you, Mother Confessor."

  She turned and glided to the door, her wispy dress flowing behind. She pushed the door open. Samuel was waiting on the other side, his yellow eyes shining. Shota stopped in the doorway and stiffened.

  "Richard, if you should happen to somehow close the veil, and save me from the keeper, save everyone from the Keeper, I will be forever grateful to you."

  "Thank you, Shota."

  Her back was still to them. "But know this: if you give the Mother Confessor a child, it will be a boy. It will be a Confessor. Neither of you will have the strength to kill him, even though you know the consequences." She paused a moment. "My mother lived in the dark times." Her voice was like ice. "I have the strength. And, I will use it. You have my word on that. But know that it will not be personal."

  The door squeaked closed behind her. The spirit house felt suddenly very empty. Very quiet.

  Kahlan felt numb. She looked down at her hands. They were shaking. She wanted Richard to hug her, but he didn't do it. He was staring at the door. His face was white as snow.

  "I don't believe this," he whispered. He still stared at the door. "How can this be happening? Am I dreaming all this?"

  Kahlan felt as if her knees were about to buckle. "Richard, what are we going to do?"

  Richard turned to her, his eyes distant. They filled with tears. "This has to be a nightmare."

  "If it is, I'm having the same one. Richard, what are we going to do?"

  "Why does everyone ask me that? Why does everyone always ask me? What makes everyone think I am the one who knows?"

  Kahlan stood woodenly, trying to make her mind work. She couldn't seem to form a coherent thought. "Because you are Richard. You are the Seeker."

  "I don't know anything about the underworld, the Keeper. The world of the dead."

  "Shota says no one living does."

  Richard abruptly grabbed her shoulders. "Then we must ask the dead."

  "What?"

  "The ancestors' spirits are dead. We can talk to them. I can ask for a gathering and ask them questions. We can learn from them. Maybe we can find out how to close the veil. Maybe I can find out how to stop the headaches, how to use the gift." He gripped her arm. "Come on."

  Kahlan almost smiled. He was indeed the Seeker. Richard pulled her through the passageways, running when they could see well enough. Clouds hid the moon and it was dark between the buildings. The air was like ice on her face, making tears run from the corners of her eyes.

  When they reached the open field, there was light. Torches lit the people gathered there. They were all still bunched together with hunters shielding everyone; they didn't know the witch woman was gone. The entire village watched in silence as the two of them crossed the opening, the hunters parting for them as they approached the Bird Man and the other six elders. Chandalen stood to their side.

  "Everyone is safe," Kahlan reassured them. "The witch woman is gone."

  There was a collective sigh of relief.

  Chandalen thumped the butt of his spear on the ground. "Again you bring trouble!"

  Richard ignored him and asked her to translate. He took in the elders and let his gaze settle on the Bird Man. "Honored elder. The witch woman was not here to harm anyone. She was here to warn me about a great danger."

  "You claim," Chandalen snapped. "We do not know this to be true."

  Kahlan knew Richard was struggling to keep calm. "Do you doubt that if she wanted to send you to the spirit world, she could have done it?"

  Chandalen answered only with a glare.

  The Bird Man gave Chandalen a look that seemed to shrink him a few inches. He looked to Richard. "What danger?"

  "She says we are in danger of the dead escaping into the world of the living."

  "They cannot come into the world of the living. The veil keeps them back."

  "You know of the veil?"

 
; "Yes. Each level of the dead, the underworld as you call it, is sealed with a veil. When we hold a gathering, we invite our ancestors' spirits to visit us, and they are able to come through the veil for a short time."

  Richard studied the Bird Man's face a moment. "What else can you tell me about the veil?"

  The other shrugged. "Nothing. We know only what our ancestors' spirit have told us about it: that they must pass through it to come to us when we call them, and that it holds them back the rest of the time. They tell us that there are many levels of the underworld, the dead, and that they are in the uppermost level, and so they can come. Those who are not honored are in lower levels, and may not come. Their spirits are locked away forever."

  Richard met the eyes of all the elders. "The veil is torn. If it isn't sealed again, the world of the dead will swallow us all." Gasps spread back through the gathered people. Fearful whispering broke out. Richard's gaze went back to the Bird Man. "Please, honored elder, I request a gathering. I must have the help of our ancestors' spirits. I must find a way to seal the veil before the Keeper of the dead escapes. The spirit ancestors may be able to help. I must know if they can help."

  Chandalen thumped his spear. "Lies! You carry us the lies of a witch women. We should not call the honored spirits of our ancestors for the words of a witch woman! The spirits of our ancestors are called only for our people, not a witch woman! They will strike all our people dead for such blasphemy!"

  Richard glared at him. "They are not being called by a witch woman. It is I who makes the request, and I am one of the Mud People. I ask for the gathering to help me keep our people from being harmed."

  "You bring death to us. You bring strangers. You bring the witch woman. You only wish to help yourself. How did this veil become torn?"

  Richard unbuttoned his sleeve and pushed it up his arm. He slowly pulled the Sword of Truth. Holding Chandalen's glare, he drew the sword across his forearm, turning it to wipe both sides in the blood. He jammed the point in the ground and rested both hands over the hilt.

  "Kahlan, I want you to translate something. Don't leave out a single word." Richard returned his glare to Chandalen. His voice was calm, almost gentle, but his eyes shone with lethal intent. "Chandalen, if I hear one more word from you tonight, even if it is to agree with me and offer your help, I will kill you. Some of the things the witch woman told me have put me in the mood to kill. If you give me any more reason—it will be you I kill."

  The eyes of all the elders widened. Chandalen opened his mouth to say something, but at seeing the look on Richard's face, he shut his mouth and folded his arms. His glower was fierce, but no match for Richard's. At last he glanced to the ground.

  Richard spoke again to the Bird Man. "Honored elder, you know my heart. You know I would do nothing to harm our people. I would not ask this if it were not important, or if I had any other choice. Please, may I have a gathering so I may ask our ancestor's spirits how I can stop this threat to our people?"

  The Bird Man turned to the other elders. Each nodded in turn. Kahlan knew they would; it was only a formality. Savidlin was their friend, and the others had dealt with Richard before; there was not one of them who wanted to challenge him. The real decision was the Bird Man's. He watched each elder nod, and then turned back to Richard.

  "This is bad business. I do not like calling the ancestors to ask about their world. It is our world they come to help us with. They may be displeased. They may be angered. They may say no." He watched Richard a moment. "But I know your heart. I know you are a savior to our people, and you would not ask if you had any other choice." He laid a firm hand on Richard's shoulder. "Granted."

  Kahlan sighed in relief. Richard nodded his thanks. Kahlan knew he didn't look forward to meeting the ancestors' spirits again. The last time had been devastating to him.

  Suddenly, there was a flutter of shadow in the air. Kahlan threw her hands up protectively. Richard was knocked back a step as something hit him on the head. People shouted in confusion. Something thumped to the ground between Richard and the Bird Man. Richard straightened, putting his fingers to his scalp. Blood trickled down his forehead.

  The Bird Man squatted down over a dark form, and then straightened. He was holding a dead owl cradled in his hands. The head lolled to the side. The wings fell open. The elders all looked at one another. Chandalen's frown deepened, but he said nothing.

  Richard looked at the blood on his fingers. "Why in the world would an owl hit me like that? And what killed it?"

  The Bird Man gently smoothed the dead bird's feathers. "Birds live in the air, a different level than us. They live in two levels—land and air. They can travel between their level and ours. Birds are closely connected to the spirit world. To the spirits. Owls more than most birds. They see in the night, where we are blind, just as we are blind to the spirit world. I am a spirit guide for our people. Only a Bird Man can be a spirit guide, because he can understand such things."

  He looked at Richard. "This is a warning. I have never witnessed an owl bringing a spirit message before. This bird gave its life to warn you. Richard, please reconsider your request for a gathering. This warning means the gathering will be dangerous, dangerous enough for the spirits to send this message."

  Richard looked from the Bird Man's face to the owl. His fingers reached out and touched the bird. He stroked its feathers. No one made a sound. "Dangerous for me, or for the elders?"

  "For you. You are the one calling for the gathering. The owl brought the message to you. The warning was for you." He looked up at Richard's forehead. "A blood warning. One of the worst kinds. The only thing worse than an owl, would have been if a raven had brought the message. That would have meant sure death."

  Richard took his hand back and wiped his fingers on his shirt. He stared down at the dead owl. "I don't have any choice," he whispered. "If I don't do something, the veil will be torn, and the Keeper of the dead will escape. Our people, everyone, will be swallowed into the world of the dead. I must learn how to stop it. I must try."

  The Bird Man nodded. "As you wish. It will take three days to prepare."

  Richard looked up. "You did it in two days before. We can't spare any time."

  The elder took a deep breath and sighed. "Two days."

  "Thank you, honored elder." Richard turned to her, his eyes were filled with pain. "Kahlan, please, find Nissel, and bring her? I'm going to the spirit house. Ask her to bring something stronger?"

  She squeezed his arm. "Of course. I'll hurry."

  Richard nodded. He pulled his sword from the ground and walked off into the darkness.

  13

  Cause of death. She looked up in thought, pressing the round end of the plain, wooden handled pen to her lower lip. The small, modest room was dimly lit with candles set among and on top of the disheveled piles of papers on her desk. Scrolls were balanced precariously in stacks between fat books. The dark patina of the desktop was only visible in a small area in front of her, framing the waiting report.

  Odd objects of magic stood jammed together collecting dust on the shelves behind her. The ever present and diligent cleaning staff was not allowed to touch them, and so the task of dusting them was left to her, but there was never enough time, or inclination. Besides, they looked less important to curious eyes when covered in a mask of dust.

  Heavy drapes were drawn against the night. The only splash of color in the room was one of the local blue and yellow carpets she had placed on the other side of the desk. Visitors usually spent their time in her office staring down at it.

  Cause of death. Reports were such a bother. She sighed. But a necessary bother. For now, anyway. The Palace of the Prophets required reams of reports. There were Sisters who spent their whole lives in the libraries, cataloging reports, pampering them, keeping records of every useless word they thought might someday be important.

  Well, there was nothing for it but to think up a suitable cause of death. The truth would never do. Her Sisters would have to h
ave a satisfactory explanation as to the cause of death. They valued highly those with the gift. Fools.

  Training accident? She smiled. Yes, a training accident. She hadn't used that one in many years. She pursed her lips as she dipped the pen in the ink bottle and began writing. The cause of death was a training accident with the Rada'Han. A twig, as I have often warned the other Sisters, no matter how young and tender, will break if bent too far.

  Who could question? Let them wonder where among them the fault lay. It would keep them from digging too deeply, lest the blame fall on them. As she blotted the paper, there was a soft rap at the door.

  "One moment, please." She touched the corner of the boy's letter to the candle flame and when it was nearly consumed, tossed it in the cold hearth. The broken seal melted into a molten red puddle. He would be writing no more letters. "Come."

  The heavy, round topped door opened enough to admit a head.

  "Sister, it's me," came a whisper from the shadow.

  "Don't stand there like a novice, come in and close the door."

  The woman entered, closing the door quietly, after putting her head back out to check the hall. She didn't look down at the carpet. "Sister..."

  With a finger across lips, and an angry scowl, she was silenced. "No names when we are alone. I've told you before."

  The other looked about at the walls, as if expecting someone to pop out. "But surely you have shielded your room."

  "Of course it's shielded. But it is always possible the breeze could carry words to the right ears. If that ever happened, we wouldn't want our names carried with the words, now would we."

  The other's eyes flicked around at the walls again. "Of course not. Of course you are right." She scrubbed her hands together. "Someday this won't be necessary. I hate that we must remain hidden. Someday we will be able to..."

  "What have you found out?"

  She watched as the woman straightened her dress at the hips and then put her fingers to the desk, leaning over a little. Her eyes had a fierce intensity. They were strange eyes, pale, pale blue, with dark violet flecks. She always found it hard not to stare at those eyes.