Stone of Tears

by Terry Goodkind

  He sank to his knees and fell face first to the ground, sobbing. He cried until he could cry no more. He continued to lay on the cold ground, groaning in agony until he realized he was gripping the Agiel again. He let it go and at last sat up, flopping back in exhaustion against the dirt mound.

  It was over, finished. He felt empty. Dead.

  After a time he rose to his feet. He stood a moment, and then slowly drew the Sword of Truth.

  Its ring was a soft song in the cold air. The anger came out with the steel, and he let it fill the void in him, rage freely through him. He welcomed the anger into himself, letting it fill him until he was submerged in its wrath. His chest heaved with lethal need.

  His eyes glided to where the Sister lay sleeping.

  He could see the dark hump of her body as he approached silently. He was a woods guide; he knew how to stalk silently. He was good at it.

  His eyes carefully watched the ground as he moved fluidly, watched the sleeping form of Sister Verna as he closed the distance. He didn't hurry. There was no need to hurry. He had as much time as he needed. He tried to slow his breathing to keep from making noise. He was nearly panting with all-consuming fury.

  The thought of wearing a collar again fed the raging fire within him, fueled the inferno.

  Rage from the sword's magic seared through him like molten metal. Richard recognized the feeling all too well, and gave himself over to it. He was beyond reason, beyond being stopped. Nothing short of blood would now satisfy the bringer of death.

  His knuckles were white on the hilt. His muscles knotted with restrained need aching to be set free. But they wouldn't be restrained for long. The magic of the Sword of Truth screamed to do his bidding.

  Richard stood, a silent shadow, over Sister Verna, looking down at her. The fury pounded in his head. He drew the sword along the inside of his forearm, wiping both sides in the blood, giving the steel a taste of it. The dark stain ran down the fuller, dripping from the tip. It ran wet and warm down his arm. His chest heaved as he gripped the hilt in both hands again.

  He felt the weight of the collar around his neck; the blade rose, glinting in the moonlight.

  He watched the sleeping Sister at his feet. She was drawn up almost into a ball. She was cold, and she shivered as she slept.

  He stood with the blade raised, watching her as he gritted his teeth and shook with raging need. Kahlan didn't want him. Son of a monster.

  No. Just monster. He saw himself standing over the sleeping woman, his sword in the air, ready to kill.

  He was the monster.

  That was what Kahlan saw. And she had sent him away away in a collar to be tortured. Because he was a monster that needed to be collared, a beast.

  Tears ran down his face. The sword slowly sank until the tip touched the ground. He stood staring at the Sister as she slept, shivering with the cold. He stood a long time, watching.

  Richard finally slid the sword quietly back into its scabbard. He retrieved his blanket and laid it over Sister Verna, tucking it carefully around her, being gentle so as not to wake her. He sat and watched until she stopped shivering and then he lay down, wrapping himself in his cloak.

  He was exhausted, and he hurt all over, but he couldn't sleep. He knew they were going to hurt him. That was what the collar was for. To hurt him. When she got him to the Palace, they were going to hurt him.

  What difference did it make?

  Memories danced and darted through his mind, memories of what Denna had done to him. He remembered the pain, the helpless agony, the blood: his blood.

  The visions went on and on. As long as he lived he would never be able to forget them. It had only just ended, and now it was going to start all over again. There would never be an end to it.

  There was only one thought in all the turmoil of his mind that comforted him. He had learned from Sister Verna that he was wrong about the Keeper escaping. That meant Kahlan was safe. She was safe, and that was all that really mattered. He tried to keep everything else away and think only of that. That thought allowed him to drift, at last, into sleep.

  19

  His eyes snapped open. The sun was just breaking the horizon. When he sat up, the pain from his burn caught his breath short. He put his hand over his shirt, where the bandage was, and held it there until that pain subsided. The residual effects of the Agiel left the rest of him feeling as if he had been beaten with a club. He ached everywhere. He remembered from the time when Denna had "trained" him using the Agiel, feeling a lot worse when he awoke, only to have her start using the Agiel on him all over again.

  Sister Verna was sitting on her blanket, her legs folded beneath her, watching him as she chewed something. She had her cloak around her shoulders with the hood down. Her curly brown hair looked freshly brushed.

  She had neatly folded Richard's blanket, and placed it back next to where he slept. She said nothing about it. Richard pushed himself to his feet, taking a moment to steady himself and stretch his hurting, cramped muscles. The sky was a clear, cold, deep blue. The grass smelled sweet and damp with dew. The vapor of his breath drifted lazily in the still, crisp air.

  "I'll go saddle the horses, and we can be on our way."

  "Don't you want something to eat?"

  He shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

  "What happened to your arm?" she asked without looking up.

  There was dark, dried blood all down his arm and hand. "I was polishing my sword. It was dark. I cut myself. It's nothing."

  "I see." She glanced up as he scratched the stubble on his face. "I hope you are more careful when you shave your neck."

  Richard decided in that instant that as long as he was held captive in a collar, he would not shave. It would be his way of proclaiming to them that a collar was unjust, that he knew he was nothing more than their prisoner, and that he would not believe their spurious protestations to the contrary. There could be no justification for a collar, and there would be no compromising of that basic truth—none, not ever.

  Richard glowered at the Sister. "Prisoners don't shave." He turned toward the horses.

  "Richard." He looked over his shoulder. "Sit down." Her voice was gentle, but he glared at the order nonetheless. She gestured to a place in front of her. "Sit down. I was thinking about what you said. You are here; I am here. Sit down and I will begin teaching you how to control the gift."

  He was caught off guard. "Now? Here?"

  "Yes. Come and Sit."

  He didn't really care about using the gift; he hated magic. He had only asked about it before because he had been trying to ease the tension. His eyes darted about before he finally sat and folded his legs, imitating the way she was sitting.

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "There is much to teach you about using the gift. You will learn about balance in all things, especially magic. You must heed all our warnings, and follow what we tell you. There are dangers to using magic. Perhaps you already know this from using the Sword of Truth, yes?" Richard didn't move. She went on. "There is greater danger in using the gift. It can have unanticipated results. Results that can be disastrous."

  "I have already used the gift. You said I used it in three specific ways."

  She leaned forward a little. "And look what happened. It brought an unanticipated result. It resulted in you having that collar around your neck."

  Surprised, Richard stared at her. "That wasn't a result of my using the gift. You were already looking for me; you said so. If I wouldn't have used the gift, the result would have been the same."

  Sister Verna slowly shook her head as her eyes stayed on his. "We had been looking for you for years. Something hid you from us. If you hadn't used the gift in the ways you did, I doubt we ever would have found you. Using the gift put that collar around your neck."

  Years. They had been searching for him for years. All that time he had lived peaceably in Westland, first with his brother and father and Zedd, and then on his own as a woods guide, they had been l
ooking for him, and he never knew it. The thought gave him a chill. He brought it on himself, by using magic. He hated magic.

  "Although I would agree that that is disastrous, for me, how could you? It's what you want."

  "It is what we had to do. But you have threatened my life. You have threatened the lives of anyone else who keeps that collar around your neck. That would be all the Sisters of the Light. I never take the warnings of wizards, even untrained wizards, lightly. Your use of the gift, allowing us to find you, could end up being a disaster for all of us."

  He felt no satisfaction that his threats had not gone unnoticed. He felt nothing. "Then why are you doing this?" he whispered. "Making me wear it?"

  "To help you. You would have died otherwise."

  "You have already helped me. The headaches are gone. You have my thanks. Why can't you let me go now?"

  "If the collar is removed too soon, before you learn enough of controlling the gift, they will come back. You will die."

  "Then teach me, so I can get it off."

  "We must be cautious in teaching magic. You must have patience in your studies. We are careful in our training because we know more of the dangers of magic than you, and we don't want you to be hurt through ignorance. But that is not a problem for now, because it will take time before you are advanced enough to really use the gift and risk these dangers, as long as you adhere to what we say. You can have patience, yes?"

  "I have no desire to use magic; I guess that could be construed as patience."

  "Good enough, for now. We will begin then." She squirmed a little, rearranging her legs. "There is a force within us all. It is the force of life. We call it 'Han'." Richard frowned. "Lift your arm." He did as she asked. "That is the force of life, given us by the Creator. It is encased within you. You have just used Han. Those with the gift can extend that force outside themselves. Such an external force is called a web. Those with the gift, like you, have the ability to cast a web. With the web, you can do things outside your body, much as the life force can do within your body."

  "How can that be?"

  Sister verna picked up a small stone in her fingers. "Here, my mind is using Han to make my hand lift the stone. My hand is not doing it of its own accord, but rather, my mind is directing the life force to use my hand to accomplish what my mind wishes done." She set the stone back on the ground and folded her hands in her lap. The stone floated into the air and hung between them. "I have just accomplished the same thing, only this time I did it by projecting the life force outside of my body. That is the gift."

  "You can do what a wizard can?"

  "No. Only some of it. That is how we are able to teach its use. We understand the feel of it. The Sisters have some control of the life force, and the gift, but nothing like a wizard who knows how to control his Han."

  "How do you get this life force to go outside your body?"

  "That can't begin to be explained until you learn to recognize the force within yourself, learn to touch the Han."

  "Why?"

  "Because every person is different. Every person uses the force differently. It isn't used the same in any two people. Love is a form of Han being projected outside one's self, into another. It is, though, a very mild, weak form. Even though love is universal, it is used and felt differently by all. Some use it to bring out the best of the Han in another. Some use it to bring out the best in themselves. Some use it to control, to dominate another. It can heal or wound.

  "Once we understand how the gift works within you, how you use it, we can guide you through exercises called forms. The forms are a method of practice that will help you learn to control the power once it is free of your body. But for now, that is not important. First you must learn to feel the Han within yourself, before you can project it anywhere outside your body.

  "After you are able to touch the Han, then we must discover what it is you can do with it. Every wizard is different, and uses Han differently. Some can use it only through the use of mind, like wizards who study the prophecies. The use of their Han to understand prophecies is the major way the gift manifests itself with them. It is their unique talent. Some can only use their Han to create beautiful, inspiring objects. Some use their Han to create things invested with magic. It is their unique talent, how they are able to express Han. Some are able to use their thoughts to influence the world about them, as I showed you when I lifted the rock. Some can do other things with Han. Some are able to do a little of everything."

  Her frown returned. "The truth is of the utmost importance in this, Richard. You must be completely truthful in telling us how the Han feels within you. Lying will cause grave difficulty." She relaxed a bit. "But first, you must be able to call upon your Han before we can discover what sort of wizard you are."

  "I told you: I don't want to be a wizard. I just want to learn to control the gift so I can stop the headaches and get this collar off my neck. You said I didn't have to be a wizard."

  "Controlling Han, with the gift, is what it means to be a wizard. When you learn to control it, you will be a wizard. That is the very essence of a wizard. But 'wizard' is only a word. You should not fear a word. If you choose not to use the gift, that is your business, we can't force you, but a wizard you will be."

  "Teach me what I need to know, but I'll not be a wizard."

  "It is not something evil, Richard. It is just learning to know yourself, what you are capable of, what your talents are."

  Richard sighed. "Fine. So how do I control it?"

  "Teaching control of the gift is a process taken in steps. I cannot explain it to you all at once because you would be unable to understand steps further along. Each step must be mastered before you can move on to the next.

  "Before we can show you how to project the Han outside yourself, you must first recognize it, and then be able to touch it, join with it within yourself. You must know what it is. You must be able to feel it. You must be able to reach for it, touch it, at will. You understand what I am saying, yes?"

  Richard nodded. "A little, I guess. So what is it? How will I know it? What is it like to know it, to touch it?"

  Sister Verna's eyes became distant, seeming to go out of focus. "You will know it," she whispered. "It is like seeing the light given off by the Creator. It is almost like joining with Him."

  Richard watched her glazed expression. She seemed enthralled by what she was seeing within herself.

  "So how do I find it?" he asked at last.

  Her eyes focused on him. "You must search for it, within yourself."

  "How?"

  "You simply sit, and search within. You put all other thoughts aside, and seek the quiet, the calm, within yourself. At first, it is helpful if you close your eyes, breathe slowly, evenly, and let yourself find the peace of nothingness. In the beginning, it helps to focus on a single thing, in order to exclude all distracting thoughts."

  "A single thing? Like what?"

  She shrugged. "Whatever you wish. It is only a device to help you reach the end, not the end in itself. Everyone is different. Some use a single word, repeating it over and over to the exclusion of all else. Some use a mental picture of a simple object, using it to bring their mind into focus. Eventually, after you learn to recognize the power, to touch it and become one with it, you won't need to focus on a device first. You will know the nature of Han, and be able to reach directly for it. It will become second nature to you. I know it sounds strange and difficult to you now, Richard, but in time you will find it as easy as it is for you to call forth the magic of your sword."

  Richard had the uneasy feeling that he already knew what she was talking about. He could almost understand what she was saying. The words seemed strange, but they described something that was somehow familiar, yet different.

  "So you just wish me to sit and close my eyes and seek the quiet within?"

  She nodded. "Yes." Sister Verna pulled her heavy, brown cloak tighter around her shoulders. "You may begin."

  Richar
d let out a breath. "All right."

  He closed his eyes. It seemed his thoughts were scattering in all directions at once. He tried to herd them away. He tried to think of a word or a picture to focus on. He thought of Kahlan's name before anything else. He let it flow like liquid through his mind. Kahlan. He rejected the idea. He hated his magic, and didn't want to associate her with anything he hated. Besides, the thought of her only brought pain, the pain of loving her enough to give her what she wanted, of having set her free.

  He thought of simple words, simple objects, but none held any interest for him. He calmed his mind and relaxed his breathing. He sought peace within himself, a calm center, the way he had always done when he needed to think of a solution to a problem. In the quiet, he tried to think of an image he could use. It popped into his mind, almost of its own accord.

  The Sword of Truth.

  It was already magic, and therefore he wouldn't be tainting it. It was a simple image. It seemed to fit the requirements. It was settled. It would be the Sword of Truth.

  Richard pictured it floating by itself on a field of black. He studied the details he knew so well: the polished blade with the fuller down its length, the aggressive, downswept crossguards, the hilt covered in fine, twisted silver wire with twisted gold wire woven through it forming the raised letters of the word Truth.

  As he pictured it, fixing it in his mind, floating on a black background, something fought him. It was the background, not the sword. Around the edge of the black, was white, forming the black into a square. Richard remembered it from before.

  It was one of the instructions in the Book of Counted Shadows, the book he had memorized when he was a boy. Clear your mind of all thought, and in its place, put nothing but the image of white with a square of black in its center. It was part of the instructions for removing the covers from the boxes of Orden and using the magic of the book. He had used that magic to show Darken Rahl how to remove the cover from a box to prove to him he truly did know the book. But why would it be in his mind now? Just a random memory forcing its way to the surface, he decided.