Soul of the Fire

by Terry Goodkind

  “Thank you.”

  Kahlan turned to the door. “Wait,” said the woman. She came up close and took Kahlan’s hand. “I’m sorry, my dear. You’re plenty young, you can have another.”

  A thought struck her. “This won’t impair my ability—”

  “No, no, dear. Not at all. You’ll be fine.”

  “Thank you,” Kahlan said as she stepped toward the door, suddenly eager to be out of the little home, out into the darkness, and alone, in case she had to cry.

  The woman snatched Kahlan’s arm and turned her around. “I don’t usually lecture young women, because by the time they come to me the time for lecturing is long past, but I hope you get yourself married, dear. I help when I’m needed, but I’d rather help you deliver your baby than shed it, I really would.”

  Kahlan nodded. “I feel the same. Thank you.”

  The streets of Fairfield were dark, but there were still people going about their business. Kahlan knew that when the Imperial Order came, the business of their lives would be soon turned inside out.

  At that moment, though, she had trouble caring.

  She decided she would do it before she got back. She feared Richard finding the vial, and having to explain it to him. Richard would never let her do this, but since he didn’t know about her condition, she had been able to get his true feelings and wishes.

  He was right. They had the rest of the people to worry about. They couldn’t let their personal problem bring harm to everyone. Shota would keep her word about such a thing, and then they wouldn’t be able to see to their duty. This would be best.

  On the way out of the city, she saw Dalton Campbell coming up the street on horseback, so she turned down a dark street. He always seemed to be a man of careful thought. As he rode by, Kahlan thought he looked as if he was in another world. She wondered what he was doing in a part of the city that had a reputation for ill repute.

  She waited until he passed before she went on her way.

  As she reached the road back to the Minister’s estate, where their men were camped, she saw the glint of moonlight off the top rail of a carriage in the far distance. It would be some time before the plodding carriage reached her, but she turned off the road just the same. She didn’t want to meet anyone along the road, especially someone who might recognize her.

  The lump in her throat was near to choking her as she walked into the field of wheat. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. Off the road a ways, she finally sank to her knees, giving in to the tears.

  As she stared at the vial resting in her palm, moonlight reflecting off the wavy glass, she couldn’t recall ever feeling much lower in her life. She sobbed back a cry, stifling her weeping, reminding herself this was for the good of everyone. It was. She was sure of it.

  She pulled the stopper, letting it fall from her fingers. She held the vial up, trying to see it in the watery moonlight. She pressed her other hand over their child: her child; Richard’s child.

  Swallowing back the tears, she put the vial to her lips. She paused, waiting until she could get control of her breathing. She didn’t want to empty it into her mouth, and then not be able to swallow.

  Kahlan pulled it away from her lips. She stared at it in the moonlight, again, and thought of everything this meant.

  And then she turned it over, emptying the liquid out on the ground.

  Immediately, she felt a wave of relief, as if her life had been spared and hope had returned to the world.

  When she stood the tears were a distant memory, already drying on her cheeks. Kahlan smiled with relief, with joy. Their child was safe.

  She threw the empty vial out into the field. When she did so, Kahlan saw a man standing out in the wheat, watching her. She froze.

  He started toward her, purposefully, quickly. Kahlan looked to the side and saw other men coming. Behind, yet more were closing on her. Young men, she saw, all with red hair.

  Not waiting an instant for the situation to get any worse, she reacted instinctively and broke into a dead run toward their camp.

  Rather than trying to go between the men, she headed directly toward one. He hunkered down, feet spread, arms out, waiting.

  Kahlan raced up to him and seized his arm. She looked into his eyes, recognizing him as a messenger named Rowley. Without effort of thought, and in that instant, she released her power into him, bracing for the jolt that would take him.

  The same instant nothing happened, she realized it was because the chimes had caused her magic to fail. She thought she felt it within her as always, but it was gone.

  In that same instant of realization, recognition, and failure, she suddenly did feel magic. Kahlan knew the tingling invasion of magic, overpowering in its onrushing surge, snaking into her like a viper down a hole, and just as deadly.

  She jerked her arm back, but too late, she knew. Men closed in from both sides, less concerned now that they had her. Men behind were still running toward them.

  Only an instant had passed since she first grabbed Rowley and let him go. In that time she made the only decision she could. She had only one chance: fight or die.

  Kahlan kicked the man to her right in the sternum. She felt the bone snap under her boot heel. He went down with an indrawn gasp. She kneed Rowley in the groin. She gouged at the eyes of the man on her left.

  It bought her an opening. She raced for it, only to be brought up short when a man behind got her by the hair, jerking her violently back. She spun, kicking him in the side, using her elbows as men closed in.

  It was the last strike she landed. They caught her arms. A heavy blow slammed into her middle. She instantly knew it had done something terrible to her. Another to her face, and then another, took her senses. She couldn’t get her wind. She didn’t know up from down. She couldn’t breathe. She tried to cover her face, but they had her arms. She gasped as more fists hammered her middle. More snapped her head this way and that. She tried to swallow the blood in her mouth before it choked her. She heard the men growl, like a pack of dogs, and grunt with the effort of hitting her as hard as they could. The fierce panic of helplessness seized her.

  The blows rained down. She hung helpless. The pain was stunning. They pounded her toward the ground.

  Blackness, like death itself, swallowed her.

  And then the pain ebbed away into nothingness, and the merciful peace of the Light enveloped her.

  .

  In a daze, Richard walked through the field of moonlit wheat. Everything was such a mess. He felt as if so much was piled on top of him he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know what to do. The chimes, the Imperial Order, none of it was going right.

  Yet everyone depended on him, whether or not they knew it. The people of the Midlands counted on him to repel the Imperial Order. The D’Harans depended on him for leadership. Everyone was in danger from the chimes, and they were growing stronger by the day.

  On top of that, to have worked and sacrificed so much for these people of Anderith, only to have them turn away from him, was crushing.

  The worst of it, though, was that he and Kahlan had to put it all before a child. Richard was willing to risk Shota, if Kahlan was. He knew the danger a child could pose, but he was willing to fight for their right to their own future. But how could they worry about a child now, with the chimes and the Order both ruthlessly bearing down on the world? Adding Shota into the mix would be beyond reason. Kahlan saw that, too, but he knew it was hard for her, putting duty first her whole life.

  But if they didn’t do their part, their duty, the world would fall to Jagang’s tyranny, into slavery. If the chimes didn’t kill them all first. Before any of the rest of it, they had to stop the chimes. The chimes were nobody’s fault but his. He was responsible for banishing them.

  Still, even if he could figure out what Joseph Ander had done, they had Jagang to deal with before they could think about having a child. Kahlan understood that. He thanked the good spirits for that one thing good in his life: Kahlan.


  He realized he must be close to Fairfield. He should turn back. Kahlan would be worried. He had been gone a long time. He didn’t want to worry her. She had enough worries. He hoped she wouldn’t be too distraught about not having a child right now.

  As he turned, he thought he heard something. He straightened and listened. He didn’t know how long the noise had gone on, because he hadn’t been paying much attention to anything but trying to think of solutions to their problems. Now he cocked his head to hear. It sounded oddly like muffled thuds.

  Without stopping to think it over, Richard started running toward the sound. As he got closer, he realized he heard men grunting in effort, panting, exerting themselves.

  Richard burst upon them, a gang of men, beating someone on the ground. He seized the hair of one and yanked him back. Under the man, he saw a bloody body.

  They were beating the poor soul to death.

  Richard recognized the man he had. It was one of the messengers. Rowley, he thought the man’s name was. He had a wild, savage look in his eyes.

  Rowley, seeing that it was Richard, immediately went for his throat, crying, “Get him!”

  Richard whipped his other arm around Rowley’s neck, seized his chin, bent him over, and yanked back, snapping his neck. Rowley went down in a limp heap.

  Another man sprang forward. His onrushing momentum was his worst mistake. Richard rammed the heel of his hand square into the man’s face.

  He was still falling across Rowley as Richard snatched the red hair of another, pulled him forward, and drove his knee up into the man’s jaw. His jaw broken, he staggered back.

  The men were all up, now, and Richard realized he might soon be joining the body on the ground. His advantage was that they were already tired from their exertion. His disadvantage was that they greatly outnumbered him, and they were mad with blood lust.

  Just as they were about to dive onto Richard, they saw something and scattered. Richard spun around and saw the Baka Tau Mana blade masters sweeping in out of the night, their swords whistling through the night air.

  Richard realized they must have been shadowing him as he went for his walk to be alone. He hadn’t even known they were there. As they went after the mob, Richard knelt down beside the body in the trampled wheat.

  Whoever it was, they were dead.

  Richard stood with a sorrowful sigh. He stared down at the broken form that had once been a person, probably only a short time before. It looked like it must have been a terrible end.

  If only he had been closer, sooner, he might have been able to stop it. Suddenly not having the stomach to look at the bloody body, or others nearby, Richard walked away.

  He hadn’t gone more than a few paces when a thought brought him to a halt. He turned around and looked. He winced at the notion, but then thought: What if it had been someone he cared about? Wouldn’t he want somebody who was there to do whatever they could? He was the only one around to help, if he even could. He guessed it was worth a try—the person was already dead, there was nothing to lose.

  He ran back and knelt beside the body. He couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman, except that there were pants, so he assumed it to be a man. He put a hand under the neck and wiped some of the mask of blood from the swollen, cut lips and then put his over them.

  He remembered what Denna had done to him, when he was near death. He recalled Cara doing it to Du Chaillu.

  He blew a breath of life into the lifeless corpse. He lifted his mouth and listened to the breath wheeze from the body. He blew another breath, and then another, and then another.

  He knelt by the body for what seemed like ages but he knew could be only minutes, blowing in the breath of life, hoping against hope the poor unfortunate soul would still be with them. He prayed to the good spirits for help.

  He wanted so much for something good to come of his experience at the hands of Denna, the Mord-Sith. He knew Denna would want life to be her legacy. Cara had already brought Du Chaillu back, proving that Mord-Sith could do more than take life.

  He again prayed fervently to the good spirits to help him, to keep this soul here with this person, rather than take it now.

  With a gasp, life returned.

  Someone was coming. Richard looked up and saw two of the blade masters trotting back. Richard didn’t need to ask if they were successful. That gang of young men would murder no more people in the night.

  Someone else was coming, too. It was an older gentleman in dark clothes. He rushed up with frightened urgency.

  The man was staggered by the sight. “Oh, dear Creator, not another one.”

  “Another one?” Richard asked.

  The man fell to his knees, seeming not to hear Richard. He took up a bloody hand, pressing it to his cheek.

  “Thank the Creator,” he whispered. He looked up at Richard. “I have a carriage.” He pointed. “Just there, on the road. Help me, get this poor wretch to my carriage and we can take him to my home.”

  “Where?” Richard asked.

  “Fairfield,” the man said, watching the blade masters carefully, tenderly, lift the unconscious but breathing person.

  “Well,” Richard said, wiping the blood from his mouth. “I guess it’s a lot closer than the camp with my soldiers.”

  Richard thought he might have to help the man, but the man refused the offer of a helping arm.

  “Are you Lord Rahl, then?”

  Richard nodded. The man stopped then, pulling Richard’s hand up to shake it.

  “Lord Rahl, I’m honored to meet you, though not under such circumstances. My name is Edwin Winthrop.”

  Richard pumped the man’s hand. “Master Winthrop.”

  “Edwin, please.” Edwin grasped Richard’s shoulders. “Lord Rahl, this is just terrible. My beloved wife, Claudine—”

  Edwin fell into tears. Richard gently took hold of his arms to be sure the man wouldn’t collapse.

  “My beloved wife Claudine was murdered in just this fashion. Beaten to death out on this road.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Richard said, now understanding Edwin’s reaction.

  “Let me help this poor wretch. No one was there to help my Claudine as you’ve helped this person. Please, Lord Rahl, let me help.”

  “It’s Richard, Edwin. I would like nothing better than for you to help.”

  Richard watched as Jiaan and his blade masters helped to carefully load the person into the carriage.

  “I’d like three of you to go with Edwin. We can’t tell if whoever is responsible for this will try again.”

  “There will be no one to report their failure,” Jiaan said.

  “They will realize it sooner or later.” Richard turned to Edwin. “You must not tell anyone of this, or you will be in danger. They might come to finish the job.”

  Edwin was nodding as he climbed into his carriage. “I have a a healer, lifelong friend, I can trust.”

  Richard and two of the blade masters walked the lonely road back to camp in silence. The had previously expressed their absolute faith that he would banish the chimes that had tried to kill their spirit woman. Richard didn’t have the heart to tell them he was no closer to doing so than he was back then.

  When he got back, most of the camp was asleep. Richard wasn’t in the mood to talk with the officers or sentries. He was thinking about Joseph Ander and the chimes.

  Kahlan wasn’t in their tent. She had probably gone to be with Du Chaillu and Du Chaillu had come to value Kahlan’s presence—the comfort of another woman. It was close to time for the baby to be born.

  Richard took Joseph Ander’s journey book and a lamp and went to another tent used by officers for planning. He wanted to work on translating more of the journey book, but didn’t want to keep Kahlan from sleeping when she got back. Richard knew that if he worked in their tent, she would want to sit up with him. There was no need for that.

  67

  Richard was puzzling over an involved and confusing translation, trying to work through
the maze of possible meanings, when Jiaan slipped into the tent. The soldiers would have asked permission to enter; the blade masters just assumed they had permission to go wherever they wanted. After the constant formality with the soldiers, Richard found it refreshing.

  “Caharin, you must come with me. Du Chaillu has sent me.”

  Richard shot to his feet. “The baby? The baby is coming? I’ll get Kahlan. Let’s go.”

  “No.” Jiaan put a restraining hand on Richard. “Not your child. She sent me to get you, and she said to come alone.”

  “She doesn’t want me to get Kahlan?”

  “No, Caharin. Please, you must do as our spirit woman, your wife, asks.”

  Richard had never seen such a look of concern in Jiaan’s dark eyes. The man was always stone with a sword. Richard held out a hand, inviting Jiaan to lead the way.

  To his surprise, it was near dawn. Richard had been working the entire night. He hoped Kahlan was asleep; if she wasn’t she would scold him for not getting any rest.

  Jiaan had two horses saddled and waiting. Richard was surprised. The man would run rather than ride unless Du Chaillu told him to ride, and that was just about never.

  “What’s going on?” Richard gestured off toward Du Chaillu’s tent. “I thought Du Chaillu wanted me.”

  Jiaan swung into his saddle. “She is in the city.”

  “What is she doing in Fairfield? I’m not sure it’s safe there for her, not after they’ve been turning everyone against us.”

  “Please, Caharin. I beg you, come with me, and hurry.”

  Richard sprang up onto his horse. “Of course. I’m sorry, Jiaan. Let’s go.”

  Richard was beginning to worry that Du Chaillu had already come to trouble from people in Fairfield. They knew she was with Richard and Kahlan. For that matter, they knew she was Richard’s wife.

  He urged his horse into a run. Anxiety twisted in his gut.

  The door to a house set back among trees opened. Edwin peered out. Richard, by now in a state of deep concern, relaxed a bit. The person they saved was probably not making it, and they wanted him to see them before death came, since he had breathed the breath of life back into them.