Severed Souls

by Terry Goodkind

  That was one of the ways he had managed to remain hidden under Hannis Arc’s nose for so long—he didn’t use his power when he didn’t absolutely need to. No one was going to come chase him away from Hannis Arc’s office door. The whole place belonged to Ludwig, now. So he continued to wait patiently.

  Mohler looked up. “Sorry, Master Dreier—”

  “Lord Dreier.”

  “Yes,” Mohler said, absently, his head bobbing, “Lord Dreier, I meant to say.”

  Erika lifted the lantern from the man’s hand so that he could use both hands to search through his fat ring of keys. Glancing up from time to time, nervous, fearing to be too slow, he sighed with relief when he at last found the key he was looking for. He tried to poke the trembling key in the lock, but he missed several times. Erika finally took hold of the man’s gnarled hand, steadied it, and fed the key into the lock.

  He looked up. “Thank you, Mistress. I’ve been opening this door nearly all my life.” He hesitated. “I’ve just never had to open it for anyone other than…”

  “Understandable,” Ludwig said, peering down at the sparse gray hair that lay over the top of the hunched old scribe’s bald head. “But you are still opening it for your master.”

  Mohler looked up and blinked. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  The man smiled at the notion as he started turning the key in the lock, jiggling it in a way that he apparently knew the old lock needed in order to give up the secrets beyond. With the proper touch of the scribe’s experienced hand, the bolt finally clanged back, freeing the door. Mohler pushed the door in as he stood aside to admit the new master.

  Inside, the scribe took his lantern back from Erika as he plucked a long sliver from an iron holder on the wall near the door. He lit the sliver in the flame of his lantern, dropped the glass cover back down, and then rushed around the room using the flaming sliver of fat wood to light candles and lamps.

  The recording room was far more expansive than Ludwig had expected, with a high beamed ceiling but no windows. Even with all the candles and lanterns Mohler was lighting, it was rather dark and gloomy. Ludwig scanned the odd collection of various things standing on display.

  Those displays were all placed in an even grid pattern, almost resembling pieces placed on a chessboard, and yet the way the cabinets, cases, statues, and pedestals were mixed together randomly made no logical sense, except perhaps as a representation of chess pieces of a game in play.

  Ludwig found the confusing arrangement rather obnoxious. He realized, then, that if he wanted, he might have them lined up together in an orderly manner, or placed against walls. He thought it would make more sense if he grouped like things together. As he walked through the room, he mentally began redecorating the place, placing specific things together and making it more convenient to find particular items.

  He didn’t know how Hannis Arc had worked in such seeming chaos. He supposed that he had lived here his entire life and was used to it. And, of course, Hannis Arc was an advocate of chaos, so in an odd way it did seem fitting.

  But it also told Ludwig something important about the way Hannis Arc thought. He was in certain ways brilliant, and in many ways highly focused, while in other ways incredibly powerful, effective, and dangerous, yet he wasn’t necessarily logical. At times, he went about things on whim, or became fixated on one thing to the exclusion of all else, such as his obsession with the House of Rahl.

  Ludwig saw that the glassed cabinets he walked past held an odd mixture of rarities such as bones from strange creatures, or small statues, mechanical devices, and even round tubes with carved symbols all over them. The symbols resembled those tattooed all over Hannis Arc. They were called story tubes and they had been written in the language of Creation. Ludwig knew that items with those symbols were ancient and exceedingly rare. Lives had been traded for such rare treasures.

  There were a number of stuffed animals in various places around the room. Besides the more common creatures in common poses—deer standing in an oval display of grass; a family of beavers on a mound of sticks; and raptors, wings spread, on bare branches—there was a large bear towering up on its hind legs, jaws spread wide, with its claws raised so that it looked perpetually ready to attack.

  The things that really drew Ludwig Dreier’s attention, though, were the dozens of pedestals evenly spaced in various places throughout the room, conforming to the grid pattern. Each pedestal held an open book. The books were all enormous, with heavy leather bindings that showed great age and wear all around the edges. They would have been hard to move because of their sheer size, but also because they looked quite frail, so they appeared to have permanent homes on their pedestals, rather than on some of the bookshelves against the back wall.

  Tables near the book pedestals were piled with disorderly stacks of scrolls. Ludwig recognized many as scrolls he had sent to the citadel—to Hannis Arc—to be recorded in the books of prophecy.

  Some of those scrolls still had unbroken seals as they sat waiting their turn to be opened and recorded. Ludwig found that irritating. He had gone to enormous trouble in both time and effort to collect each and every one of those prophecies, to say nothing of the people who had given their lives in that work.

  Mohler held out a hand of gnarled, arthritic fingers. “This is my work, Lord Dreier. These are the books you asked about.” He gently laid his hand on one of the open books with a kind of reverent affection. “This is where I write down all the prophecy brought to the citadel.”

  Ludwig frowned. “You mean the prophecy that I sent to the citadel.”

  The old scribe stroked the knuckle of his first finger back along his gaunt cheek. “Well, yes, Lord Dreier, those, and others.”

  Ludwig’s frown deepened. “Others. What do you mean, others? I was Bishop Arc’s abbot. I am the one who uncovered prophecies on his behalf and sent them here, to the bishop.”

  Mohler dipped his head. “Yes, but there were others.”

  “Others? What others?”

  The old man shrugged his hunched shoulders, hands opened out to the sides. “I am sorry, Lord Dreier, but I was not privy to such things.” He gestured to one of the tables piled high. “Scrolls and books are brought in, and I record what is in them here, in these books.”

  “And only you record prophecy? You recorded all of what is in these books?”

  He again placed a deformed hand on one of the books on a pedestal. “These books are my work, but they predate me, of course. They contain the work of many who came before me. All of it is recorded here. I have entered all the prophecy found in these books since Bishop Arc entrusted me with the task back when I was still young. I have worked at this my entire life.”

  Ludwig realized that Hannis Arc was not the only one privy to prophecy. Ludwig was sure that in all those many years of working with the books, Mohler would have had to go through the books and read what had come before. This unassuming old man probably knew more prophecy than just about anyone else alive.

  That made the man useful. Or dangerous.

  Ludwig had a sudden thought. “How do you know which book to write the prophecy in? Do you fill one book and then go on to the next?”

  “No, each prophecy must go in its proper book.”

  “How in the world do you determine that?”

  Mohler frowned at the expanse of pedestals throughout the room that held books. He seemed confused by the question. “Well, Lord Dreier, each prophecy must be recorded where it belongs.”

  “How do you know where a prophecy belongs?” he asked patiently. “Did the bishop tell you?”

  “No … no, that was my job.” He gestured at the scrolls. “As you can see, he did not open them beforehand. He would review them after I had entered them. He said that it was easier for him to read it all once it was in my hand. Some of the writing is sloppy, or rushed, or poorly done so they can sometimes be quite difficult to read, so he always waited until I recorded them. It is my job to figure out what they say and then wri
te it down clearly for the bishop.”

  “But what makes you decide to enter any given prophecy in a particular book?”

  “The subject, of course,” the scribe said with simple sincerity. “I put them where they belong. That way, if the bishop wanted to review a particular subject, he could go directly to that book, rather than spend time searching through everything.”

  He gestured to a particular volume not far away. “For example, all the prophecy in that volume is about the House of Rahl. Of course, it is often difficult to categorize prophecy because it is usually about more than one thing. So, I must use my discretion. I try to determine the thrust of the prophecy, what it pertains to, and then I put it in the proper book.”

  “That’s complete lunacy,” Ludwig said half to himself.

  “Lord Dreier?”

  He frowned at the scribe. “That means they would not be set down according to any chronology. There is nothing—no chronology—to link all of these subjects and events.”

  Ludwig knew quite well that chronology was what mattered most. What did it matter what prophecy had to say about a particular event meant to happen thousands of years ago?

  Unless you wanted to know about that event.

  Say, the great war and the fate of Emperor Sulachan.

  Mohler shrugged. “I rarely have any way of determining chronology, Lord Dreier, so we use the subject as the category.”

  Ludwig realized instinctively that all of this work was virtually for nothing. There was no real way of determining what a prophecy was really about simply by reading the words. Prophecy was almost always occulted, the true meaning hidden. The words were largely only a trigger for one properly gifted. Often the words of the prophecy were meant to disguise the true meaning.

  All of this work, Mohler’s entire lifetime of work, had in reality been for nothing. The categories would be meaningless unless gifted or occulted talents were used to see into the vision of the prophecy to determine the true, hidden, subject and therefore where it actually belonged.

  Ludwig supposed that the bishop didn’t really care that he was gradually wasting the scribe’s entire life on meaningless work. It gave him a place to go look at prophecy as he wished, all written out in the same hand for easy reading. Hannis Arc would have likely completely ignored Mohler’s categories.

  Before he went to the books of prophecy to inspect them, to see what prophecy Hannis Arc could have gotten from other sources, something on the large desk caught his attention. He decided that he could look at the books later. They probably contained nothing more than redundant prophecy, prophecy Ludwig already knew about because he was the one who had collected prophecy on the subject if it was important enough. The rest couldn’t be as valuable as the ones Ludwig had discovered and sent to the citadel, so they could wait.

  At the cluttered desk, he went to the ancient-looking scroll that had caught his attention. Unrolling it partway on the desk, he saw a complex tapestry of lines connecting constellations of elements that constituted the language of Creation. Ludwig frowned as he leaned in, studying the writing on the scroll.

  “This is a Cerulean scroll,” he whispered in astonishment as he straightened. He looked over at the old man watching him. “This is a Cerulean scroll,” he said again, louder.

  The old scribe showed no reaction. “If you say so, Lord Dreier. I don’t know of such things. I can’t read it. I only record the regular prophecy. Hannis Arc was the only one to work with items like this. They were his specialty.”

  His specialty.

  A very dangerous specialty.

  “You mean to say there are more of these?”

  Mohler licked his lips. “I’m not sure. As I say, that was Hannis Arc’s specialty. I believe that this is one of the few, at most, with these symbols. But he had other written oddities, Lord Dreier, that might be similar.”

  “Show me.”

  Ludwig followed the hunched man as he headed to a cabinet against the stone wall. On the way, Ludwig stopped abruptly. An icy chill ran through him.

  “Spirits…” he whispered.

  “Lord Dreier?” Mohler asked, turning back.

  Ludwig looked up. “Spirits have been in this room. I can feel the essence trail they left behind.”

  Mohler looked a bit uneasy as he glanced around, as if he expected them to pop out of thin air. The four Mord-Sith back near the door watched but had nothing to offer. Erika, standing nearby, looked around and then shrugged.

  “What do you know of the spirits that have been in this room?” Ludwig asked the old man.

  “Spirits? Nothing, Lord Dreier.” He hesitated, then added a thought. “I can tell you that there have been times when I have had the feeling that this room was haunted.”

  “I’ve been in here with the bishop before,” one of the Mord-Sith back by the door said, “and I have had that same feeling—the feeling that this room was haunted.”

  “That’s because it has been haunted,” Ludwig said.

  Mohler looked around again, as if fearing there might be invisible spirits about to alight on his shoulder. “So it really is haunted, then?”

  “Has been, I said. Not now. Before. Spirits have been to this room.”

  Mohler blinked. “If you say so, Lord Dreier. I wouldn’t know of such things. The bishop never spoke to me of spirits.”

  Ludwig knew that Hannis Arc would not have spoken to his humble scribe about such matters as he discussed with beings from another realm.

  He nodded as he gestured for the old man to continue with what he had been going to show him. Mohler turned and opened a cabinet door to reveal a wall of cubbyholes, nearly all of them holding scrolls.

  Ludwig withdrew one with an age-darkened edge. He opened it carefully so as not to damage it. As he thought, it was another Cerulean scroll. He didn’t recognize the azimuth angles. He was familiar with the language of Creation, though, and he was disturbed to see that the scroll spoke of prophecy.

  Not prophecy, as in revealing prophecy, but about prophecy itself almost as if it were a living thing.

  The scroll spoke of a time when prophecy itself might be ended.

  CHAPTER

  40

  Ludwig replaced the scroll and hurried over to one of the huge books lying open on a pedestal. A table nearby held some of the scrolls that he recognized as being ones he had sent to the citadel.

  Not all had been opened.

  “I was working there last,” Mohler said as he lifted a hand toward the book, “entering the most recent prophecies.”

  Ludwig set aside his thoughts about the death of prophecy spoken of in the ancient scroll and instead turned his attention to the book lying open before him. He saw a prophecy that he recognized. It was a prophecy he had recently sent to the bishop. He was satisfied, to a degree, that the prophecy had at least been entered in a book. He had begun to wonder if it had all been left to sit around unopened.

  He began carefully lifting the large pages and turning them back, scanning the prophecies, going back to the older things written in the books. He saw prophecy he didn’t recognize. Important prophecy.

  Growing more suspicious, Ludwig went to the nearest table with the scrolls. He set unopened ones of his own that he had sent to the bishop aside, and pushed the ones he didn’t recognize to the other side. Once the scrolls were separated, he selected one of the latter and broke a seal he didn’t recognize, opening the prophecy that had come from another source.

  As Ludwig read, his mood darkened.

  While he didn’t recognize the scroll or the hand that had written it, he knew the prophecy all too well.

  It was a prophecy he had withheld from the bishop. It was one of the prophecies that Ludwig had uncovered himself and considered too important to send to Hannis Arc.

  He quickly broke a seal and opened another scroll and again it was an important prophecy that Ludwig had withheld from the bishop. Quickly opening several more of the scrolls only added to his alarm. One was a trivial pr
ophecy he had submitted to the bishop, but the rest of the prophecies were ones he had extracted himself and deliberately kept from the bishop’s eyes.

  Someone else, though, had been providing the bishop with those divinations that Ludwig and Erika had discovered by taking people to the cusp of death. Such foretelling had taken great effort to retrieve. He couldn’t imagine how anyone else had managed to discover the same prophecy.

  While Ludwig had kept to himself what he had discovered, someone else had turned them over to Hannis Arc.

  He knew it couldn’t possibly be Erika. What he was reading was beyond her ability to reproduce. Mord-Sith didn’t understand complex magic such as prophecy, and it was far too detailed for her to remember.

  Such writings took his occult talents to transcribe.

  Besides, she was with him almost all the time. She was his bodyguard, as well as his assistant. In those brief times when she wasn’t at his side, she would never have had the time to write out even this one scroll, much less all the others.

  More than that, there was no way she could have gotten the scrolls out of the abbey and to the citadel. Ludwig had known every coming and going to the abbey. His occult abilities would have alerted him had anyone been sneaking anything out.

  No, it had not been Erika. But if not her, then who? No one else at the abbey could have produced these scrolls; no one else had been present to hear the prophecies. No one could transcribe what they had not been there to hear. He would have known if anyone had been using gifted talent to hear the prophecy given by the ones on the cusp of death.

  These scrolls containing such important prophecy had come from somewhere else. Hannis Arc had someone else also providing him with prophecy. But who, and more importantly, how?

  Ludwig gritted his teeth in anger.

  He went to other books on pedestals and scanned a few of the pages. There were prophecies in them that should not be there, prophecies he had not wanted Hannis Arc to see, prophecies that Ludwig had discovered and withheld.