Blood of the Fold

by Terry Goodkind

  Verna read the message again, just to be sure she was reading it right. Nathan with a sword? The man was even more deranged than she had thought. The Prelate must have her hands full.

  Ann, you said I must find out who are sworn to the keeper. I have no idea how to do this. Can you help?

  If I knew how to do it, Verna, I would tell you. A few made me suspect them, but most did not. I was never able to find a way to divine who were the Keeper’s. I have other matters I must deal with, so I must leave this one to you to solve. Keep in mind that they can be as clever as the Keeper himself. Some, who I was certain were against us, because of their disagreeable nature, were loyal to us. Some who revealed themselves and escaped on the ship, I would have trusted with my life. I would be dead now, had I.

  Ann, I don’t know how to do this! What if I fail?

  You must not fail.

  Verna wiped her sweaty palms on her dress.

  But even if I can find a way to identify them, then what am I to do with this information? I cannot fight Sisters with the power they have.

  Once you accomplish the first part, Verna, I will tell you. Know that the prophecies are vulnerable to tampering, and in danger. Just as Nathan and I use them to help us influence events so as to take the proper fork, so too can our enemies use them.

  Verna sighed in frustration.

  How can I work to identify our enemies, when there is so much work to do as Prelate? All I do is read reports, and yet I fall farther and farther behind. Everyone is depending on me, and waiting on me. How did you find the time to accomplish anything, with all the reports?

  You read the reports? My goodness, Verna, but you are ambitious. You certainly are more conscientious as Prelate than I.

  Verna’s mouth dropped open.

  You mean that I don’t have to read the reports?

  Well, Verna, look at the value in reading them. Because you read the reports, you discovered that the horses were missing from the stables. We could have easily bought horses after we left the palace, but took those instead so as to leave a sign. We could have paid for the bodies instead of going through the complicated arrangements we did, but then you wouldn’t have been able to talk to the gravedigger. We took care to leave signs you could follow so as to discover the truth. Some of the signs we left were quite troublesome, such as the one with the discovery of our “bodies,” but were necessary, and you did a good job in figuring it out.

  Verna felt her face flush. She had never thought to look into the matter of the bodies being discovered already prepared and in winding sheets. She had completely missed that clue.

  But I must confess, Ann went on, that I hardly ever bothered to read reports. That is what assistants are for. I simply told them that they were to use their judgment and wisdom and, in keeping with the best interest of the palace, handle the matters involved in the reports. Then, every once in a while, I would stop before them and pull out some reports that they had dealt with and read their disposition. It always kept them diligent in their task, for fear I would read their instructions given in my name, and find them unsatisfactory.

  Verna was astonished. You mean to say that I can simply tell my assistants, or advisors, how I wish matters managed, and then have them handle the reports? I don’t have to read them all? I don’t have to initial them all?

  Verna, you are Prelate. You can do as you wish. You run the palace, it does not run you.

  But, Sisters Leoma and Philippa, my advisors, and Dulcinia, one of my administrators, all told me how it must be done. They are so much more experienced than I. They made it seem I would be failing the palace were I not to handle the reports myself.

  Did they now, Ann wrote almost instantly. My, my. I think that if I were you, Verna, I would do a bit less listening, and a little more talking. You have a fine scowl. Use it.

  Verna grinned at that. Already she was picturing the scene. There were going to be some changes in the Prelate’s office come morning.

  Ann, what is your mission? What are you trying to accomplish?

  I have a small task in Aydindril, and then I hope to return.

  It was plain that Ann wasn’t going to tell her, so Verna thought about what else she wanted to know, and what she needed to tell the Prelate. One thing of importance came to mind.

  Warren gave a prophecy. His first, he said.

  There was a long pause. Verna waited. When the message finally came, its hand was a bit more carefully drawn.

  Do you remember it, word for word?

  Verna could not forget a word of that prophecy. Yes.

  Before Verna could begin to write the prophecy, a message suddenly began to splash across the page. The scrawl was huge and angry, the letters drawn in big blocks.

  Get that boy out of the palace! Get him out!

  A line snaked across the page. Verna sat up straighter. It was obvious that Nathan had taken the stylus away from Ann and had written the message, and Ann was in the process of getting it back. There was another long pause, and at last Ann’s handwriting appeared again.

  Sorry. Verna, if you are certain that you remember the prophecy, word for word, then write it down so we may see it. If you are unsure of any of it, tell me. This is important.

  I remember it word for word, as it pertains to me, Verna wrote. It says:

  “When the Prelate and the prophet are given to the Light in the sacred rite, the flames will bring to boil a cauldron of guile and give ascension to a false Prelate, who will reign over the death of the Palace of the Prophets. To the north, the one bonded to the blade will abandon it for the silver sliph, for he will breathe her back to life, and she will deliver him into the arms of the wicked.”

  There was another pause. Hold, please, while Nathan and I study this.

  Verna sat and waited. The bugs outside chirped, and the frogs peeped. Verna stood, keeping an eye to the book, and stretched her back as she yawned. Still, there was no message. She sat and rested her chin in her fist, and her eyes drooped as she waited.

  At last, a message began to appear.

  Nathan and I have been going over this, and Nathan says that it is an immature prophecy, and because of that, he cannot fully decipher it.

  Ann, I am the false Prelate. It troubles me greatly that this prophecy says I will reign over the death of the palace.

  An immediate message came back. You are not the false Prelate in this prophecy.

  Then what does it mean?

  There was a shorter pause this time. We do not know its full meaning, but we do know that you are not the false Prelate named in it.

  Verna, listen carefully. Warren must leave the palace. It is too dangerous for him to remain any longer. He must go into hiding. He could be seen leaving in the night. Tomorrow morning, have him go into the city on the pretense of an errand. In the confusion of people it will be hard for anyone to follow him. Have him get away through that confusion. Give him gold so he will not have any trouble doing what he needs.

  Verna put a hand to her heart as she gulped a breath. She bent back over the book. But Prelate, Warren is the only one I can trust. I need him. I don’t know the prophecies like he does, and will be lost without him. She left unsaid that he was her only friend, the only friend she could trust.

  Verna, the prophecies are in danger. If they get their hands on a prophet The hastily scribbled message halted abruptly. After a moment it resumed, more carefully written. He must get away. Do you understand?

  Yes, Prelate. I will see to it first thing in the morning. Warren will do as I ask. I will trust in your instructions, that it is more important for him to leave, than to aid me.

  Thank you Verna.

  Ann, what is the danger to the prophecies?

  She waited a moment in the quiet of the sanctuary, until the writing began again. Just as we try to help our effort by knowing the danger down various forks in prophecy, so too can those who wish to rule mankind use this information to guide events down forks they want to come to pass. Used in thi
s fashion, the prophecies can defeat us. If they have a prophet, they can have a better understanding of the prophecies, and how to direct events to their advantage.

  Tampering with forks can invoke chaos that even they don’t expect and can’t control. This is dangerous in the extreme. They could inadvertently walk us all off a cliff.

  Ann, are you saying that Jagang is going to try to take the Palace of the Prophets, and the prophecies in the vaults?

  Pause. Yes.

  Verna paused herself. The realization of the nature of the struggle ahead came over her in icy goose bumps.

  How can we stop him?

  The Palace of the Prophets cannot fall so easily as Jagang thinks. Though he is a dream walker, we have control of our Han. That power is also a weapon. Though we have always used our gift to preserve life and help bring the Creator’s light to the world, a time may come when we have to use our gift to fight. For this, we must know who is loyal to us. You must find out who is untainted.

  Verna thought carefully before she began to write. Ann, do you intend to call upon us to become warriors, to use our gift to strike down the Creator’s children?

  I am telling you, Verna, that you will have to use what you know to help prevent the world from being taken forever into the darkness of tyranny. Though we struggle to help the Creator’s children, we also carry a dacra, don’t we? We can’t help people if we are dead.

  Verna rubbed her thighs when she realized they were trembling. She had killed people, and the Prelate knew it. She had killed Jedidiah. She wished she had brought something to drink; her throat felt as if it were turning dry as dust.

  I understand, she wrote at last. I will do what I must.

  I wish I could give you better guidance, Verna, but right now I don’t know enough. Events are already rushing ahead in a torrent. Without direction, and probably on sheer instinct, Richard has already taken precipitous action. We are not sure what he is up to, but from what I gather he already has the Midlands in an uproar. The boy doesn’t rest for a minute. He seems to make up his own rules as he goes.

  What has he done? Verna asked, fearing the answer.

  He has somehow taken command of D’Hara, and has captured Aydindril. He has declared the Midlands alliance dissolved, and demanded the surrender of all lands.

  Verna gasped. It is the Midlands that must fight the Imperial Order! Has he lost his mind? We can’t afford to have him bring D’Hara and the Midlands to war!

  He has already done it.

  The Midlands isn’t going to surrender to him.

  From what I gather, Galea and Kelton are already in his fist.

  He must be stopped! The Imperial Order is the threat. It is they who must be fought. We can’t allow him to start a war in the New World—the diversion could be fatal.

  Verna, magic is marbled through the Midlands like a juicy roast. The Imperial Order will steal that roast one slice at a time, as they did the Old World. Timid alliances will balk at starting a conflagration over one slice, and let it go instead, then the next slice will be taken in the name of appeasement and peace, and then the next, all the while weakening the Midlands and strengthening the Order. While you were gone on your journey, they took all of the Old World, in less than twenty years.

  Richard is a war wizard. It is his instincts that guide him, and everything he has learned and holds dear forge his actions. We have no choice but to trust in him.

  In the past, the threat was a single individual, like Darken Rahl. In this, it is a monolithic threat. Even if we could somehow eliminate Jagang, another would take his place. This is a battle of beliefs, fears, and ambitions of all people, not a single leader.

  It is much the same as the way people fear the palace. If a leader came to the fore, we could not eliminate the threat by eliminating the leader; the fear would still be in people’s heads, and taking their leader would only intensify their belief that they are justified in their fear.

  Dear Creator, Verna wrote back, then what are we to do?

  There was a pause for a time. As I said, child, I don’t have all the answers. But I can tell you this: In this, the final trial, we all play a part, but it is Richard who is the key. Richard is our leader. I don’t agree with all the things he does, but he is the only one who can lead us to victory. If we are to prevail, we must follow him. I am not saying we cannot try to advise and guide him in what we know, but he is a war wizard, and this is the war he was born to fight.

  Nathan has warned that there is a place in the prophecies called the Great Void. If we end on this fork, he believes that there is nothing beyond for magic, and thus no prophecy illuminating it. Mankind will go off forever into that unknown without magic. Jagang wishes to take the world into that void.

  Remember this above all else: No matter what, you must remain loyal to Richard. You can talk to him, advise him, reason with him, but you must not fight him. Loyalty to Richard is the only thing keeping Jagang from your mind. Once a dream walker has your mind, you are lost to our side.

  Verna swallowed. The stylus shook in her hand. I understand. Is there anything I can do to help?

  For now, the things I have already told you. You must act quickly. The war has already charged ahead of us. I hear there are mriswith in Aydindril.

  Verna’s eyes opened wide at the last of the message. “Dear Creator,” she said aloud, “give Richard strength.”

  31

  Verna squinted in the light. The sun was just up. She groaned as she rose from the overstuffed chair and stretched her cramped muscles. She had corresponded with the Prelate late into the night, and then, too tired to go to her bed, had curled up in the chair and fallen asleep. After Verna had heard about Richard and the mriswith in Aydindril, the two had written back and forth about palace business.

  The Prelate answered countless questions Verna asked about the running of the palace, the way things worked, and how to handle her advisors, administrators, and other Sisters. The lessons Ann imparted were eye-opening.

  Verna had never realized the extent of palace politics and how nearly every facet of palace life and law revolved around it. A Prelate’s power was derived in part from making the correct alliances, and using duties and power carefully assigned to control opposition. Divided into factions, responsible for their own niche and given wide leeway in narrowly defined areas, the more influential Sisters were diverted from joining in opposition to the Prelate. Information was granted or withheld in a carefully controlled process, keeping opposing groups balanced in influence and power. This balance kept the Prelate the pivot point, and in control of palace objectives.

  Though the Sisters couldn’t remove a Prelate from office, except for treason against the palace and Creator, they could mire the workings of the palace in petty bickering and power struggles. The Prelate had to control that energy and focus it to worthwhile goals.

  It seemed that running the palace, doing the Creator’s work, was really handling personalities and their attendant feelings and sensibilities, rather than simply assigning tasks that needed to be done. Verna had never viewed the running of the palace in this way. She had always seen them as one happy family, all intent on the Creator’s work, running smoothly on direction from the Prelate. That, she had learned, had been because of the deft handling of the Sisters by the Prelate. Because of her, they all worked to a purpose, seeming to Verna to be satisfied with their part in the scheme of things.

  After the talk with Annalina, Verna felt even more inadequate at her post, but at the same time more prepared to rise to the task. She had never known the vast extent of the Prelate’s knowledge about the most trivial of palace matters. It was no wonder that Prelate Annalina had made the job look so easy; she was a master at it—a juggler who could keep a dozen balls in the air at once while smiling and patting a novice on the head.

  Verna rubbed her eyes as she yawned. She had gotten only a few hours’ sleep, but she had work to do, and couldn’t lie about any longer. She tucked the journey book, all it
s pages wiped clean, back into her belt and headed back to her office, stopping along the way to splash water from the pond on her face.

  A pair of green ducks swam closer, interested in what she was doing mucking about in their world. They circled about a bit before deciding to preen themselves, apparently content that she had no interest other than to share their water. The sky was a glorious pink and violet in the new day, the air clean and fresh. Though deeply worried about what she had learned, she also felt optimistic. Like everything around her in the light of the new day, she felt as if her mind had been enlightened, too.

  Verna shook the water from her hands as she fretted about how she was going to discover which Sisters were sworn to the Keeper. Just because the Prelate had faith in her, and had ordered it, that didn’t mean she would succeed. She sighed, and then kissed the Prelate’s ring, asking the Creator to please help her figure out a way.

  Verna couldn’t wait to tell Warren about the Prelate, and all the things she had learned in talking with her, but she was heavyhearted, too, because she was going to have to ask him to go into hiding. She didn’t know how she was going to manage without him. Maybe if he was able to find a safe place not too far, she could still visit him occasionally, and not feel so alone.

  In her office, Verna smiled when she saw the teetering stacks of waiting reports. She left the doors to the garden open to let in the cool morning air, and let out the stale air of her office. She began straightening the reports, shuffling the papers into order and making the stacks straight, lining them up along the edge. For the first time, she was able to see some of the wood of the tabletop.

  Verna looked up when the door opened. Phoebe and Dulcinia, each carrying more reports in the crook of an arm, both started when they saw her.

  “Good morning,” Verna said in a bright voice.

  “Forgive us, Prelate,” Dulcinia said. Her penetrating blue eyes caught when she saw the neat stacks of reports. “We didn’t realize the Prelate would be at work so early. We didn’t mean to interrupt. We can see that you’ve a lot of work to do. We’ll just put these down with the others, if we may.”