Wizard's First Rule

by Terry Goodkind

  She could feel the heat of her anger rising. Richard leaned around the Bird Man.

  “Kahlan, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

  Her eyes went from Richard back to the Bird Man, and she gave him a nod. “Nothing. It’s all right.”

  The Bird Man released her chin and turned to his people, blowing the silent whistle he carried around his neck. He began talking to them of their history, their ways, why they avoided the influence of outsiders, how they had the right to be a proud people. As he talked, doves began coming in, landing among the people.

  Kahlan listened without hearing, standing still on the platform, feeling like a trapped animal. When she had thought they could win over the Mud People, and have themselves named Mud People, she hadn’t contemplated having to agree to these things. She had thought their initiation to be a mere formality, after which Richard could ask for a gathering. She hadn’t given consideration to events going this way.

  Maybe she could simply not tell him some of it. He wouldn’t even know. After all, he didn’t understand their language. She would just keep quiet. It was for the best.

  But other things, she thought despondently, would be all too obvious. She could feel her ears turning red, could feel a knot in the pit of her stomach.

  Richard sensed that the words of the Bird Man were not yet something he needed to understand and didn’t ask for a translation. The Bird Man finished his introductory remarks, and arrived at the important part.

  “When these two came to us, they were outsiders. By their actions, they have proved their caring for our people, proved their worth. From this day forward, let all know that Richard With The Temper and Confessor Kahlan are Mud People.”

  Kahlan translated, dropping her title, as the crowd cheered. Smiling, Richard held his hand up to the people, and they cheered all the more. Savidlin reached out and gave him a friendly slap on the back. The Bird Man put a hand on each of their shoulders, giving hers a sympathetic squeeze, trying to relieve the sting of the agreement he had forced upon her.

  She took a deep breath, resigning herself to it. It would be over soon enough, and then they would be gone, on their way to stop Rahl. That was all that mattered. Besides, she, of all people, had no right to be upset about it.

  “There is one more thing,” The Bird Man went on. “These two were not born Mud People. Kahlan was born a Confessor, a matter of blood, not choosing. Richard With The Temper was born in Westland, across the boundary, of ways that are a mystery to us. Both have agreed to be Mud People, to honor our laws and ways from this day on, but we must understand that our ways may be a mystery to them. We must have patience with them, understand that they are trying for the first time to be Mud People. We have lived our lives as Mud People, this is their first day. They are as new children to us. Give them the understanding you would give our children, and they will do their best.”

  The crowd buzzed with talk, heads nodding, all agreeing the Bird Man was wise. Kahlan let out a sigh; the Bird Man had given himself, and the two of them, a sliver of room if things went wrong. He was indeed wise. He gave her shoulder another squeeze, and she placed her hand over his, giving her own appreciative squeeze.

  Richard didn’t waste a second. He turned to the elders.

  “I am honored to be one of the Mud People. Wherever I may travel, I will uphold the honor of our people, to make you proud of me. Right now, there is danger to our people. I need help so I might protect them. I request a council of seers. I request a gathering.”

  Kahlan translated, and each elder in turn nodded his agreement.

  “Granted,” the Bird Man said. “It will take three days to prepare for the gathering.”

  “Honored elder,” Richard said, restraining himself, “the danger is great. I respect your ways, but is there any way it can be done faster? The lives of our people depend on this.”

  The Bird Man took a deep breath, his long silver hair reflecting the gloomy light. “In this special circumstance, we will do our best to help you. Tonight we will hold the banquet, tomorrow night we will hold the gathering. This is as fast as it can be done. There are preparations that must be made for the elders to bridge the gap to the spirits.”

  Richard, too, took a deep breath. “Tomorrow night then.”

  The bird man blew the whistle again and the doves took to the air. Kahlan felt as if her hopes, impossible and foolish as they had been, took wing with them.

  Preparations were quickly set underway, and Savidlin took Richard to his home, to care for his cuts and clean him up. The Bird Man took Kahlan to the healer, to have her wound treated. Blood had completely soaked the bandage, and the cut hurt in earnest. He guided her through narrow passageways with his arm protectively around her shoulders. She was thankful he didn’t speak of the banquet.

  He left her in the care of a stooped woman named Nissel, instructing her to care for Kahlan as if she were his daughter. Nissel smiled little, mostly at the oddest times, and spoke little, other than instructions. Stand here, hold your arm up, put it down, breathe, don’t breathe, drink this, lie here, recite the Candra. Kahlan didn’t know what the Candra was. Nissel shrugged and instead had her balance flat stones atop one another on her stomach while the wound was inspected. When it hurt and the stones started slipping, Nissel admonished her to try harder to keep the stones balanced. She was given bitter-tasting leaves to chew while Nissel removed Kahlan’s clothes and bathed her.

  The bath did more for her than the leaves. She couldn’t remember a bath feeling so good. She tried to let her depressing thoughts slough away with the mud. She tried very hard. While she was left to soak, Nissel washed her clothes and hung them by the fire, where a little pot of brown paste bubbled, smelling of pine pitch. Nissel dried her off, wrapped her in warm skins, and sat her on a bench built into the wall near the raised fire pit. The taste of the leaves seemed to get better the more she chewed them, but her head was beginning to spin.

  “Nissel, what are the leaves for?”

  Nissel turned from studying Kahlan’s shirt, which she thought very curious. “It will make you relax, so you will not feel what I do. Keep chewing. Do not worry, child. You will be so relaxed, you will not care when I stitch.”

  Kahlan immediately spit out the leaves. The old woman looked at them on the floor, lifting an eyebrow to Kahlan.

  “Nissel, I am a Confessor. If I am relaxed in a manner like that, I might not be able to hold back the power. When you touch me, I could release it without wanting to.”

  Nissel frowned with curiosity. “But you sleep, child. You relax then.”

  “That is different. I have slept from birth, before my power grew in me. If I were to be too relaxed or distracted in a way I do not know, as with your leaves, I could touch you without intending it.”

  Nissel gave a crooked nod. Then her eyebrows came up. She leaned closer. “Then how do you…”

  Kahlan gave a blank expression that said nothing and everything.

  A look of sudden understanding came over Nissel’s face. The healer straightened up. “Oh. I see now.”

  She stroked Kahlan’s hair sympathetically, then went to the far corner and came shuffling back with a piece of leather. “Put this between your teeth.” She patted Kahlan’s good shoulder. “If you are ever hurt again, be sure to have them bring you to Nissel. I will remember, and know what not to do. Sometimes, when you are a healer, it is more important to know what not to do. Maybe when you are a Confessor too. Hmm?” Kahlan smiled and gave a nod. “Now, child, make teeth marks in this leather for me.”

  When she was finished, Nissel wiped the sweat from Kahlan’s face with a cold, wet cloth. Kahlan was so dizzy and nauseated she couldn’t even sit up. Nissel kept her lying down as she applied the brown paste and wrapped the arm with clean bandages.

  “You should sleep for a while. I will wake you before the banquet.”

  Kahlan put her hand on the old woman’s arm, and made herself smile. “Thank you, Nissel.”

  She
woke to the feel of her hair being brushed. It had dried while she slept. Nissel smiled at her.

  “You will find it hard to brush your pretty hair until your arm is better. Not many have the honor to have hair such as yours. I thought you would like it brushed for the banquet. It starts soon. A handsome young man waits for you outside.”

  Kahlan sat up. “How long has he been out there?”

  “Almost the whole time. I tried to chase him away with a broom.” Nissel frowned. “But he would not go. He is very stubborn. Yes?”

  “Yes.” Kahlan grinned.

  Nissel helped her put on her clean clothes. Her arm didn’t hurt as much as before. Richard was leaning impatiently against the outside wall and stood up straight when she came out. He was washed and clean and fresh-looking, the mud all gone, and was dressed in simple buckskin pants and tunic, and of course his sword. Nissel was right: he did look handsome.

  “How are you doing? How’s the arm? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She smiled. “Nissel has made me well.”

  Richard kissed the top of the old woman’s head. “Thank you, Nissel. I forgive you the broom.”

  Nissel smiled at the translation, leaned closer, and gave him a deep look he found uncomfortable.

  “Shall I give him a potion,” Nissel asked, turning to her, “to give him stamina?”

  “No,” Kahlan said bristling. “I am sure he will do just fine.”

  27

  Laughter and the sound of drums drifted from the center of the village as Richard and Kahlan walked among the huddled, dark buildings. Black skies held back their rain, and the damp, warm air brought in the smell of the wet grasses that surrounded the village. Torches lit the platforms of the pole buildings, and large fires set about the open area snapped and popped, throwing off fluttering shadows. Kahlan knew it was a lot of work to haul in wood for cooking and kiln fires, and most were kept small. This was an extravagance the Mud People rarely witnessed.

  Wonderful aromas from the cooking fires drifted to her through the night air, but failed to spark her appetite. Women dressed in their brightest dresses rushed around, with young girls at their sides, tending to errands, seeing to it that all went well. The men wore their finest skins, ceremonial knives hung at their waists, and their hair was slicked down with sticky mud in traditional fashion.

  Cooking went on nonstop as people wandered by, sampling the fare, talking, sharing stories. Most people, it seemed, were either cooking or eating. There were children everywhere, playing and running and laughing, overflowing with excitement at the unexpected nighttime, firelit gathering.

  Under grass roofs, musicians pounded drums and scraped paddles up and down ripples carved on boldas, long bell-shaped hollow tubes. The eerie strains, music meant to call ancestors’ spirits to the banquet, carried far out into the grasslands. Other musicians sat on the opposite side of the open area, the sounds of the two groups sometimes joining, sometimes separating, calling to one another in haunting and occasionally frantic beats and knells. Men in costume, some dressed as animals, others painted as stylized hunters, jumped and danced, acting out stories of Mud People legends. Gleeful children surrounded the dancers, imitating them and stamping their feet in time with the drumming. Young couples off in darker areas watched the activities as they nuzzled close together. Kahlan had never felt so alone.

  Savidlin, his freshly cleaned coyote hide around his shoulders, found her and Richard, and dragged them off, slapping Richard’s back the whole way, to sit with the elders under their shelter. The Bird Man was dressed in his usual, plain buckskin pants and tunic. He was important enough not to have to wear anything more. Weselan was there, as were the wives of the other elders, and she came to sit next to Kahlan, taking her hand and asking with sincere concern how her arm was. Kahlan wasn’t used to having people care about her. It felt good to be one of the Mud People, even if it was only pretense. Pretense, because she was a Confessor, and as much as she wished it otherwise right now, it was not, and no decree could make it so. She did as she had learned to do at a young age: she put her emotions away, and thought about the job that lay ahead, about Darken Rahl and how little time they had left. And she thought about Dennee.

  Richard, resigned to the fact that they would have to wait another day for the gathering, tried to make the best of it, smiling and nodding at chattered advice he couldn’t understand. People streamed past the elders’ shelter in a steady procession, to greet the newest Mud People with gentle slaps. In all fairness, Kahlan had to admit that they paid as much regard to her as to Richard.

  Woven trays and pottery bowls filled with various foods lay on the floor in front of where they sat cross-legged, greeting people, some of whom sat with them for a time. Richard sampled most of the food, remembering to use his right hand. Kahlan nibbled on a piece of tava bread so as not to appear impolite.

  “This is good,” Richard said, taking another rib. “I think it’s pork.”

  “It is wild boar,” she said, watching the dancers.

  “And the venison, it’s good too. Here, have a piece.” He tried to hand her a strip.

  “No. Thank you.”

  “You all right?”

  “Fine. I’m just not hungry.”

  “You haven’t eaten any meat since we’ve been with the Mud People.”

  “I’m just not hungry, that’s all.”

  He shrugged and ate the venison.

  After a time, the crowd of people greeting them thinned out, finally going off to other activities. From the corner of her eye, she saw the Bird Man raise his hand in a signal to someone in the distance. Kahlan put a brake to her feelings, and made her face betray nothing of the effort, as her mother had taught her: a Confessor’s face.

  Four young women, all with shy smiles and short hair slicked down with mud, timidly approached. Richard greeted them with smiles and nods and gentle slaps, as he had the other people. They stood, pushing against each other, giggling, whispering how fine he was to look upon. Kahlan glanced back at the Bird Man. He gave her a single nod.

  “Why aren’t they leaving?” Richard asked out of the side of his mouth. “What do they want?”

  “They are for you,” she said in an even voice.

  The flickering firelight lit his face as he looked blankly at the four women. “For me. And what am I to do with them?”

  Kahlan took a deep breath as she looked at the fires for a moment. “I am only your guide, Richard. If you need instruction in this, you will have to seek it elsewhere.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “All four? For me?”

  She turned back to him and saw a mischievous grin spreading on his face. She found his smile irritating.

  “No, you are to pick one.”

  “Pick one?” he repeated, the stupid grin still on his face.

  She consoled herself with the fact that at least he wasn’t going to cause trouble over this part. He looked from one girl to another.

  “Pick one. Now that will be hard. How long do I have to decide?”

  She looked off at the fire again and closed her eyes for a moment, then turned to the Bird Man. “The Seeker wishes to know when he must decide which woman to pick.”

  The Bird Man looked a little surprised by the question. “Before he goes to his bed. Then he must pick one, and give our people his child. In that way he will be joined to us by blood.”

  She told him what the Bird Man said.

  Richard considered carefully what he was told. “Very wise.” He looked back at the Bird Man and smiled and nodded. “The Bird Man is very wise.”

  “The Seeker says you are very wise,” she said to him, trying to control her voice.

  The Bird Man and the other elders seemed pleased. Events were going as they wished.

  “Well, this will be a difficult decision. I’ll have to think about it. It’s not something I want to rush into.”

  Kahlan pushed some of her hair back and turned to the girls. “The Seeke
r is having difficulty deciding.”

  He gave the four a big grin and eagerly motioned them up on the platform. Two sat to the far side of him, the other two squeezed between Kahlan and Richard, forcing her to move over as they sat down. They leaned against him, putting their hands on his arms, and felt his muscles as they giggled. They commented to Kahlan about how big he was, like her, and how he would make big children. They wanted to know if he thought they were pretty. Kahlan said she didn’t know. They begged her to ask him.

  She took another deep breath. “They want to know if you think they are pretty.”

  “Of course! They’re beautiful! All of them. That’s why I can’t decide. Don’t you think they’re beautiful?”

  She didn’t answer his question, instead assuring the four that the Seeker found them appealing. They gave their typical shy laughs. The Bird Man and the elders seemed pleased. They were still all smiles; they were in control of events. She stared numbly at the celebration, watched the dancers without seeing them.

  The four girls fed Richard with their fingers and giggled. He told Kahlan it was the best banquet he had ever been to, and asked if she didn’t think so, too. She swallowed the lump in her throat and agreed it was wonderful as she looked away blankly, at the fiery sparks swirling up into the blackness.

  After what seemed like hours, an older woman with her head bowed approached carrying a large round woven tray in front of her. It was neatly arranged with dark strips of dried meat.

  Kahlan snapped out of her distant thoughts.

  With her head still bowed, the woman respectfully approached the elders, silently offering each the tray. The Bird Man took some first, pulling off a piece with his teeth as each of the other elders took a strip. A few of the wives took some as well. Weselan, sitting beside her husband, declined.

  The woman held the tray in front of Kahlan. She politely declined. The woman held the tray out to Richard. He took a strip. The four young women shook their bowed heads, declining, then watched Richard. Kahlan waited until he took a bite, met the Bird Man’s eyes briefly, then turned once more to watch the fires.