Wizard's First Rule

by Terry Goodkind

  “Let’s hope this works. If it doesn’t, we’re in a lot of trouble. I’m glad I’ll have you there.” It was a warning, to stay alert.

  She nodded. “Just remember, Richard, these are our people now, we belong. They want to help us; they will be doing their best.”

  Kahlan sat hugging her knees, waiting, until her name was called, then went out into the cool, dark night. The Bird Man sat against the wall of the spirit house, on the little bench. She could see in the dark that he was naked, symbols painted in jagged lines, stripes and whorls all over his body, his silver hair down around his bare shoulders. Chickens roosted on a short wall nearby, watching. A hunter stood near the Bird Man. Coyote hides, clothes, and Richard’s sword lay at his feet.

  “Remove your clothes,” the Bird Man said.

  “What is this?” she asked, pointing at the hunter.

  “He is here to take the clothes. They are taken to the elders’ platform, for the people to see that we are in a gathering. Before dawn, he will return them, to let the people know that the gathering is at an end.”

  “Well, tell him to turn around.”

  The Bird Man gave the order. The hunter turned around. She gripped the tongue of her belt, yanked it free from the catch. She paused, looking down at the Bird Man.

  “Child,” he said softly, “tonight you are neither man nor woman. You are a Mud Person. Tonight, I am neither man nor woman. I am a spirit guide.”

  She nodded, removed her clothes, and stood before him, the cold night air on her naked flesh. He scooped a handful of white mud from one of the pots. His hand paused before her. She waited. He was clearly skittish about doing this, despite what he said. Seeing was one thing, touching quite another.

  Kahlan reached out, took his hand, and pulled it firmly against her belly, feeling the cold mud squish against her.

  “Do it,” she ordered.

  When finished, they pulled the door open and went inside, he sitting among the circle of painted elders, she opposite him, next to Richard. Black and white lines swept diagonally across Richard’s face in dramatic tangles, a mask they all wore for the spirits. The skulls that had sat on the shelf were arranged in the center of the circle. A small fire burned slowly in the fireplace behind her, giving off an odd, acrid smell. The elders stared fixedly ahead as they rhythmically chanted words she couldn’t understand. The Bird Man’s far-off eyes came up. The door closed of its own accord.

  “From now, until we are finished, near dawn, no one may go out, no one may come in. The door is barred by the spirits.”

  Kahlan’s eyes swept the room, but saw nothing. A shiver ran up her spine. The Bird Man took a woven basket sitting near him and reached inside. He pulled out a small frog, then passed the basket to the next elder. Each took a frog and began rubbing its back against the skin of his chest. When the basket reached her, she held it between her hands and looked up at the Bird Man.

  “Why do we do this?”

  “These are red spirit frogs, very hard to find. They have a substance on their backs that makes us forget this world, and allows us to see the spirits.”

  “Honored elder, I may be one of the Mud People, but I am also a Confessor. I must always hold back my power. If I forget this world, I may not be able to do that.”

  “It is too late to back out now. The spirits are with us. They have seen you, seen the symbols on you that open their eyes. You may not leave. If one is here who is blind to them, they will kill that person, and steal their spirit. I understand your problem, but I cannot help you. You will just have to do your best to hold back your power. If you cannot do so, then one of us will be lost. It is a price we will have to pay. If you want to die, then leave your frog in the basket. If you want to stop Darken Rahl, take it out.”

  She stared wide-eyed into his hard face, then reached into the basket. The frog wriggled and kicked in her hand as she passed the basket to Richard, telling him what to do. Swallowing hard, she pushed the cold slimy back of the frog against her chest, between her breasts, to the one place on her where there were no symbols painted, pushed it around in circles as the others had done. Where the slime touched her skin, it felt tingly, tight. The feeling spread through her. The sounds of the drums and the boldas grew in her ears until it seemed as if the sound was the only thing in the world. Her body vibrated with the beat. In her mind, she took hold of her power, held it tightly, concentrated on her control of it; then, hoping it was enough, she felt herself drift away.

  Everyone took the hand of the person to each side. The walls of the room swam away from her vision. Her consciousness undulated, like ripples on a pond, floating, bobbing, pitching. She felt herself beginning to spin in a circle with the others, around and around the skulls in the center. The skulls brightened, lighting the faces of everyone in the circle. They were all swallowed into a soft void of nothingness. Shafts of light, from the center, spun with them.

  All around, shapes closed in. In terror, she recognized what they were.

  Shadow things.

  Unable to get a scream out, her breath caught in her throat, she squeezed Richard’s hand. She had to protect him. She tried to get up, to throw herself over him so they couldn’t touch him. But her body wouldn’t move. She realized with horror that it was because hands, hands of the shadow things, were on her. She struggled, struggled to get up, to protect Richard. Her mind raced with panic. Had they already killed her? Was she dead? Was she no more than a spirit now? Unable to move?

  The shadow things stared down at her. Shadow things didn’t have faces. These did. Mud People faces.

  They weren’t shadow things, she realized with a wave of relief, they were the ancestors’ spirits. She caught her breath, eased the panic back down. Relaxed herself.

  “Who calls this gathering?”

  It was the spirits speaking. All of them. Together. The sound, hollow, flat, dead, almost took her breath away. But it was the Bird Man’s mouth that moved.

  “Who calls this gathering?” they repeated.

  “This man does,” she said, “this man beside me. Richard With The Temper.”

  They floated between the elders, gathering into the center of the circle.

  “Release his hands.”

  Kahlan and Savidlin let go of Richard’s hands. The spirits spun in the center of the circle; then, in a rush, they came out in a line, passing through Richard’s body.

  He inhaled sharply, threw his head back, and screamed in agony as they swept through him.

  Kahlan jumped. The spirits all hovered behind him. The elders all closed their eyes.

  “Richard!”

  His head came back down. “It’s all right. I’m all right,” he managed in a hoarse voice, but he was clearly still in pain.

  The spirits moved around the circle, behind the elders, then settled into their bodies, both spirit and man, in the same place at the same time. It gave the elders a soft, indefinite appearance around the edges. Their eyes came open.

  “Why have you called us?” the Bird Man asked, in their hollow, harmonic voices.

  She leaned a little toward Richard, keeping her eyes on the Bird Man. “They want you to say why you called this gathering.”

  Richard took a few deep breaths, recovering from what they had done to him.

  “I called this gathering because I must find an object of magic before Darken Rahl finds it. Before he can use it.”

  Kahlan translated as the spirits talked to Richard through the elders.

  “How many men have you killed?” Savidlin asked with spirit voices.

  Richard answered without hesitation. “Two.”

  “Why?” Hajanlet asked in their haunting tones.

  “To keep them from killing me.”

  “Both?”

  He thought a moment. “The first one I killed in self-defense. The second I killed in defense of a friend.”

  “Do you think the defense of a friend gives you the right to kill?” Arbrin’s mouth moved this time.

  �
�Yes.”

  “Suppose he was going to kill your friend only to defend the life of his friend?”

  Richard took a deep breath. “What’s the point of the question?”

  “The point is, according to what you believe, that you think it is justified to kill in the defense of a friend, then if he was killing to defend a friend, he had the right to kill your friend. He was justified. Since he was justified, that would void your right, would it not?”

  “Not all questions have answers.”

  “Maybe not all questions have answers you like.”

  “Maybe.”

  Kahlan could tell by his tone that Richard was getting angry. All the eyes of the elders, the spirits, were on him.

  “Did you enjoy killing this man?”

  “Which one?”

  “The first.”

  “No.”

  “The second.”

  Richard’s jaw muscles tightened. “What is the point of these questions?”

  “All questions have a different reason for being asked.”

  “And sometimes the reasons have nothing to do with the question?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Only if you first tell me the reason for it.”

  “You came here to ask us questions. Shall we ask your reasons?”

  “It would seem you are.”

  “Answer our question or we will not answer yours.”

  “And if I answer it, will you promise to answer mine?”

  “We are not here to make bargains. We are here because we were called. Answer the question or the gathering is over.”

  Richard took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he stared up at the void. “Yes. I enjoyed killing him, because of the magic of the Sword of Truth. That is how it works. If I had killed him in another manner, without the sword, I would not have enjoyed it.”

  “Irrelevant.”

  “What?”

  “‘If’ is irrelevant. ‘Did’ is not. So, now you have given two reasons for killing the second man: to defend a friend; and because you enjoyed it. Which is the true reason?”

  “Both. I killed him to protect a friend’s life, and because of the sword, I enjoyed it.”

  “What if you did not need to kill to protect your friend? What if you were wrong in your assessment? What if the life of your friend was not in fact in danger?”

  Kahlan tensed at this question. She hesitated a moment before translating it.

  “In my mind, the deed is not as important as the intent. I truly believed my friend’s life was in danger, therefore I felt justified in killing to protect her. I had only a moment to act. In my mind, indecision would have resulted in her death.

  “If the spirits think I was wrong in killing, or that the one I killed may have been justified, voiding my right, then we have a disagreement. Some problems have no clear solution. Some problems don’t provide the time to analyze them. I had to act with my heart. As a wise man once told me, every murderer thinks he is justified in killing. I will kill to prevent myself or a friend, or an innocent, from being killed. If you feel that is wrong, tell me now so we can put an end to these painful questions, and I may go in search of the answers I need.”

  “As we said, we are not here to make bargains. You said that to your mind, the deed is not as important as the intent. Is there anyone you have intended to kill, but have not?”

  The sound of their voices was painful; Kahlan felt as if it was burning her skin.

  “You have misinterpreted the context of what I said. I said I killed because I thought I had to, that I thought his intent was to kill her, therefore I thought I had to act or she would die. Not that my intent equates to the deed. There is probably a long list of people who, at one time or another, I have wanted to kill.”

  “If you wanted to, why have you not done so?”

  “Many reasons. For some, I had no true justification, it was only a mind game, a fantasy, to counter the sting of an injustice. For some, though I felt justified, I was able to escape without killing. Some, well, it just turned out that I didn’t, that’s all.”

  “The five elders?”

  Richard sighed. “Yes.”

  “But you intended to.”

  Richard didn’t answer.

  “Is this a case where the intent is as the deed?”

  Richard swallowed hard. “In my heart, yes. That I intended it wounds me almost as much as the deed would have.”

  “So then we have not, it would seem, gotten what you said entirely out of context.”

  Kahlan could see tears in Richard’s eyes. “Why are you asking me these questions!”

  “Why do you want the object of magic?”

  “To stop Darken Rahl!”

  “And how will getting this object stop him?”

  Richard leaned back a little. His eyes went wide. He understood. A tear ran down his cheek. “Because, if I can get the object, and keep it from him,” he whispered, “he will die. I will kill him in that way.”

  “What you are really asking us, then, is for our aid in killing another.” Their voices echoed around her in the darkness.

  Richard only nodded.

  “That is why we are asking you these questions. You are asking for our aid in killing. Do you not think it fair we should know what kind of person it is we would be helping in his attempt to kill?”

  Sweat was rolling off Richard’s face. “I guess so.” He closed his eyes.

  “Why do you want to kill this man?”

  “Many reasons.”

  “Why do you want to kill this man?”

  “Because he tortured and killed my father. Because he has tortured and killed many others. Because he will kill me if I don’t kill him. Because he will torture and kill many more if I don’t kill him. It is the only way to stop him. He cannot be reasoned with. I have no option but to kill him.”

  “Consider the next question carefully. Answer with the truth, or this gathering will end.”

  Richard nodded.

  “What is the reason, above all others, why you want to kill this man?”

  Richard looked down and closed his eyes again. “Because,” he whispered at last, tears running down his face, “if I don’t kill him, he will kill Kahlan.”

  Kahlan felt as if she had been hit in the stomach. She could barely bring herself to translate the words. There was a long silence. Richard sat naked, in more ways than one. She was angry at the spirits for doing this to him. She was also deeply distraught by what she was doing to him. Shar had been right.

  “If Kahlan were not a factor, would you still try to kill this man?”

  “Absolutely. You asked the reason above all others. I told you.”

  “What is the object of magic you seek?” they asked suddenly.

  “Does that mean you agree with my reasons for killing?”

  “No. It means that for our own reasons, we have decided to answer your question. If we can. What is the object of magic you seek?”

  “One of the three boxes of Orden.”

  When Kahlan translated, the spirits suddenly howled as if in pain. “We are not allowed to answer that question. The boxes of Orden are in play. This gathering is over.”

  The elders’ eyes began to close. Richard jumped to his feet. “You would let Darken Rahl kill all those people when you have the power to help?”

  “Yes.”

  “You would let him kill your descendants? Your living flesh and blood? You aren’t spirit ancestors to our people, you are spirit traitors!”

  “Not true.”

  “Then tell me!”

  “Not allowed.”

  “Please! Don’t leave us without your help. Let me ask another question?”

  “We are not allowed to disclose where the boxes of Orden are. It is forbidden. Think, and ask another question.”

  Richard sat down, pulling his knees up. He rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers. The symbols painted all over him made him look like some kind of wild creature.
He put his face in his hands, thinking. His head snapped up.

  “You can’t tell me where the boxes are. Are there any other restrictions?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many boxes does Rahl already have?”

  “Two.”

  He looked at the elders evenly. “You have just disclosed where two of the boxes are. That is forbidden,” he reminded them. “Or maybe it is simply a gray shade of intent?”

  Silence.

  “That information is not restricted. Your question?”

  Richard leaned forward like a dog on scent. “Can you tell me who knows where the last box is?”

  Richard already knew the answer to this question, she suspected. She recognized his manner of slicing the loaf the other way.

  “We know the name of the person who has the box, and the names of several other people nearby, but we cannot tell you the names because that would be the same as telling you where it is. That is forbidden.”

  “Then, can you tell me the name of a person, other than Rahl, who is not in possession of the last box, who is not near it, but who knows where it is?”

  “There is one we can name. She knows where the box is. If we tell you her name, that would not lead you to the box, only to her. This is allowed. It will be up to you, not us, to get whatever information you might.”

  “That is my question, then: who is it? Name her.”

  When they uttered the name, Kahlan froze with a jolt. She didn’t translate. The elders shook at the mere name, spoken aloud.

  “Who is it? What’s her name?” Richard demanded of her.

  Kahlan looked up at him.

  “We are as good as dead,” she whispered.

  “Why? Who is it?”

  Kahlan sank back, into herself. “It is the witch woman, Shota.”

  “And do you know where she is?”

  Kahlan nodded, her brow wrinkled in terror. “In the Agaden Reach.” She whispered the name as if even the words tasted of poison. “Not even a wizard would dare to go into the Reach.”

  Richard studied the visage of fear in her face, and looked to the elders as they shook.

  “Then we go to Agaden Reach, to this witch woman, Shota,” he said in an even voice, “and find out where the box is.”

  “We wish you kind fates,” the spirits said, through the Bird Man. “The lives of our descendants depend upon you.”