Chainfire: Chainfire Trilogy Part 1 tsot-9

by Terry Goodkind

  Almost since the beginning, despite the circumstances, he had been Ann’s confidant and ally against the Keeper getting a foothold in the world of life and against evil people having their way over the innocent. He had worked hard to help stop Jagang. He had, after all, been the one to first show her a prophecy about Richard, five hundred years before he would be born.

  Ann found herself wishing that it wasn’t dark, and that they weren’t in a graveyard. And that Jennsen didn’t have such long legs.

  It suddenly occurred to Ann why Nathan would need Tom to stand guard and “make sure no one was around that they didn’t know about,” as Jennsen had put it. Just like Jennsen, the people in Bandakar were pristinely ungifted. They were devoid of that infinitesimal spark of the Creator’s gift carried by everyone else in the world. That essential connection made everyone else subject to the reality and nature of magic. But for these people magic did not exist.

  The absence of such an inherent, elemental nucleus of the gift not only made the pristinely ungifted immune to magic, but since they could not interact with what to them did not exist, it also made them invisible to the power of the gift.

  If even one parent possessed the pristinely ungifted trait, then it was always passed on to the offspring. These people had originally been banished to preserve the gift in mankind’s nature. It had been a terrible solution, to be sure, but as a result the gift had survived in the human race. Had such a solution not been undertaken, magic would long ago have ceased to exist.

  Because prophecy was magic, it too was blind to these people. No book of prophecy had ever had anything at all to say about the pristinely ungifted, or about the future of mankind and magic now that Richard had discovered these people and ended the banishment. What would happen now was completely unknown.

  Ann supposed that Richard would have it no other way. He did not exactly enthusiastically embrace prophecy. Despite what prophecy had to say about him, Richard by and large discounted it. He believed in free will. He took a dim view of the notion that there were things about himself that were predestined.

  In all things in life, and in magic especially, there had to be balance. In a way, Richard’s acts of free will were the balance to prophecy. He was the center of a vortex of forces. With Richard, prophecy was attempting to predict the unpredictable. And yet, it had to.

  Most troubling was that Richard’s free will made him a wild card in prophecy, even those prophecies in which he was the subject. He was chaos among patterns, disorder among organization, and as capricious as lightning. And yet, he was guided by truth and driven by reason, not whim or chance, nor was he arbitrary. That he could be chaos among prophecy and at the same time be completely rational was an enigma to her.

  Ann worried greatly about Richard because such contradictory aspects of the gifted were occasionally a prelude to delusional behavior. The last thing they would want was a leader who was delusional.

  But all of that was academic. The central problem was that while there was still time they had to find some way to make sure he took up the cause fated to him in the prophecies and to fulfill his destiny. If they failed, if he failed, then all was lost.

  Verna’s message sat like the shadow of death in the back of Ann’s mind.

  Having spotted their light, Tom appeared out of the darkness, sprinting through the long grass to meet them. “There you are,” he said to Ann. “Nathan will be happy that you’re finally here. Come on and I’ll show you the way.”

  By the brief glimpse she got in the weak yellow light from the lantern, Tom’s face looked troubled.

  The big D’Haran led them deeper into the graveyard, where in areas there were rows of gently mounded graves outlined in stones. These had to be newer, because most of what Ann could see was nothing but tall grass that over time covered over stones and the graves they marked. In one area there were a few small granite gravestones. They were so weathered it could only be that they were ancient. Some of the graves were marked with simple boards with names carved in them. Most such markers had long ago turned to dust, leaving much of the graveyard looking like nothing more than a grassy field.

  “Do you know what the fat bugs are that are making all the noise?” Jennsen asked Tom.

  “I’m not sure,” Tom said. “I’ve never seen them before. They suddenly seem to be all over the place.”

  Ann smiled to herself. “They’re cicadas.”

  Jennsen frowned back over her shoulder. “They’re what?”

  “Cicadas. You wouldn’t know what they are. At the last molt you would have probably still been a toddler, too young to remember. The life cycle of these cicadas with the red eyes is seventeen years.”

  “Seventeen years!” Jennsen said in astonishment. “You mean they only come out every seventeen years?”

  “Without fail. After the females mate with these noisy fellows, they will lay their eggs in twigs. When they hatch, the nymphs will drop from the trees and burrow into the ground, not to emerge for another seventeen years where their life as adults will be brief.”

  Jennsen and Tom murmured their amazement as they moved on into the graveyard. Ann couldn’t see much of anything else by the light coming from Jennsen’s lantern, except the dark shapes of trees moving in the occasional muggy breeze. As the three of them quietly slipped through the graveyard, cicadas chirped incessantly from the darkness all around. Ann used her Han to try to sense if anyone else was about, but she didn’t feel anyone other than Tom and somewhere in the distance one other person, no doubt Nathan. Since Jennsen was one of the pristinely ungifted, she was intangible to Ann’s Han.

  Like Richard, Jennsen had been fathered by Darken Rahl. Births of the pristinely ungifted, such as Jennsen’s, had been an unexpected and random side effect of the magic of the bond carried by every gifted Lord Rahl. In ancient times, when that trait began to spread, the solution had been to banish the pristinely ungifted, sealing them away in the forgotten land of Bandakar. After that, all ungifted offspring of the Lord Rahl were put to death.

  Unlike any past Lord Rahl, Richard had been jubilant to discover that he had a sister. He would never allow her to be put to death for the nature of her birth, nor would he allow her and those like her to be forced into banishment.

  Even though Ann had been around these people for some time now, she was still not used to how disorienting it could be. Even when one of them was standing right in front of her, Ann’s ability said that there was no one there. It was a haunting sort of blindness, a loss of one of her senses that she had always taken for granted.

  Jennsen had to take long strides to keep pace with Tom. To keep up with the two of them, Ann had to trot.

  And then, as they came around a small knoll, a stone monument loomed up into view. The light from the lantern lit one side of a rectangular stone base that was a little taller than Ann, but not as tall as Jennsen. The coarse stone was heavily weathered and pitted, with stone molding carved around recessed squares on the sides. If it had ever been polished, the stone no longer showed any evidence of it. As the lantern light swept across the surface, it revealed layers of dirty discoloration from great age as well as the mottled growth of mustard-colored lichen. Atop the imposing base sat a large carved urn with stone grapes hanging out over one side. Grapes were a favorite of Nathan’s.

  As Tom led them around the front of the stone monument Ann was astonished to see that the rectangle of stone sat off.

  On the far side, faint light oozed up from beneath it.

  It appeared that the entire monument had been pivoted aside, revealing steep stone steps that led down into the ground, down into the soft glow of light.

  Tom gave them both a meaningful look. “He’s down in there.”

  Jennsen leaned over a little and peered into the steep cavity. “Nathan is down there? Down those steps?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Tom told her.

  “What is this place?” Ann asked.

  Tom shrugged apologetically. “I’m afraid I
have no idea. I didn’t even know this was here until just a little while ago when Nathan showed me where I could find him. He told me to send you down just as soon as you got here. He was pretty insistent about it. He doesn’t want anyone knowing this place is here. He wanted me to stand lookout and keep any people away from the graveyard, although I really don’t think anyone ever comes out here anymore, especially at night. The Bandakaran people aren’t the kind to go looking for an adventure.”

  “Unlike Nathan,” Ann muttered. She patted Tom’s muscled arm. “Thank you, my boy. Best do as Nathan said and stand watch. I’ll go down and see what this is all about.”

  “We’ll both go,” Jennsen said.

  Chapter 11

  Driven by worried curiosity, Ann immediately started down the dusty steps. Jennsen followed close on her heels. A landing turned them to the right and down another flight. At a third landing, a long run of stairs turned to the left. The dusty stone walls were uncomfortably close together. The ceiling hunkered low, even for Ann; Jennsen had to crouch. It felt to Ann like she was being swallowed down though a moldering guild into the graveyard’s belly.

  At the bottom of the steps she halted to stare in disbelief. Jennsen lei out a low whistle. Beyond was not a dungeon, but a strange, twisting room unlike any Ann had ever seen. The stone walls zigged and zagged at odd angles, each of its own design and independently of the others. Plastering covered some of the stone walls. In a series of the convoluted angles, the whole room snaked off into the distance, disappearing around projections and pointed corners.

  The place had a strange orderly disorder about it that Ann found somewhat unsettling. Dark niches here and there in the plastered walls were surrounded with faded blue symbols and decorations that had flaked off in places. There were words as well, but they were too old and dull to be legible without careful study. Bookshelves as well as ancient wooden tables, all layered in dirt, sat in several places up against the angled walls.

  Dead-still cobwebs, heavy with dust, hung everywhere like drapes meant to decorate the room beneath the graves. Dozens of candles sat on tables and in some of the empty niches, giving the whole place a soft, otherworldly glow, as if all the dead above Ann’s head must periodically descend to this place to discuss matters important only to the deceased, and to welcome new members into their eternal order.

  Beyond the diaphanous curtains of dust-choked cobwebs, amongst four massive tables that had been dragged together, stood Nathan. Disorderly stacks of books were piled high all around him on the tables.

  “Ah, there you are,” Nathan called from his book foil.

  Ann cast a sidelong glance at Jennsen.

  “I had no idea that this place was down here,” the young woman said in answer to the question that remained unasked on Ann’s tongue. Points of candlelight danced in her blue eyes. “I didn’t even know this place existed.”

  Ann looked around again. “I doubt anyone in the last few thousand years knew this place existed. I wonder how he found it.”

  Nathan snapped a book shut and placed it on a pile behind him. His straight white hair brushed his broad shoulders as he turned back. His hooded, dark azure eyes fixed on Ann.

  Ann caught the unspoken meaning in Nathan’s gaze. She turned to Jennsen. “Why don’t you go up and wait with Tom, my dear. It can be a lonely job standing watch in a graveyard.”

  Jennsen looked disappointed, but seemed to understand their need to be left to their business. She flashed a smile. “Sure. I’ll be right up top if you need anything.”

  As the sound of Jennsen’s footsteps on the stone stairs dwindled away into a distant, echoing whisper, Ann struck a weaving course through the vails of cobwebs.

  “Nathan, what in the world is this place?”

  “No need to whisper,” he said. “See how the walls turn at all those odd angles? It cuts the echo.”

  Ann was a little surprised to hear that he was right. Usually, the echo in stone rooms was annoying, but this odd twisting room had the hush of the dead.

  “There’s something strangely familiar about the shape of this place.”

  “Concealment spell,” the prophet said, offhandedly.

  Ann frowned. “What?”

  “The configuration of the whole thing is in the form of a concealment spell.” He gestured to each side when he saw the puzzled look she gave him. “It’s not the layout of the entire place, the placement of rooms and the course of the various halls and passageways—like at the People’s Palace—that is the spell-form, but rather it’s the precise line of the walls themselves that make up the spell-form, as if someone drew the spell large on the ground and then simply built the walls touching right against that line before hollowing out the middle. Because the walls are a uniform thickness, that means that the outside of the walls are also the shape of the spell-form, so that lends to reinforce the whole thing. Quite clever, actually.”

  For such a spell to work, it had probably been drawn in blood and with the aid of human bones. There would have been ample supply of those at hand.

  “Someone certainly went to a lot of trouble,” Ann said as she appraised the space again. This time she began to recognize some of the shapes and angles in opposition. “What exactly is this place used for?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted with a sigh. “I don’t know if these books were meant to be buried with the dead for all time, or they were being hidden, or there was some other purpose.” Nathan beckoned with his hand. “This way. Let me show you something.”

  Ann followed him through several of the zigzags, around turns, and past yet more shelves lined with dusty books, until they reached an area of niches three high to each side.

  Nathan leaned an elbow against the wall. “Look there,” he said as he pointed a long finger downward, indicating one of the low, arched openings in the stone wall.

  Ann stooped and peered inside. It contained a body.

  All that was left were bones clothed in dusty tatters of robes. A leather belt circled the waist while a strap crossed over one shoulder. Skeletal arms were folded over the chest. Gold chains hung around the neck. Ann could see by the glint of light off the medallion on one of the chains that Nathan must have lifted it for a look, and in so doing his fingers had cleaned off the dust.

  “Any idea who he is?” she asked as she straightened and folded her hands before herself.

  Nathan leaned down close to her.

  “I believe he was a prophet.”

  “I thought there was no need to whisper.”

  He arched an eyebrow as he straightened his frame to its considerable height. “There are a number of other people interred here.” He flicked a hand off toward the darkness. “Back that way.”

  Ann wondered if they could all be prophets as well. “And the books?”

  Nathan leaned down again, and whispered again. “Prophecy.”

  She frowned and looked back the way they had come. “Prophecy? You mean all of them? Those are all books of prophecy?”

  “Most of them.”

  Excitement bubbled up through her. Books of prophecy were invaluable. They were the rarest of jewels. Such books could offer guidance, provide answers they needed, spare them futile endeavors, fill in gaps in their knowledge. Perhaps more than at any other time in history, they needed those answers. They needed to know more about the final battle in which Richard was supposed to lead them.

  As of yet they had not discovered when this battle was to take place. With the frustrating vagary of prophecy, it could yet be many years off. For that matter, it was even possible that it was not to take place until Richard was an old man. With all the difficulties they had faced in the past several years, they could only hope that it was still many years off and they would have time to prepare. Prophecy could help with that.

  The vaults at the Palace of the Prophets had been filled with thousands of volumes of prophecy, but they had all been destroyed along with the palace to prevent it from falling into the hands of E
mperor Jagang. Better to lose such works for all time than allow evil to look upon their pages.

  But no one knew of this place. This place was hidden beneath a concealment spell. The dizzying possibilities spun through Ann’s mind.

  “Nathan—this is wonderful.”

  She turned and looked up at the man. He was watching her in a way that made her fidgety. She reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

  “Nathan, this is more than we could ever have hoped.”

  “This is something more than that,” he said cryptically as he started hack. “There are books here that make me doubt my sanity,” he said with a sullen flourish of an arm.

  “Ah,” Ann quipped as she followed along in his wake, “verification at last.”

  He halted and turned a glare on her. “This is nothing to joke about.”

  Ann felt goose flesh ripple up her arms. “Show me then,” she said in a serious tone. “What is it you’ve found?”

  He shook his head, seeming to lose his momentary flash of ill humor. “I’m not even sure.” His usual flamboyance was nowhere in evidence as he moved in among the tables he’d dragged together. His dark mood turned guarded. “I’ve been sorting the books.”

  Ann wanted to hurry him along and get to the meat of his discovery, but she knew that when he was troubled it was best to let Nathan explain things in his own way, especially when there was arcane speculation involved.

  “Sorting them?”

  He nodded. “These here in this pile don’t appear to be of any real use to us. Most are prophecy long since outdated, contain only irrelevant records, or are in unknown languages—things like that.”

  He turned and slapped a hand to the top of another stack. Dust boiled up. “These here are all books that we had back at the palace.” He swept his hand back and forth in front of the stacks of books piled high on the table behind him. “All of them. This whole tableful.”