2 - Stone of Tears

by Goodkind, Terry

  'Because I must not fail. I know that if I took Savidlin, he would try his hardest, but if he failed, the Mud People would know he did his best. You are a better hunter of men. Richard told me once that if he had to pick one man to fight beside him, it would be you, even though you hate him.

  'Where we go, men are the danger. If I don't make it, if you fail me, everyone will think it is because you didn't try your hardest. They will always think you let me die - let another Mud Person die - because you hate me and Richard. If you let me be killed, you will never be welcomed back to the Mud People. Your people.'

  Prindin stepped forward, his brother right next to him. 'I will go. My brother, too. We will help you.'

  Chandalen glared. 'I will not! I will not go!'

  Kahlan looked to the Bird Man. His brown eyes met hers, and then he turned an iron gaze on Chandalen. 'Kahlan is a Mud Person. You are the bravest, most cunning fighter among us. It is your responsibility to protect us. All of us. You will do this. You will go with her. You will follow her orders and you will get her safely to where she wishes to go. Or, you will leave now, and never return. And Chandalen, if she is killed, don't come back. If you do, we will kill you as we would kill any outsider with black painted on his eyes.'

  Chandalen shook with rage. He threw his spear on the ground. Seething, he put fists to his hips. 'If I am to leave our land there will have to be a ceremony to call the spirits to protect us on our journey It will take until tomorrow. We leave then.'

  All eyes went to Kahlan. 'I leave in one hour. You will be with me. You haw until then to prepare.'

  Kahlan turned to the spirit house to change out of her wedding dress, into her traveling clothes, and to get her things together. She gratefully accepted Weselan's offer to help.

  CHAPTER 18

  Fat, wet flakes of snow drifted down, sometimes falling harder, gathering in gusts and swirling into white curtains. Richard rode in a numb haze, behind Sister Verna, the third horse tethered to his and trotting along behind. When the snow swept down in dense flurries, the Sister was no more than a gray shape ahead of him.

  It never occurred to him to wonder where they were going, or to close his cloak against the cold, biting wind. It didn't matter; nothing mattered.

  His thoughts seemed to float and dance with the snow, unable to settle. He had never loved anything in his life the way he loved Kahlan. She had become his life.

  And she had sent him away.

  He hurt too much to think of anything else. He was stunned that she would doubt his love, that she would send him away. Why would she send him away?

  His mind drifted in and out of dense, desperate thoughts. He couldn't understand how she could ask him to put on a collar to prove his love. He had told her what wearing a collar meant to him. Maybe he should have told her all of it. Maybe then she would have understood.

  His chest ached where Darken Rahl had burned him. When he reached up and touched the bandage, he finally noticed that the snow flurries had stopped. The low, scudding clouds were broken in places, letting shafts of sunlight shine through. The grassland was a flat, dead brown, and the clouds a dull, dead gray. The landscape was a colorless, empty expanse.

  By the angle of the sun he realized it was getting to be late afternoon. They had been riding for a long time, in silence; Sister Verna had said nothing to him.

  He reached up and experimentally touched the collar for the first time. It was smooth, seamless, cold. He had said he would never wear a collar again. He had promised himself. Yet here he was wearing one. Worse, he had put it on himself, put it on because Kahlan had asked him to. Because she doubted him.

  For the first time since he had put it on, he forced himself to think of something else. He couldn't think about Kahlan anymore, couldn't stand the pain. He was the Seeker; he had other things to think about, important things. With a gentle squeeze of his lower legs to the horse's girth, he urged it ahead, pulling it close beside the Sister's chestnut gelding.

  Richard reached up to push back the hood of his cloak, and realized it wasn't even up, so he ran his fingers through his wet hair instead. He looked over at Sister Verna.

  There are some things we have to talk about. Important things you don't know about.'

  She glanced over without emotion. The edge of her hood partially blocked her face. 'And what would those things be?'

  'I am the Seeker.'

  She looked away, returning her eyes to where they had been. 'That is hardly something I don't know.'

  Her calm, unconcerned attitude annoyed him. 'I have responsibilities. I told you before: there are important things going on you know nothing about. Dangerous things.' She didn't respond. It was as if he hadn't spoken. He decided to cut right to the heart of it. 'The Keeper is trying to escape the underworld.'

  'We do not speak his name. You are not to speak it as you have just done. It brings his attention. When we must speak of him, he is addressed as the Nameless One.'

  She was talking to him as if he were a child. Kahlan's life was in danger and this woman was treating him like a child. 'I don't care what you call him, he's trying to get out. And I assure you, I already have his attention.'

  At last she looked over, unconcerned. The Nameless One is always trying to get out.'

  Richard took a deep breath and tried again. The veil to the underworld is torn. He is going to get out.'

  Sister Verna turned to him once more, this time pulling the edge of the hood back to get a better look. Curly brown hair peeked out the edge of the dark, heavy hood. She had an odd frown. A frown of amusement. There was a wisp of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

  The Creator himself put the Nameless One where he is. The Creator himself placed the veil with His own hand to keep him there.' Her smile swelled a little as her eyebrows came closer together, creasing her weathered brow. The Nameless One cannot escape the prison the Creator has placed him in. Do not be afraid, child.'

  Exploding in rage, Richard wheeled his bay mare around toward the Sister. The two horses jostled, whinnying and tossing their heads. Richard firmly snatched the reins of the Sister's surprised horse to keep it from rearing, or bolting.

  He leaned toward her, his chest heaving in fury. 'I will not be called names! I will not have names put to me because I wear a collar! I am Richard! Richard Rahl!'

  Sister Verna didn't flinch. Her voice remained calm and smooth. 'I'm sorry, Richard. It was only force of habit. I am used to dealing with ones much younger than you. I meant nothing demeaning by it.'

  The way she stared at him made him feel suddenly foolish, embarrassed. Made him feel like a child. He released the reins. 'I apologize for yelling. I'm not in a very good mood.'

  She frowned again. 'I thought your name was Cypher.'

  He tugged his cloak over his chest where the bandage covered his burn. 'It's a long story. George Cypher raised me as his son. I only found out a short time ago that I am in truth the son of Darken Rahl.'

  Her frown deepened. 'Darken Rahl. The one with the gift you killed? You killed your father?'

  'Don't look at me like that. You didn't know him. You have no idea what kind of man he was. He imprisoned and tortured and killed more people than you or I could imagine. The idea of him being with my mother makes me sick. But that is the truth of it. I am his son. If you expect me to be sorry I killed him, you will have longer than eternity to wait.'

  Sister Verna shook her head with what seemed genuine concern. 'I'm sorry, Richard. Sometimes the Creator weaves a tangled cloth for our lives, and we are left to wonder why. But I am sure of one thing: He has reasons for what He does.'

  Babble. He was getting babble from this woman. He urged his horse around and started out again. 'I'm telling you, the veil is torn, and the Keeper is going to get out.'

  Her voice lowered dangerously. 'The Nameless One.'

  He glanced over, annoyed. Tine. The Nameless One. I couldn't care less what you want to call him, but he is going to get out. We are all in great danger.'


  Kahlan was in great danger.

  He didn't care if this sorceress of a Sister burned him to a cinder; his life meant nothing to him anymore. His only concern was Kahlan's safety.

  Sister Verna's quizzical frown and smile returned. 'Who told you such a thing?'

  'Shota, a witch woman, she told me the veil was torn.' He left out that Shota had also told him he was the one who had torn it. 'She said it was torn and if it wasn't fixed, the Kee -the Nameless One would escape.'

  Sister Verna smiled. Her eyes sparkled. 'A witch woman.' She laughed a little. 'And you believed her? You believed a witch woman? You think witch women speak the truth in such simple fashion?'

  Fuming, Richard glanced at her from the corner of his eye. 'She seemed pretty sure of it to me. She wouldn't lie about something this important. I believe her.'

  Sister Verna seemed to think the whole thing amusing. 'If you had ever had occasion to deal with a witch woman before, Richard, you would know that they have an odd view of the truth. They can be well intentioned at times, but witch women speak in words that rarely come to pass the way they sound.'

  The truth of that took some of the steam out of him. Sister Verna certainly seemed to know about witch women. In fact, she seemed to share his own view of them. 'She seemed pretty sure of what she was saying. She was afraid.'

  'I am sure she was. A wise person is always afraid of the Nameless One. But I wouldn't put much stock in what she says.'

  'It's not just what she says. Other things have happened, too.'

  She looked over curiously. 'Such as?'

  'A screeling.'

  She set her calm brown eyes back ahead. 'A screeling. You have seen a screeling, yes?'

  'Seen it! It attacked me! Screelings are from the underworld. They are sent by the Nameless One. It was sent through a tear in the veil, to kill me!'

  Her smile returned. 'You have quite an imagination, Richard. You have listened to too many children's songs.'

  He restrained his renewed anger. 'What do you mean?'

  'Screelings are indeed from the underworld, as are other beasts. The heart hounds, for example. But they are not "sent." They simply escape. We live in a world that lies between good and evil; between the light and the dark. The Creator did not intend this to be a perfect world, safe from all harm. We cannot understand His reasons, always, but He has them, and He is perfect. Perhaps the Screelings are meant to show us the dark side. I don't know. But I do know they are simply an evil that sometimes comes. I have seen this happen before to ones with the gift. It is possible that the gift draws them. A test perhaps. A warning, perhaps, of the rancid evil that awaits those who stray from the light.'

  'But ... there are prophecies that say they are sent when the veil is torn, sent by the Nameless One.'

  'How could that be, Richard? Has the veil ever been torn before?'

  'How should I know?' He thought a minute. 'But I don't see how it could have been. If it were, how could it have been mended? And it wouldn't have gone unnoticed. What are you getting at?'

  'Well, if the veil has never been torn, how could the screel-ings have been sent before? How would we know what they were? How could they have a name already put to them?'

  It was Richard's turn to frown. 'Maybe we only know them as screelings because they have been named in the prophecy.'

  'You have read this prophecy?'

  'Well, no. Kahlan told it to me.'

  'And she read it herself, with her own eyes, yes?'

  'No. She learned it when she was young.' Richard's irritated frown deepened. 'In a song. She learned it from wizards.'

  'In a song.' Sister Verna didn't look over, but her smile widened. 'Richard, I do not mean to belittle your fears, but things repeated, over and over, especially in a song, have a way of changing.

  'As for prophecies, well, they are harder to understand than a witch woman. We have vaults full of them at the palace. As part of your studies, perhaps you will be allowed to work with them. I have read all of them we have, and I can tell you that they are beyond the minds of most. If you aren't cautious, you can find a prophecy that will say whatever you want to hear. Or at least you will think it is what you want to hear. Some wizards devote their lives to the study of them, and yet even they understand only a tiny fraction of their truth.'

  'This is a danger not to be taken so lightly.'

  'Do you think the veil is torn that simply? Have faith, Richard. The Creator placed the veil. Have faith in Him.'

  Richard rode in silence for a time. Sister Verna did seem to make sense. He felt as if his understanding of the world was tilting.

  But it was difficult for him to think too hard on the subject; Kahlan kept creeping back into his mind. His anguish at her wanting him to put on a collar to prove his love, knowing it would take him from her, tore at his heart. The betrayal burned painfully in his chest.

  He picked at the reins with his thumbnail. At last he turned once more to the Sister. 'That's not all. I haven't told you the worst of it.'

  She smiled a motherly smile. 'There is more? Tell me then. Perhaps I can put your fears to rest.'

  Richard let out a deep breath, trying to release at least a little of the pain with it. 'The man I killed, Darken Rahl, my father, well, when he died, he was sent to the underworld. To the Kee ... the Nameless One. Last night, he escaped. Escaped through the tear in the veil. He is back in this world, back to tear the veil the rest of the way.'

  'And you know he was sent to the Nameless One. You were in the underworld to see him arrive there, at the side of the Nameless One, yes?'

  The woman had a way of poking his temper awake. He tried to ignore the sting of the jab. 'I talked to him when he came back to this world. He told me. He told me he was here to tear the veil the rest of the way. He said the Keeper would have us all. A dead man, come back to this world. Do you see? The only way his spirit could be here is if he came through the veil.'

  'You were just sitting there, and this dead man walked up and spoke to you, yes?'

  Richard frowned deeply at her, but she didn't look over to see it. 'It was at a gathering, with the Mud People. I was trying to talk to their ancestors' spirits, to try to find out how to close the veil, and he appeared.'

  'Ahhh.' She nodded in satisfaction. 'I see.'

  'What does that mean!'

  Sister Verna's face set into an expression of tolerance, born of explaining things to children. 'Did the Mud People have you drink or eat some sacred potion before you saw this spirit?'

  'No!'

  'You simply sat down with them and saw spirits, yes?'

  'Well, not exactly. There is a banquet first. For a couple of days. The elders eat and drink special things. But I never did. Then we were painted with mud, and then I went into the spirit house with the seven elders. We sat in a circle, and they chanted awhile. Then they passed around a basket and we took out a spirit frog, and rubbed the slime from its back onto our skin. ..."

  'Frogs.' Sister Verna looked over. 'Red frogs, yes?'

  'Yes. Red spirit frogs.'

  With a smile she looked back ahead. 'I know of them. And it made your skin tingle, yes? And it is then you saw spirits?'

  That's a pretty simplistic version, but I guess you could distill it down like that. What are you trying to say?'

  'You have traveled the Midlands often? You have seen many of her peoples?'

  'No. I'm from Westland. I don't know much about the people of the Midlands.'

  She nodded to herself again. There are many peoples in the Midlands, unbelievers, who do not know of the light of the Creator. They worship all sorts of things. Idols and spirits and such. They are savages who hold to customs of worship centered around these false beliefs. They mostly have one thing in common. They use sacred food or drink to help them "see" their "spirit protectors."'

  She looked over to make sure he was paying attention. The Mud People apparently use the substance on the red frogs to help them have these visions of what they
wish to see.'

  'Visions?'

  'The Creator has placed many plants and animals in our world for us to use. The power of these things work in invisible ways. A tea, for example, of the bark of willow can help reduce a fever. We can't see it work, but we know it does. There are many things that if eaten will make us sick, even kill us. The Creator gave us minds to learn the difference. There are some things that if eaten, or in the case of the red frogs, rubbed into our skin, will make us see things, just as we see things when we dream.

  'Savages who don't know better think the things they see are real. That is what happened to you. You rubbed the slime of a red frog into your skin and it gave you visions. Your rightful fear of the Nameless One made it all the more real to you. If these "spirits' were real, why would you need to use some special plant, or food, or drink, or in this case, red frogs, to see and talk to them?