2 - Stone of Tears

by Goodkind, Terry

  'Please don't think I am mocking you, Richard. The visions can seem very real. When you are under their influence, they can seem as real as anything. But they are not.'

  Richard was reluctant to believe the Sister's explanation, but he understood what she was talking about. From a young age, Zedd had taken him into the woods to find special plants to help people: aum to take away pain and help minor wounds heal faster, and wattle root to ease the pain of deeper wounds. Zedd had showed him other plants that would help fevers, digestion, the pain of childbirth, dizzy spells, and he had also told him about plants to avoid, plants that were dangerous, and plants that would make people see things that weren't there: visions.

  But he didn't think he had imagined Darken Rahl. 'He burned me.' Richard tapped his shirt where the bandage was. 'I couldn't have been having visions. Darken Rahl was there, he reached out and touched me, and it burned my skin. Pm not imagining that.'

  The Sister gave a little shrug. 'That could- be one of two things. After you rubbed the frog on your skin, you couldn't see the room you were in, could you?'

  'No. It just seemed to disappear into a dark void.'

  'Well, see it or not, it was still there. And I'm sure the savages would have had a fire burning when you had this gathering. And when you were burned, you were not sitting in the same place, but you were standing, moving about, yes?'

  'Yes,' he admitted reluctantly.

  She pursed her lips. 'In the deluded state you were in, you probably fell and burned yourself on a stick in the fire and imagined that it was this spirit doing the burning.'

  Richard was beginning to feel decidedly foolish. Could the Sister be right? Was it all this simple? Was he really this gullible?

  'You said it could be two things. What is the other?'

  The Sister rode in silence for a moment. When her voice came, it came lower, darker, than it had before. The Nameless One always seeks to have us side with him. Though he is locked behind the veil, his tentacles can still reach into this world. He can still harm us. He is dangerous. The dark side is dangerous. When ignorant people dabble in things dark, they can call forth danger, call forth the attention of the Nameless One or his minions. It is possible you really were touched, burned, by one of the evil ones.' She glanced over. There are dangerous things people are too foolish to avoid. Sometimes, those things can kill.'

  Her voice brightened a bit. That is one of our jobs; trying to teach those who have not yet seen the light of the Creator to go toward that light, and stay away from the things dark, and dangerous.'

  Richard couldn't think of anything to counter the Sister's explanations of events. The things she said made sense. If she were right, that would mean that Kahlan wasn't really in danger; that Kahlan was safe. He wanted to believe that. He desperately wanted to believe that. But still ...

  'I will admit that you could be right, but I'm not sure. There seems to be more to it than I can put into words.'

  'I understand, Richard. It's hard to admit we have been wrong. No one wants to admit they have been tricked, or made to look the fool. That view of ourselves hurts. But part of growing, learning, is being able to hold the truth above all else, even when it means we must admit to having held foolish ideas.

  'Please believe me, Richard, I do not see you as a fool for having believed as you did. Your fear was understandable. The mark of a wise person is being able to reach beyond for the truth, to admit they can learn more than they already know.'

  'But all of these things are connected ...'

  'Are they? A wise person doesn't string together the beads of unrelated events into a necklace simply to have something they wish to see. A wise person sees the truth even if it is something unexpected. That is the most beautiful necklace to wear - the truth.'

  'The truth,' he muttered to himself. He was the Seeker. The truth was what the Seeker was all about. It was woven in gold wire into the hilt of his sword: the Sword of Truth. Something about the things that had happened were more than he could put into words for her. Could it be as she said? Could he simply be fooling himself?

  He remembered the Wizard's First Rule: people will believe anything, either because they want it to be true, or are afraid it might be. He knew from experience that he was as susceptible to it as anyone else. He wasn't above believing a lie.

  He had believed Kahlan loved him. He had believed she would never do anything to hurt him. And she had sent him away. Richard felt the lump rising in his throat again.

  'I'm telling you the truth, Richard. I am here to help you.' He didn't answer. He didn't believe her. As if to answer his thoughts, she asked, 'How are your headaches?'

  The question stunned him. Not the question so much as the realization. 'They're ... gone. The headache is completely gone.'

  Sister Verna smiled and nodded in satisfaction. 'As I promised you, the Rada'Han would take away the headache. We only want to help you, Richard.'

  His eyes turned to watch her. 'You also said the collar is to control me.'

  'So we may teach you, Richard. You must have a person's attention to teach them. That's all it is for.'

  'And to hurt me. You said it is to give me pain.'

  She shrugged, opening her palms to the sky, the reins woven through her fingers. 'I have just given you pain. I showed you how you were believing in something foolish. Does that not give you pain? Does it not hurt you to learn you have been wrong? But isn't it better to know the truth than to believe a lie? Even if it hurts?'

  He looked away, thinking of the truth of Kahlan making him put on a collar, sending him away. That truth hurt more than anything: the truth that he wasn't good enough for her. 'I guess so. But I don't like wearing a collar. Not one bit.'

  He was sick of talking. His chest hurt. His muscles were all cramped. He was tired. He missed Kahlan. But Kahlan had made him put on a collar and sent him away. He let his horse and the one tethered to his saddle fall back to trail behind the Sister's once more as tears ran down his cheeks, feeling like ice on his skin.

  He rode in silence. His horse tore off wads of grass and chewed as it plodded along. Ordinarily, Richard wouldn't have let his horse eat while it had a bit in its mouth. It couldn't chew properly with the bit, and could end up with colic. You could lose a good horse to colic. Instead of stopping it, Richard stroked its warm neck and gave reassuring pats.

  It felt good to have company that didn't tell him he was stupid; company that didn't judge or make demands. He didn't feel like doing the same to the horse. Better to be a horse than a man, he thought. Walk, turn, stop. Nothing more. Better to be anything than what he was.

  Despite what Sister Verna said, he knew he was nothing more than a captive. Nothing she said could change that.

  If he was ever going to be set free, he would have to learn to control the gift. Once the Sisters were satisfied he could control the gift, maybe they would free him. If Kahlan didn't want him, at least he would be free.

  That was what he would do, he decided. Learn to use the gift as fast as he could, so he could get the collar off and be set free. Zedd had always told him he was a fast learner. He would learn everything. Besides, he had always liked learning. He had always wanted to know more. There was never enough for him. He brightened the slightest bit at the idea. He liked learning new things. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He could do it. Besides, what else was there?

  He thought of the way Denna trained him, taught him.

  His mood sank. He was just deluding himself. They would never set him free. He wasn't going to learn because he wanted to, or what he wanted to; he was going to learn what the Sisters of the Light wanted him to learn, and he didn't necessarily believe that what they taught was the truth. They were going to teach him about pain. It was hopeless.

  He rode with his dark, brooding thoughts. He was the Seeker. The bringer of death.

  Every time he killed someone with the Sword of Truth, he knew that that was what he was. That was what the Seeker did, what the Seeker was: the bringe
r of death.

  As the sky began flaming into pinks, yellows, and golds, he noticed white patches in the distance ahead. It wasn't snow; the snow hadn't stuck. Besides, these things moved. Sister Verna didn't say anything about them; she simply rode along. The sun at their backs sent long shadows ahead of them. For the first time, Richard realized they were traveling east.

  When they were closer, he recognized the white forms spread across their way, turning pink in the last rays of the sun. It was a small flock of sheep. As they passed among them, Richard saw that the people tending the animals were Bantak. He recognized their manner of dress.

  Three Bantak men approached to the side of Richard, ignoring Sister Verna. They mumbled something he didn't understand, but their words and faces seemed to hold a certain reverence. The three dropped to their knees and bowed down, stretching their arms out, their hands on the ground toward him. Richard slowed his horse to a walk as he looked down at them. They came back up on their knees, chattering at him, but he didn't understand the words.

  Richard lifted his hand in greeting. It seemed to satisfy them. The three broke into grins and bowed a few more times as he rode past. They came to their feet and trotted next to his horse, attempting to push things into his hands: bread, fruit, strips of dried meat, a drab, dirty scarf, necklaces made of teeth, bone and beads, even their shepherd's crooks.

  Richard forced a smile and, with signs he thought they would understand, tried to decline the offers without offending the men. One of the three was particularly insistent he take a melon, offering it repeatedly. Richard didn't want trouble, so he took the melon and bowed his head several times. They seemed proud, nodding and bowing as he rode on. He gave them a last bow from his saddle as he rode past, and slipped the melon into a saddlebag.

  Sister Verna had her horse turned toward him, waiting for him to catch up. She scowled as she waited. Richard didn't hurry his horse along; he simply let it go at its own pace. What now, he wondered.

  When he finally reached her, she leaned toward him. 'Why are they saying those things!'

  'What things? I don't understand their language.'

  She gritted her teeth. They think you are a wizard. Why would they think that? Why!'

  Richard shrugged. 'I would guess it's because that's what I told them.'

  'What!' She pushed the hood of her cloak back. 'You are not a wizard! You have no right telling them you are! You lied!'

  Richard folded his wrists over the high pommel of the saddle. 'You're right. I'm not a wizard. Yes, I told them a lie.'

  'Lying is a crime against the Creator!'

  Richard heaved a weary sigh. 'I did not do it to play at being a wizard. I did it to stop a war. It was the only way I could keep a lot of people from dying. It worked and no one was hurt. I would do the same thing again if it would prevent killing.'

  'Lying is wrong! The Creator hates lies!'

  'Does this Creator of yours like killing better?'

  Sister Verna looked like she was ready to spit fire at him. 'He is everyone's Creator. Not just my Creator. And He hates lies.'

  Richard calmly appraised her heated expression. 'Tell you that himself, did he? Come right up and sit down next to you and say "Sister Verna, I want you to know I hate lies"?'

  She ground her teeth and growled the words. 'Of course not. It is written. Written in books.'

  'Ahh.' Richard nodded. 'Well then, of course it is the truth. If it is written in books, then it has to be true. Everyone knows that if something is written down and attributed, then it must be true.'

  Her eyes were fire. 'You treat lightly the Creator's words.'

  He leaned toward her, some of his own heat surfacing. 'And you, Sister Verna, treat lightly the lives of people you consider heathens.'

  She paused and with an effort calmed herself a little. 'Richard, you must learn that lying is wrong. Very wrong. It is against the Creator. Against what we teach. You are as much a wizard as an infant is an old man. Calling yourself a wizard when you are not is a lie. A filthy lie. It is a desecration. You are not a wizard.'

  'Sister Verna, I know very well that lying is wrong. I am not in the habit of going around telling lies, but in perspective, I consider it preferable to people being killed. It was the only way.'

  She took a deep breath and nodded, causing the curls in her brown hair to spring up and down a little. 'Perhaps you are right. So long as you know that lying is wrong. Don't make a habit of it. You are no wizard.'

  Richard stared at her as his grip tightened on the reins. 'I know I'm not a wizard, Sister Verna. I know exactly what I am.' He gave his horse's ribs a squeeze with his legs, urging it ahead. 'I'm the bringer of death.'

  Her hand darted out and snatched a fistful of his shirtsleeve, yanking him around in his saddle. He snugged the reins back as he was pulled around to her wide eyes.

  Her voice was an urgent whisper. 'What did you say? What did you call yourself?'

  He gave her an even look. 'I'm the bringer of death.'

  'Who named you that?'

  Richard studied her ashen face. 'I know what wearing this sword means. I know what it is to draw it. I know it better than any Seeker before me has known. It is part of me, I am part of it. I used its magic to kill the last person who put a collar around my neck. I know what it makes me. I lied to the Bantak because I didn't want people to be killed. But there is another reason. The Bantak are a peaceful people. I did not want them to learn the horror of what it means to kill. I know all too well that lesson. You killed Sister Elizabeth ; perhaps you know, too.'

  'Who named you "bringer of death"?' she pressed.

  'No one. I named myself, because that is what I do, what I am. I am the bringer of death.'

  She released her grip on his shirt. 'I see.'

  As she began turning her horse around, he called out her name in a commanding tone. It brought her to a halt. 'Why? Why do you want to know who named me that? Why is it so important?'

  Her anger seemed to have vanished, and left a shadow of fear in its passing. 'I told you I read all the prophecies at the palace. There is a fragment of one that contains those words. "He is the bringer of death, and he shall so name himself."'

  Richard narrowed his eyes. And what does the rest of the prophecy say? Did it also say that I will kill you, and anyone else I have to, to get this collar off?'

  She looked away from his glare. 'Prophecies are not for the eyes or ears of the untrained.'

  With a sharp kick, she surprised her horse and sent it surging ahead. As he followed behind, Richard decided to let the matter drop. He didn't care about prophecies. They were nothing more than riddles as far as he was concerned, and he hated riddles. If something was important enough to need saying, why couch it in riddles? Riddles were stupid games, and not important.

  As he rode, he wondered how many people he was going to have to kill to get the collar off. One, or a hundred, it didn't matter. His rage boiled at the thought of being led around by the Rada'Han. He gritted his teeth at the thought. His jaw muscles flexed at the thought. His fists tightened on the reins.

  Bringer of death. He would kill as many as it took. He would have the collar off, or he would die trying. The fury, the need to kill, surged through every fiber of his being.

  With a start, he realized he was calling forth the magic from the sword, even as it sat in its scabbard. He no longer had to hold the sword to do it. He could feel its wrath tingling through him. With an effort, he put it down and calmed himself.

  Besides the rage of hate from the sword, he also knew how to call forth its opposite side, its white magic. The Sisters didn't know he could do that. He hoped he would have no reason to teach them. But if he had to, he would. He would have the collar off. He would use either side of the sword's magic, or both, to have the collar off his neck. When the time came. When the time came.

  In the violet afterglow of twilight, Sister Verna brought them to a halt for the night. She had said nothing further to him. He didn't know if sh
e was still angry, but he didn't really care.

  Richard walked the horses a short distance to a line of small willows at the bank of a creek and removed their bridles, replacing them with halters. His bay tossed her head, glad to have the bit out of her mouth. Richard saw it was an aggressive spade bit. Few bits were more cruelly punishing.

  People who used them, it seemed to him, were people who thought horses were nothing more than beasts humans had to conquer and control. He thought maybe they should have to have a bit in their mouths to see how they liked it. Properly trained, a horse needed nothing more than a jointed snaffle. If it was properly trained, and given a little understanding, it didn't even need a bit. He guessed some people preferred punishment to patience.