2 - Stone of Tears

by Goodkind, Terry

  He reached up experimentally to stroke the horse's black-tipped ear. It lifted its head firmly away from his hand. 'So,' he muttered, 'they like to twitch your ear, too.' He scratched and patted the horse's neck. 'I won't do that to you, my friend.' The horse leaned against his scratching.

  Richard retrieved water in a canvas bucket and let each horse have only a few swallows, as they weren't cooled down. In one of the saddlebags, he found brushes, and took his time carefully currying each of them and then picking their hooves clean. He took longer than he needed to, because he preferred their company to the Sister's.

  After he finished, he cut a section of rind from the melon the Bantak had given him, and gave each horse a piece. Horses loved few things in life as much as a melon rind. Each showed eagerness for the treat. It was the first eagerness any of them had shown. After seeing the spade bits, he knew why.

  When he decided his chest hurt too much to stand around any longer, he went over to where Sister Verna sat on a small blanket and put his own blanket on the ground opposite her. He folded his legs as he sat and pulled a piece of the flat tava bread from his pack, more for something to do than because he was hungry. She accepted his offer of a piece. He cut up the melon and put the remaining rind aside, saving it for later. Richard offered Sister Verna a piece of melon.

  She looked at it coolly as he held it out. 'It was given under false pretenses.'

  'It was given as thanks for preventing a war.'

  She took it at last, but not eagerly. 'Perhaps.'

  'I'll take first watch, if you wish,' he offered.

  There is no need to stand watch.'

  He appraised her in the near darkness as he chewed a juicy piece of melon. 'There are heart hounds in the Midlands. Other things, too. I could draw another screeling. I think a watch would be wise.'

  She pulled off a piece of tava bread without looking up. 'You are safe with me. There is no need for a watch.'

  Her voice was flat. It wasn't angry, but it wasn't far from it, either. He ate in silence for a while, and then decided to try to lighten the mood. He tried to make his voice sound cheerful, even though he felt no cheer.

  'I'm here, you're here, I'm wearing the Rada'Han, how about if you start teaching me to use the gift?'

  She looked up from under her eyebrows as she chewed. 'There will be time enough to teach you when we reach the Palace of the Prophets.'

  The air felt as if it had suddenly cooled. His anger heated. The sword's anger tugged at him to be released. Richard put it down. As you wish.'

  Sister Verna lay down on her blanket, pulling her cloak tightly around herself. 'It's cold. Build a fire.'

  He put the last bite of tava bread in his mouth and waited until he had swallowed before speaking softly. Her eyes watched him.

  'I'm surprised you don't know more about magic, Sister Verna. There is a word that is magic. It can accomplish more than you might think. Maybe you have heard it before. It is the word "please."' He rose to his feet. 'I'm not cold. If you want a fire, build it yourself. I'm going to go stand watch. I told you before, I will take nothing on faith. If we are killed in the night, it won't be without warning on my watch.'

  ----------

  He turned his back to her without waiting for a response. He didn't want to hear anything she had to say. Walking off a good distance through the dry grass, he found a mound of dirt around a ground-hog hole and flopped down on top of it to watch. To think.

  The moon was up. It stared down at him and cast a pale silver light upon the surrounding empty land, enough light to enable him to see without any trouble. He looked out over the deserted countryside, brooding. As much as he tried to think of other things, it did no good. He could think of only one thing: Kahlan.

  He drew up his knees and wrapped his arms around them, after he had wiped some tears from his face. He wondered what she was doing, where she was, whether she would get Zedd. He wondered if she still cared for him enough to go get Zedd.

  The moon moved slowly across the sky as it stared down on him. What was he going to do? He felt lost.

  He pictured Kahlan's face in his mind. He would have conquered the world to see her smile at him. To bask in the warmth of her love. Richard studied her face in his mind. He pictured her green eyes, her long hair. Her beautiful hair.

  At that thought, he remembered the lock of her hair she had put in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it in the moonlight. It was a circle she had pulled together and tied in the middle with the ribbon from her wedding dress, so that it reminded him of a figure eight turned sideways, as he held it in his fingers. Turned sideways like that, it was also the symbol for infinity.

  Richard rolled the lock of hair between his finger and thumb, watching it as it spun. Kahlan had given it to him to remember her by. Something to remember her by. Because he would never see her again. Racking grief choked his breathing.

  He gripped the Agiel as hard as he could, until his fist shook with the effort. The pain from the Agiel, and his heartache, twisted together into burning agony. He let it distort his perception until he could stand it no longer, and then he let it go on longer yet, let it go on until he collapsed to the base of the dirt mound, barely conscious.

  He gasped for air. The pain had swept all the thoughts from his mind. If only for a few minutes, his mind had been free of the anguish. He lay on the ground a long time, recovering.

  When he was finally able to sit up once more, he found the lock of hair still in his hand. He stared at it in the moonlight, remembering what Sister Verna had said to him, that he had told the Bantak a lie. A filthy lie. Those had been Kahlan's words. She had said that his love for her was a 'filthy lie.' Those words hurt more than the Agiel.

  'It's not a lie,' he whispered. 'I would do anything for you, Kahlan.'

  But it wasn't good enough. Putting on the collar wasn't good enough. He wasn't good enough. Son of a monster. He knew what she wanted. What she really wanted. She wanted to be free of him.

  She wanted him to put on the collar so he would be taken away. So she would be free. 'I would do anything for you, Kahlan,' he cried. He stood up and looked out over the empty grassland. The dark horizon wavered in a watery blur. Anything. Even this. I set you free, my love.' Richard threw the lock of Kahlan's hair as far as he could out into the night.

  He sank to his knees and fell face-first to the ground, sobbing. He cried until he could cry no more. He continued to lie on the cold ground, groaning in agony until he realized he was gripping the Agiel again. He let it go and at last sat up, flopping back in exhaustion against the dirt mound. It was over, finished. He felt empty. Dead. After a time he rose to his feet. He stood a moment, and then slowly drew the Sword of Truth.

  Its ring was a soft song in the cold air. The anger came out with the steel, and he let it fill the void in him, rage freely through him. He welcomed the anger into himself, letting it fill him until he was submerged in its wrath. His chest heaved with lethal need.

  His eyes glided to where the Sister lay sleeping. He could see the dark hump of her body as he approached silently. He was a woods guide; he knew how to stalk silently. He was good at it.

  His eyes carefully watched the ground as he moved fluidly, watched the sleeping form of Sister Verna as he closed the distance. He didn't hurry. There was no need to hurry. He had as much time as he needed. He tried to slow his breathing to keep from making noise. He was nearly panting with all-consuming fury.

  The thought of wearing a collar again fed the raging fire within him, fueled the inferno.

  Rage from the sword's magic seared through him like molten metal. Richard recognized the feeling all too well, and gave himself over to it. He was beyond reason, beyond being stopped. Nothing short of blood would now satisfy the bringer of death.

  His knuckles were white on the hilt. His muscles knotted with restrained need aching to be set free. But they wouldn't be restrained for long. The magic of the Sword of Truth screamed to do his bidding.

 
; Richard stood, a silent shadow, over Sister Verna, looking down at her. The fury pounded in his head. He drew the sword along the inside of his forearm, wiping both sides in the blood, giving the steel a taste of it. The dark stain ran down the fuller, dripping from the tip. It ran wet and warm down his arm. His chest heaved as he gripped the hilt in both hands again.

  He felt the weight of the collar around his neck; the blade rose, glinting in the moonlight.

  He watched the sleeping Sister at his feet. She was drawn up almost into a ball. She was cold, and she shivered as she slept.

  He stood with the blade raised, watching her as he gritted his teeth and shook with raging need. Kahlan didn't want him. Son of a monster.

  No. Just monster. He saw himself standing over the sleeping woman, his sword in the air, ready to kill.

  He was the monster.

  That was what Kahlan saw. And she had sent him away in a collar to be tortured. Because he was a monster that needed to be collared, a beast.

  Tears ran down his face. The sword slowly sank until the tip touched the ground. He stood staring at the Sister as she slept, shivering with the cold. He stood a long time, watching.

  Richard finally slid the sword quietly back into its scabbard. He retrieved his blanket and laid it over Sister Verna, tucking it carefully around her, being gentle so as not to wake her. He sat and watched until she stopped shivering and then he lay down, wrapping himself in his cloak.

  He was exhausted, and he hurt all over, but he couldn't sleep. He knew they were going to hurt him. That was what the collar was for. When she got him to the palace, they were going to hurt him.

  What difference did it make?

  Memories danced and darted through his mind, memories of what Denna had done to him. He remembered the pain, the helpless agony, the blood: his blood.

  The visions went on and on. As long as he lived he would never be able to forget them. It had only just ended, and now it was going to start all over again. There would never be an end to it.

  There was only one thought in all the turmoil of his mind that comforted him. He had learned from Sister Verna that he was wrong about the Keeper escaping. That meant Kahlan was safe. She was safe, and that was all that really mattered. He tried to keep everything else away and think only of that. That thought allowed him to drift, at last, into sleep.

  CHAPTER 19

  His eyes opened. The sun was just breaking the horizon. When he sat up, the pain from his burn caught his breath short. He put his hand over his shirt, where the bandage was, and held it there until that pain subsided. The residual effects of the Agiel left the rest of him feeling as if he had been beaten with a club. He ached everywhere. He remembered from the time when Denna had 'trained' him using the Agiel, feeling a lot worse when he awoke, only to have her start using the Agiel on him all over again.

  Sister Verna was sitting on her blanket, her legs folded beneath her, watching him as she chewed something. She had her cloak around her shoulders with the hood down. Her curly brown hair looked freshly brushed.

  She had neatly folded Richard's blanket, and placed it back next to where he slept. She said nothing about it. Richard pushed himself to his feet, taking a moment to steady himself and stretch his hurting, cramped muscles. The sky was a clear, cold, deep blue. The grass smelled sweet and damp with dew. The vapor of his breath drifted lazily in the still, crisp air.

  'I'll go saddle the horses, and we can be on our way.'

  'Don't you want something to eat?'

  He shook his head. 'I'm not hungry.'

  'What happened to your arm?' she asked without looking up.

  There was dark, dried blood all down his arm and hand. 'I was polishing my sword. It was dark. I cut myself. It's nothing.'

  'I see.' She glanced up as he scratched the stubble on his face. 'I hope you are more careful when you shave your neck.'

  Richard decided in that instant that as long as he was held captive in a collar, he would not shave. It would be his way of proclaiming to them that a collar was unjust, that he knew he was nothing more than their prisoner, and that he would not believe their spurious protestations to the contrary. There could be no justification for a collar, and there would be no compromising of that basic truth - none, not ever.

  Richard glowered at the Sister. 'Prisoners don't shave.' He turned toward the horses.

  'Richard.' He looked over his shoulder. 'Sit down.' Her voice was gentle, but he glared at the order nonetheless. She gestured to a place in front of her. 'Sit down. I was thinking about what you said. You are here; I am here. Sit down and I will begin teaching you how to control the gift.'

  He was caught off-guard. 'Now? Here?'

  'Yes. Come and sit.'

  He didn't really care about using the gift; he hated magic. He had only asked about it before because he had been trying to ease the tension. His eyes darted about before he finally sat and folded his legs, imitating the way she was sitting.

  'What do you want me to do?'

  'There is much to teach you about using the gift. You will learn about balance in all things, especially magic. You must heed all our warnings, and follow what we tell you. There are dangers to using magic. Perhaps you already know this from using the Sword of Truth, yes?' Richard didn't move. She went on. There is greater danger in using the gift. It can have unanticipated results. Results that can be disastrous.'

  'I have already used the gift. You said I used it in three specific ways.'

  She leaned forward a little. And look what happened. It brought an unanticipated result. It resulted in you having that collar around your neck.'

  Surprised, Richard stared at her. 'That wasn't a result of my using the gift. You were already looking for me; you said so. If I hadn't used the gift, the result would have been the same.'

  Sister Verna slowly shook her head; her eyes stayed on his. 'We had been looking for you for years. Something hid you from us. If you hadn't used the gift in the ways you did, I doubt we ever would have found you. Using the gift put that collar around your neck.'

  Years. They had been searching for him for years. All that time he had lived peaceably in Westland, first with his brother and father and Zedd, and then on his own as a woods guide, they had been looking for him, and he never knew it. The thought gave him a chill. He brought it on himself, by using magic. He hated magic.

  'Although I would agree that that is disastrous, for me, how could you? It's what you want.'

  'It is what we had to do. But you have threatened my life. You have threatened the lives of anyone else who keeps that collar around your neck. That would be all the Sisters of the Light. I never take the warnings of wizards, even untrained wizards, lightly. Your use of the gift, allowing us to find you, could end up being a disaster for all of us.'

  He felt no satisfaction that his threats had not gone unnoticed. He felt nothing. 'Then why are you doing this?' he whispered. 'Making me wear it?'

  To help you. You would have died otherwise.'

  'You have already helped me. The headaches are gone. You have my thanks. Why can't you let me go now?'

  'If the collar is removed too soon, before you learn enough of controlling the gift, they will come back. You will die.'

  Then teach me, so I can get it off.'

  'We must be cautious in teaching magic. You must have patience in your studies. We are careful in our training because we know more of the dangers of magic than you, and we don't want you to be hurt through ignorance. But that is not a problem for now, because it will take time before you are advanced enough to really use the gift and risk these dangers, as long as you adhere to what we say. You can have patience, yes?'

  'I have no desire to use magic; I guess that could be construed as patience.'

  'Good enough, for now. We will begin then.' She squirmed a little, rearranging her legs. There is a force within us all. It is the force of life. We call it Han.' Richard frowned. 'Lift your arm.' He did as she asked. That is the force of life, given us by t
he Creator. It is encased within you. You have just used Han. Those with the gift can extend that force outside themselves. Such an external force is called a web. Those with the gift, like you, have the ability to cast a web.

  With the web, you can do things outside your body, much as the life force can do within your body.'

  'How can that be?'

  Sister Verna picked up a small stone in her fingers. 'Here, my mind is using Han to make my hand lift the stone. My hand is not doing it of its own accord, but rather, my mind is directing the life force to use my hand to accomplish what my mind wishes done.' She set the stone back on the ground and folded her hands in her lap. The stone floated into the air and hung between them. 'I have just accomplished the same thing, only this time I did it by projecting the life force outside of my body. That is the gift.'