Stone of Tears tsot-2

by Terry Goodkind

  “How can it do that?” Richard whispered.

  She had no answer. Behind them, torches appeared. Hunters were closing in around them, trying to bottle up the attacker.

  Richard looked around. “If these people try to get this thing, its going to kill the lot of them.” They stepped into a moonlit intersection of passageways. “Kahlan, I can’t let that happen.” He looked to his right, down toward a group of hunters coming with torches. “Go to those men. Get behind them.”

  “Richard, I’m not leaving . . .”

  He shoved her. “Do as I say! Now!”

  His tone made her jump. Involuntarily, she backed away. Richard stood still in the moonlight, holding the sword in both hands, the tip resting on the ground. He looked up at the screeling hanging on the wall. It howled a laugh, as if suddenly recognizing the figure standing before it.

  The screeling let go with its claws, dropping straight down, landing in the darkness with a thud.

  Kahlan could see the angry set of Richard’s jaw as he watched the blur racing toward him, kicking up a cloud of dust. The sword’s tip stayed on the ground.

  This can’t be happening, she thought, it just can’t. Not when everything is finally right. This thing could kill him. It could really kill him. It could be the end of everything. The thought stopped her breath. Her Confessor’s Blood Rage roared to the surface. Her flesh tingled.

  The screeling sprang into the air toward Richard. The sword tip snapped upward, impaling the dark, flailing form. She could see a good foot and a half of steel sticking from its back, glinting in the moonlight. The screeling again howled its terrible laughter. It clawed at the sword, pulling itself up by the blade toward Richard. It severed some of its own clawed fingers as it clutched at the blade, thrashing ahead. Richard gave the sword a mighty swing. The screeling slid off, slamming against the wall.

  Without pause it sprang for him again. Already Richard was swinging the sword. Kahlan felt a rush of panicked anger. Without even realizing what she was doing, she had her arm up, her fist toward the thing trying to kill Richard, the man she loved; the only man she would ever love.

  The screeling was nearly upon him, the sword completing its swing. Kahlan felt the power surge through her in a choking rush. She released it. Eerie blue light exploded from her fist, rending the night with a blinding flash of blue daylight.

  The sword and the bolt of blue lightning hit the screeling at the same time. The screeling burst apart in a shower of bloodless, black pieces. Kahlan had seen the Sword of Truth do the same thing to living flesh. She didn’t know if it was the sword or the blue lightning that had done it this time.

  The crack of thunder from the bolt left her ears ringing in the sudden silence.

  She ran to Richard and threw her arms around him as he hunched, panting. “Are you all right?”

  He hugged her with his free hand, nodding. She held him for a long minute as shouting hunters with torches circled around them. Richard slid the sword back into its scabbard. In the torchlight, she could see a ragged gash on his upper arm. She tore off a strip of his shirtsleeve and tied it around the bleeding wound.

  She looked around at the hunters, all of whom held either nocked arrows or spears. “Is everyone safe?”

  Chandalen stepped into the torchlight and spoke to Kahlan. “I knew you would bring trouble.”

  She peered hard at his face, then merely thanked him and his men for trying to help.

  “Kahlan, what was that thing? And what in the world did you do?” Richard was slumping.

  She slipped her arm around his waist. “I think it’s called a screeling. And I’m not entirely sure what I did.”

  “A screeling? What is a . . .”

  His hands came to the sides of his head as his eyes winced shut. He sank to his knees. Kahlan wasn’t able to hold his weight. Savidlin was there and reached for him, but before he could get an arm around him, Richard fell forward on his face. He cried out in the dirt.

  “Savidlin, help me get him back to the spirit house, and send someone for Nissel. Please, tell them to hurry.”

  Savidlin shouted for one of his men to run for the healer. He and some of the others lifted Richard. Leaning on his spear, Chandalen only watched.

  A torchlit procession wound its way back to the spirit house. Savidlin and the men carrying Richard went inside with Kahlan. They laid Richard in front of the fire, lowering his head to the blanket. Savidlin sent his men out, but stayed with her.

  Kahlan knelt next to Richard and with trembling hands felt his forehead. He was ice cold and drenched in sweat. He appeared to be nearly unconscious. She bit her lip and tried not to cry.

  “Nissel will make him well,” Savidlin said. “You will see. She is a good healer. She will know what to do.”

  Kahlan could only nod. Richard mumbled incoherently as his head twisted about, as if seeking some position that brought no pain.

  They sat in silence until Savidlin asked, “Mother Confessor, what was that you did? How did you make lightning?”

  “I’m not sure how I did it. But it is part of the Confessor’s magic. It is called the Con Dar.”

  Savidlin studied her a moment as he squatted on his feet with his sinewy arms wrapped around his knees. “I never knew a Confessor could call down lightning.”

  She glanced over. “I have known for only a few days myself.”

  “And what was the dark thing?”

  “I think it may be a creature from the underworld.”

  “From the place the shadows came from, before?” Kahlan nodded. “Why would it come now?”

  “I’m sorry, Savidlin; I don’t have an answer. But if any more come, tell the people to walk away from them. Don’t stand still, and don’t run. Just walk away, and come get me.”

  In silence he contemplated what she had said. At last the door squeaked open and a stooped figure flanked by two men with torches entered.

  Kahlan sprang up and ran to her, taking her hand. “Nissel, thank you for coming.”

  Nissel smiled and patted her shoulder. “How is the arm, Mother Confessor?”

  “Healed, thanks to you. Nissel, something is wrong with Richard. He has terrible headaches.”

  Nissel smiled. “Yes, child. We will have a look at him.”

  One of the men with Nissel handed her a cloth bag as she knelt beside Richard. The objects in the bag clinked against one other as she set it on the ground. She told the man to bring the torch around. She took off the bloody bandage and, with her thumbs, pressed open the wound. Nissel glanced to Richard’s face to see if he felt it. He didn’t.

  “I will tend to the wound first, while he sleeps.”

  She cleaned the gash and stitched it while Kahlan and the three men watched in silence. The torches spit and hissed, lighting the inside of the nearly empty spirit house with harsh, flickering light. On the shelf, the skulls of ancestors watched along with the rest of them.

  Sometimes talking to herself as she worked, Nissel finished sewing, packed the wound with a poultice that smelled of pine pitch, and wrapped the arm with a clean bandage. Rummaging around in her bag, she told the men they could leave. As he went past, Savidlin touched Kahlan’s shoulder sympathetically and told her he would see them in the morning.

  After they were gone, Nissel halted her pawing in the bag and looked up at Kahlan. “I hear you are to be mated to this one.” Kahlan nodded. “I thought you couldn’t have a love, because you are a Confessor, that your power would take him . . . when you make babies.”

  Kahlan smiled across Richard to the old woman. “Richard is special. He has magic that protects him from my power.” They both had promised Zedd they would never reveal the truth—that it was his love for her that protected him.

  Nissel smiled, and her weathered hand touched Kahlan’s arm. “I am happy for you, child.” She bent back to her bag and finally pulled out a handful of little stoppered pottery bottles. “Does he get these headaches often?”

  “He told me he gets b
ad headaches sometimes, but that this is different, that it hurts more, like something is trying to get out of his head. He said he has never had any like it before. Do you think you can help him?”

  “We will see.” Pulling stoppers, she waved the bottles one at a time under his nose. One of them finally brought Richard awake. Nissel smelled the bottle herself to see what it was. She nodded and mumbled and went back into her bag.

  “What’s going on?” Richard groaned.

  Kahlan bent over and kissed his forehead. “Nissel is going to do something for your headaches. Lie still.”

  Richard’s back arched as he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. He put his shaking fists to the sides of his head.

  The healer pressed his chin down with her fingers, forcing his mouth open, and with her other hand shoved in some small leaves. “Tell him to chew. Keep chewing.”

  “She says to chew the leaves; they will help you.” Richard nodded and rolled to his side in agony as he chewed. Kahlan combed his hair back with her fingers, feeling helpless, wishing she could do more. It terrified her to see him in pain.

  Nissel poured a liquid from a skin into a large cup and mixed into it powders from other jars. She and Kahlan helped Richard sit up to drink the concoction. When he finished, he flopped back down, breathing hard, but still chewing the leaves.

  Nissel stood. “The drink will help him to sleep.” Kahlan came to her feet and Nissel handed her a small bag. “Have him chew more of these leaves when he needs them. They will help the pain.”

  Kahlan hunched over a little, so as not to tower over the old woman quite so much. “Nissel, do you know what is wrong?”

  Nissel pulled the stopper from the little bottle and sniffed it, then held it under Kahlan’s nose. It smelled of lilacs and licorice. “Spirit,” she said simply.

  “Spirit? What do you mean?”

  “It is a sickness of his spirit. Not of his blood, not of his balance, not of his air. Spirit.”

  Kahlan didn’t know what any of that meant, but it wasn’t really what she wanted to know. “Will he be all right? Will the medicine, and the leaves, will they cure him?”

  Nissel smiled and patted Kahlan’s arm. “I would like very much to be there when you are wed. I will not give up. If this doesn’t work, there are other things to try.”

  Kahlan took her arm and walked her out the door. “Thank you, Nissel.” Kahlan saw Chandalen standing near the short wall. Some of his men stood farther off in the darkness. Prindin was close, against the spirit house. She went to him. “Would you escort Nissel home, please?”

  “Of course.” He took the healer’s arm respectfully and guided her into the night.

  Kahlan shared a long look with Chandalen, and then went over to him. “I appreciate you and your men guarding us. Thank you.”

  He regarded her without emotion. “I am not standing guard for you. I am guarding our people from you. From what you may bring next.”

  Kahlan brushed dirt from her shoulders. “Either way, if something else comes, don’t try to kill it yourself. I don’t want any Mud People to die. That includes you. If something comes, you must not stand still, or run. If you do, it will kill you. You must walk. Come and get me. Don’t try to fight it by yourselves. Understand? Come and get me.”

  He still showed no emotion. “And you will call down more lightning?”

  She looked at him coolly. “If I have to.” She wondered if she could; she had no idea how she had done it. “Richard With The Temper is not well. He may not be able to shoot arrows with you and your men tomorrow.”

  He looked smug. “I thought he would think of an excuse to back out.”

  Kahlan took a deep breath through gritted teeth. She didn’t want to stand here and trade insults with this fool. She wanted to go back inside to be with Richard. “Goodnight, Chandalen.”

  Richard was still on his back, chewing the leaves. She sat beside him, heartened to see that he looked more alert.

  “These things are starting to taste better.”

  Kahlan stroked his forehead. “How do you feel?”

  “A little better. The pain comes and goes. I think these leaves are helping. Except they are making my head spin.”

  “But better to spin than to pound?”

  “Yes.” He put his hand on her arm and closed his eyes. “Who were you talking to?”

  “That fool, Chandalen. He’s guarding the spirit house. He thinks we may bring more trouble.”

  “Maybe he’s not such a fool. I don’t think that thing would have been here without us. What did you call it?”

  “A screeling.”

  “And what is a screeling?”

  “I’m not sure. Nobody I know has ever seen one, but I’ve heard them described. They’re supposed to be from the underworld.”

  Richard stopped chewing and opened his eyes to look at her. “The underworld? What do you know about this screeling thing?”

  “Not much.” She frowned. “Have you ever seen Zedd drunk?”

  “Zedd? Never. He doesn’t like wine. Just food. He says that drinking interferes with thinking, and there is nothing more important than thinking.” Richard smiled. “He says that the worse a man is at thinking, the better he is at drinking.”

  “Well, wizards can get pretty scary when they’re drunk. One time when I was little, I was in the Keep, studying my languages. They have books of languages there. Anyway, I was studying, and four of the wizards were reading a book of prophecy together. It was a book I had never seen before.

  “They were leaning over it, and started getting all worked up. They were talking in hushed tones. I could tell they were frightened. At the time it was a lot more fun to watch wizards than to read my languages.

  “I looked up and they had all turned white as snow. They all stood up straight at the same time, and flipped the cover shut. I remember it banged and made me jump. They all stood there, quiet for a while, and then one went away and came back with a bottle. Without saying a word, he passed out cups and poured out the drink. They all drank it down in one swallow. He poured more and they did the same thing again. They sat down on stools around the table the big book was on and kept drinking until the bottle was empty. By that time they were pretty happy. And drunk. They were laughing and singing. I thought it was tremendously interesting. I had never seen anything like it.

  “They finally saw me watching them, and called me over. I didn’t really want to go, but they were wizards, and I knew them pretty well, so I wasn’t afraid and I went over to them. One set me up on his knee and asked if I wanted to sing with them. I told them that I didn’t know the song they were singing. They looked at each other and then said they would teach me. So we sat there for a long time and they taught me the song.”

  “So, do you remember it?”

  Kahlan nodded. “I’ve never forgotten that song.” She rearranged herself a little and then sang it for him.

  The screelings are loose and the Keeper may win.

  His assassins have come to rip off your skin.

  Golden eyes will see you if you try to run.

  The screelings will get you and laugh like it’s fun.

  Walk away slow or they’ll tear you apart,

  And laugh all day long as they rip out your heart.

  Golden eyes will see you if you try to stand still.

  The screelings will get you, for the Keeper they kill.

  Hack ’em up, chop ’em up, cut ’em to bits,

  or else they will get you while laughing in fits.

  If the screelings don’t get you the Keeper will try,

  To reach out and touch you, your skin he will fry.

  Your mind he will flail, your soul he will take.

  You’ll sleep with the dead, for life you’ll forsake.

  You’ll die with the Keeper till the end of time.

  He hates that you live, your life is the crime.

  The screelings might get you, it says so in text.

  If screelings don
’t get you the Keeper is next,

  Lest he who’s born true can fight for life’s bond.

  And that one is marked; he’s the pebble in the pond.

  Richard stared at her when she finished. “Pretty gruesome song to teach a child.” Finally, he resumed chewing the leaves.

  Kahlan nodded with a sigh. “That night, I had terrible nightmares. My mother came into my room and sat on my bed. She hugged me and asked what I was having nightmares about. I sang her the song the wizards had taught me. She climbed into my bed and stayed with me that night.

  “The next day she went to see the wizards. I never knew what she did or said to them, but for the next few months, whenever they saw her coming they turned and hurried off the other way. And for a good long time they avoided me like death itself.”

  Richard took another leaf from the little bag and put it in his mouth. “The screelings are sent by the Keeper? The Keeper of the underworld?”

  “That’s what the song says. It must be true. How could anything of this world take that many arrows and just laugh?”

  Richard thought in silence a moment. “What is ‘the pebble in the pond’?”

  Kahlan shrugged. “I’ve never heard of it before or since.”

  “What about the blue lightning? How did you do that?”

  “It’s something to do with the Con Dar. I did it before when it came over me the first time.” She took a deep breath at the memory. “When I thought you were dead. I’d never felt the Con Dar before, but now I feel it there all the time, just as I can always feel the Confessor’s magic. The two are somehow connected. I must have awakened it. I think it’s what Adie warned me about that time we were with her. But Richard, I don’t know how I did it.”

  Richard smiled. “You never fail to amaze me. If I just found out I could call down lightning, I don’t think I would be sitting there so calmly.”

  “Well, you just remember what I can do,” she warned, “if some pretty girl ever bats her lashes at you.”

  He took her hand. “There are no other pretty girls.”

  The fingers of her other hand combed through his hair. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Yes,” he whispered. “Lie down next to me. I want you close. I’m afraid of never waking, and I want to be close to you.”