Страница:
evil, and yet they embrace it.
"Their leader, Emperor Jagang, uses those with magic to help accomplish
his ends, among which, he claims, is the eradication of magic. Jagang is a
dream walker descended from those dream walkers of so long ago. His ability
as a dream walker is magic, yet he does not disqualify himself from leading
his empire. Even though he has magic, which he claims makes people unfit to
have any say in the future, he calls himself Jagang the Just.
"Despite what they declare they believe, their goal is to rule people,
plain and simple. They seek power but dress it up in noble-sounding robes.
Every tyrant thinks he is different. They are all the same. They all rule by
brute force."
Owen was frowning, trying to grasp it all. "So, those in the Old World
did not live by their word, by what they claimed they believed. They lived
in conflict. They preached that man was better without magic, but they
continued to want to use magic."
"That's right."
Owen gestured up at the statue. "What of this man, then? Why is he
here, if he is against what they preached?"
Dark clouds roiled above the towering statue. The still air hung cold,
heavy, and damp. It felt as if a storm were holding back its onslaught,
waiting to hear the rest.
"This man is here because he fought to save the people of the Old World
from something they feared more than magic itself," Richard said.
He gazed up at the resolute face with its eyes fixed forever on the
place called the Pillars of Creation.
"This man," Richard said in a quiet voice, "this wizard, Kaja-Rang,
collected all of those pristinely ungifted people, those pillars of
Creation, who had been banished down here from the New World, along with any
people who while they lived here had joined with them, and he sent them all
there."
Richard pointed off into the distance behind the statue.
"He put all those people in that place, protected by the mountains all
around, and then he placed a boundary of death before them, across this
pass, so that they could never again come out to be among the rest of the
people of the world.
"Kaja-Rang gave these people their name: the Bandakar. The name,
bandakar, is from a very old language called High D'Haran. It means 'the
banished.' This man, Kaja-Rang, is the one who sealed them in and saved his
people from the pristinely ungifted, from those without magic."
"You," Richard said to the men before him, "are the descendants of
those banished people. You are the descendants of Alric Rahl, of the people
sent into exile in the Old World. You are all descendants of the House of
Rahl. Your ancestors and mine are the same men. You are the banished
people."
The top of the pass before the statue of Kaja-Rang was dead silent. The
men stared in shock.
And then pandemonium broke out. Richard made no effort to stop them, to
bring them to be quiet. Rather, he stood close beside Kahlan as he let them
take it in. He wanted to give them the time they needed to come to grasp the
enormity of what he had told them.
Arms in the air, some men cried out with the outrage at what they'd
heard, others wailed with the horror of the story, some wept in sorrow, many
argued, a few protested various points that others answered, while yet
others repeated key elements to one another almost as if to hear the words
again so they could test them, agreeing finally that it might very well be
so.
But through it all, they all slowly began to grasp the enormity of what
they'd heard. They all began to hear the ring of truth in the story.
Chattering like magpies, all talking at once, they expressed disbelief,
outrage, wonder, and even fear, as they came to the heady comprehension of
who they really were.
At the whispered urging of some among the group, after having gotten
over the initial shock, the men all quieted and at last turned back to
Richard, hungry to know more.
"You are this gifted man, the favored heir, the Lord Rahl, and we are
the ones banished by your kind," one of the men said, expressing what looked
to be a common fear, the unspoken question of what this would mean for them.
"That's right," Richard said. "I am the Lord Rahl, the leader of the
D'Haran Empire, and you are the descendants of the pillars of Creation who
were banished. I am gifted as have been my ancestors, every Lord Rahl before
me. You are ungifted as were your ancestors."
Standing before the statue of Kaja-Rang, the man who had banished them,
Richard looked out at all the tense faces.
"That banishment was a grievous wrong. It was immoral. As Lord Rahl, I
denounce the banishment and declare it forever ended. You are no longer the
Empire of Bandakar, the banished ones, you are now once again, as you once
were, D'Harans, if you choose to be."
Every man seemed to hold his breath, waiting to see if he meant it, or
would add more, or if he might even recant it.
Richard put his arm around Kahlan's waist as he calmly gazed out at all
the hopeful expressions.
Richard smiled. "Welcome home."
And then they were all falling at his feet, kissing his boots, his
pants, his hands, and, for those who couldn't crowd in close enough, the
ground before him. In short order, they were kissing the hem of Kahlan's
dress.
They had found a relation, and were in turn welcoming him among them.
As the men crowded around their feet, openly offering their gratitude
for ending their sentence of banishment, Richard shared a sidelong glance
with Kahlan. Cara looked decidedly displeased by the display but didn't
interfere.
Trying to bring a halt to the tearful tribute, Richard gestured for the
men to get up. "There is much more to tell you. Listen to me, now."
The smiling, tearful men drew back, hands clasped while gazing at him
as if he were a long-lost brother. There were a few older men among the
crowd and some of middle age, but most ranged from young, like Owen, to a
little older, like Richard. They were all men who had been through terrible
times.
The most difficult part still lay ahead; Richard had to make them face
up to what was to come.
Looking over at Jennsen, standing alone off to the side, he gestured
for her to come forward.
Jennsen emerged from the shadows of the statue, catching the attention
of all eyes as she made her way toward Richard. The men all watched her
coming into the light. She looked so beautiful that Richard couldn't help
smiling as she stepped across the rocks. Pulling on a red ringlet, she cast
a shy glance at the men.
When Richard held an arm out, she sought protection under the shelter
of that arm as she gazed nervously out at men who were like her in one
important way.
"This is my sister, Jennsen Rahl," Richard said. "She was born
pris-tinely ungifted, just like all of you. Our father tried to kill her, as
has been done for thousands of years with ungifted offspring."
"And you?" a man asked, still skeptical. "You will not reject her?"
Richard hugged Jennsen with the one arm. "For what? For what crime
should I reject her? Because she was born a woman, instead of a man like me?
Because she isn't as tall as me? Because she has red hair, instead of hair
like mine? Because her eyes are blue and not gray? ... Because she is
ungifted?"
The men shifted their weight to the other foot or folded their arms.
Some, after all he had already said, averted their eyes, looking embarrassed
to have even asked the question.
"She's beautiful, smart, and uses her head. She, too, fights for her
right to live, and does so through reasoned means. She is as you men,
pristinely ungifted. Because she shares an understanding of the value of
life, I embrace her."
Richard heard the bleat and turned. Betty, her rope trailing behind,
trotted up the rise. Jennsen rolled her eyes as Betty came close, peering
up, her tail wagging in a blur.
Jennsen snatched up the rope, inspecting the end. Richard could see
that it had been chewed through.
"Betty," she scolded, shaking the end of the rope at the unrepentant
goat, "what did you do?"
Betty bleated her answer, clearly proud of herself.
Jennsen heaved a sigh as she shrugged an apology at Richard.
The men had all taken several steps back, murmuring their dread to one
another.
"I'm not a witch," Jennsen told them in a heated tone. "Just because I
have red hair that doesn't mean I'm a witch."
The men looked thoroughly unconvinced.
"I've had dealings with a very real witch woman," Richard told them. "I
can assure you, red hair is no mark of a witch. It just isn't true."
"It is true," one of the men insisted. He pointed at Betty. "There is
her attendant spirit."
Richard's brow wrinkled. "Attendant spirit?"
"That's right," another told him. "A witch always has a familiar with
her. She called her attendant spirit and it came to her."
"Called her?" Jennsen brandished the frayed end of the rope at the men.
"I tied her to a tree and she chewed through her rope."
Another man shook his finger at her. "You called her with magic and she
came."
Fists at her sides, Jennsen took a step toward the men. They took a
collective step back.
"You men all had family and friends--a community of people. I had no
friends and could have none because my mother and I had to run from my
father my whole life to keep from being caught. He would have tortured and
murdered me had he caught me--the same as he would have done with you. I
could have no childhood friends, so my mother gave me Betty. Betty was just
newborn; we grew up together. Betty chewed through her rope because I'm the
only family she's ever known and she simply wanted to be close to me.
"I was banished from everyone for my crime of birth, just like your
ancestors. You all know the injustice of such banishment and you know its
pain. And now you foolish men would banish me from your acceptance because I
have red hair and a goat as a pet? You are spineless cowards and hypocrites!
"First you poison the only person in the world brave enough to end our
banishment from the rest of mankind and now you fear me and reject me
because of silly superstitions. If I did have magic, I'd burn you all to a
cinder for your cruel attitudes!"
Richard put a hand on her shoulder and drew her back. "It will be all
right," he whispered to her. "Just let me talk to them."
"You tell us that you're a wizard," an older man in the back called
out, "and then you expect us to believe it's so--on faith--because you say
it is, while you claim that we should not hold to our beliefs, such as our
fear that she could be a witch with her familiar, because it's held only on
faith."
"That's right," another said. "You claim your belief is in real magic,
while you dismiss our belief. A lot of what you say makes sense, but I don't
agree with all of it."
There could be no partial agreement. To reject part of the truth was to
reject it all. Richard considered his options, how he could convince people
without magic, who could not see magic, that real magic existed. From their
perspective, he seemed guilty of the same error he was telling them they
were making. How could he demonstrate a rainbow of color to the blind?
"You have a point," Richard said. "Give me a moment and I will show you
the reality of the magic I talk about."
He motioned Cara closer. "Get me the warning beacon," he said in a
confidential tone.
Cara immediately took off down the hill. He saw that Jennsen's angry
blue eyes were filled with tears but she didn't cry. Kahlan pulled her back
farther as Richard addressed the men.
"There is more I must tell you--some things you need to understand. I
have ended the banishment, but that does not mean that I unconditionally
accept you back as one of our people."
"But you said that we were welcomed home," Owen said.
"I'm stating the obvious--that you have a right to your own life. Out
of goodwill I welcome you all to be part of D'Hara if you wish-- part of
what D'Hara now stands for. But by welcoming you back, that does not mean
that I welcome people unconditionally.
"All men should be free to live their own lives, but make no mistake,
there is a vast difference between that freedom and anarchy.
"If we triumph in our struggle, you are welcome to be free people of a
D'Haran Empire which holds a belief in specific values. For example, you can
think whatever you wish and try to persuade others of the value of your
beliefs, but you cannot act on a view that those who fight to gain that
freedom are savages or criminals, even though you expect to enjoy the fruits
of their struggle. At minimum, they have earned your respect and gratitude.
Their lives are no less than yours and are not expendable for your benefit.
That is slavery."
"But you have savage ways and engage in violence for a land we have
never even seen," one of the younger men said. He pointed an arm back toward
Bandakar. "The only land we have ever known is here and we unconditionally
reject your love of violence."
"Land?" Richard spread his arms. "We do not fight for land. We are
loyal to an ideal--an ideal of liberty wherever man lives. We do not guard
territory, bleed for a piece of dirt. We don't fight because we love
violence. We fight for our freedom as individuals to live our own lives, to
pursue our own survival, our own happiness.
"Your unconditional rejection of violence makes you smugly think of
yourselves as noble, as enlightened, but in reality it is nothing less than
abject moral capitulation to evil. Unconditional rejection of self-defense,
because you think it's a supposed surrender to violence, leaves you no
resort but begging for mercy or offering appeasement.
"Evil grants no mercy, and to attempt to appease it is nothing more
than a piecemeal surrender to it. Surrender to evil is slavery at best,
death at worst. Thus, your unconditional rejection of violence is really
nothing more than embracing death as preferable to life.
"You will achieve what you embrace.
"The right, the absolute necessity, of vengeance against anyone who
initiates force against you is fundamental to survival. The morality of a
people's self-defense is in its defense of each individual's right to life.
It's an intolerance of violence, made real by an unwavering willingness to
crush any who would launch violence against you. The unconditional
determination to destroy any who would initiate force against you is an
exaltation of the value of life. Refusing to surrender your life to any thug
or tyrant who lays claim to it is in fact embracing life itself.
"If you are unwilling to defend your right to your own lives, then you
are merely like mice trying to argue with owls. You think their ways are
wrong. They think you are dinner.
"The Imperial Order preaches that mankind is corrupt and evil, and
therefore life is of little value. Their actions certainly bear this out.
They moralize that you can only win salvation and happiness in some other
world, and then only by sacrificing your life in this one.
"Generosity is fine, if it's by your free choice, but a belief in the
primacy of self-sacrifice as a moral requisite is nothing less than the
sanctioning of slavery. Those who tell you that it is your responsibility
and duty to sacrifice are trying to blind you to the chains they are
slipping around your neck.
"As D'Harans, you will not be required to sacrifice your life to
another, and by the same token you cannot demand that others sacrifice
themselves to you. You may believe as you wish, you may even feel that you
cannot take up arms and fight directly for our survival, but you must help
support our cause and you may not contribute materially or spiritually to
the destruction of our values and therefore our lives-- that is treason and
will be treated as such.
"The Imperial Order has violently invaded innocent lands, like yours.
They have enslaved, tortured, raped, and murdered in order to seize rule.
They have done no less in the New World. They have forfeited their right to
be heard. There is no moral dilemma involved, no ethical question open to
debate; they must be ground into dust."
A man stepped forward. "But common decency in dealing with our fellow
man requkes that we must show them mercy for their misguided ways."
"There is no greater value than life--and that's what you partially
recognize by your confused notion of granting mercy. Their conscious,
deliberate act of murder takes the irreplaceable value of life from another.
A murderer, by his own choice to kill, forfeits the right to his own life.
Mercy for such evil is nothing short of excusing it and thus allowing evil
to prevail--it codifies the taking of innocent life by not making the
murderer forfeit their own guilty life.
"Mercy grants value to the life of a killer, while, at the same time,
it strips away the value of the life of the innocent victim. It makes the
life of a killer more important than the life of an innocent. It is thus a
trade of the good to the evil. It is the victory of death over life."
"So," Owen wondered aloud, "because the Order has attacked your land
and murdered its people, you intend to try to kill every living person in
the Old World?"
"No. The Order is evil and from the Old World. That does not mean that
the people of the Old World are evil simply because they happen to have been
born on a patch of ground ruled by evil men. Some actively support these
rulers and therefore embrace evil, but not everyone does. Many of the people
in the Old World are also the victims of the rule of the Imperial Order and
suffer greatly under its brutality. Many struggle against this evil rule. As
we speak, many risk their lives to rid themselves of these evil men. We
fight for the same thing: liberty.
"Where those who seek liberty were born is irrelevant. We believe in
the value of the individual's life. That means that where someone lives does
not make them evil--it's their beliefs and actions that matter.
"But make no mistake--many people are an active part of the Imperial
Order and its murderous ways. Actions must have consequences. The Order must
be eradicated."
"Surely, you would allow some compromise," one of the older men said.
"If, hoping to appease it, you willingly compromise with unrepentant
evil, you only allow such evil to sink its fangs into you; from that day on
its venom will course through your veins until it finally kills you."
"But that's too harsh a sentiment," the man said. "It's just being
stubborn and obstructing a constructive path. There is always room for
compromise."
Richard tapped his thumb against his chest. "You men decided to give me
poison. That poison will kill me; that makes it evil. How would you suggest
I compromise with poison?"
No one had an answer.
"In trade between willing parties who share moral values and who deal
fairly and honestly with one another, compromise over something like price
is legitimate. In matters of morality or truth, there can be no compromise.
"Compromising with murderers, which is precisely what you are
suggesting, grants them moral equivalence where none can rightfully exist.
Moral equivalence says that you are no better than they; therefore, their
belief--that they should be able to torture, rape, or murder you-- is just
as morally valid as your view--that you have the right to live free of their
violence. Moral compromise rejects the concept of right and wrong. It says
that everyone is equal, all desires are equally valid, all action is equally
valid, so everyone should compromise to get along.
"Where could you compromise with those who torture, rape, and murder
people? In the number of days a week you will be tortured? In the number of
men to be allowed to rape your loved ones? In how many of your family are to
be murdered?
"No moral equivalence exists in that situation, nor can it exist, so
there can be no compromise, only suicide.
"To even suggest compromise can exist with such men is to sanction
murder."
Most of the men appeared shocked and startled to hear someone speaking
to them in such a straightforward manner. They seemed to be losing interest
in their supply of empty adages. Some of the men looked to be moved by
Richard's words. A few even looked inspired by their clarity; he could see
it in their eyes, as if they were seeing things for the first time.
Cara came up behind Richard and handed him the warning beacon. Richard
wasn't sure, but it seemed as if the inky black had taken over more of the
surface of the small figure than the last time he'd seen it. Inside, the
sand continued to trickle down onto the accumulated pile in the bottom.
"Kaja-Rang placed the boundary across this pass to seal your people in.
He is the one who named you. He knew your people shunned violence and he
feared you might end up being prey to criminals. He is the one who gave you
a way to banish them from your land so that you could continue to have the
kind of life you wanted. He told your people of the passage through the
boundary so that you could rid yourselves of criminals if you rallied the
will."
Owen looked troubled. "If this great wizard, Kaja-Rang, didn't want our
people among the population of the Old World because we would mix with them
and spread our pristinely ungifted trait, as you call it, then what about
the criminals we banish? Sending those men out into the world would cause
the thing they feared. Making this pass through the boundary and telling our
ancestors about it would seem to defeat the whole purpose of the boundary."
Richard smiled. "Very good, Owen. You are beginning to think for
yourself."
Owen smiled. Richard gestured up at the statue of Kaja-Rang.
"You see where he's looking? It's a place called the Pillars of
Creation. It's a deathly hot place where nothing lives--a land stalked by
death. The boundary that Kaja-Rang placed had sides to it. When you sent
people out of your land, through the boundary, the walls of death to the
sides prevented those banished people from escaping into the world at large.
They had only one way they could go: the Pillars of Creation.
"Even with water and supplies, and knowing where you must go to get
past it, trying to go through the valley known as the Pillars of Creation is
almost certain death. Without water and supplies, without knowing the land,
without knowing how to travel it and where you must go to escape such a
place, those you banished faced certain death."
The men stared, wide-eyed. "Then, when we banished a criminal, we were
actually executing them," one of the men said.
"That's right."
"This Kaja-Rang tricked us, then," the man added. "Tricked us into what
was actually the killing of those men."
"You think that a terrible trick?" Richard asked. "You people were
deliberately setting known criminals loose on the world to prey on
unsuspecting people. You were knowingly setting free violent men, and
condemning unsuspecting people outside your land to be victims of violence.
Rather than put murderers to death, you were, as far as you knew-- had you
given it any thought--knowingly assisting them in going on to kill others.
In the blind attempt to avoid violence at all cost, you actually championed
it.
"You told yourselves that those other people didn't matter, because
they weren't enlightened, like you, that you were better than they because
you were above violence, that you unconditionally rejected violence. If you
even thought about it, you considered these people beyond the boundary to be
savages, their lives unimportant. For all intents and purposes, you were
sacrificing their innocent lives for the lives of those men you knew to be
evil.
"What Kaja-Rang was doing, besides keeping the pristinely ungifted from
being at large in the world, was executing those criminals you banished
before they could harm other people. You think yourselves noble in rejecting
violence, but your actions would have fostered it. Only Kaja-Rang's actions
prevented it."
"Dear Creator. It is far worse than that." Owen sank down, sitting
heavily. "Far worse than you even realize."
Other men, too, looked to be stricken with horror. Some had to lower
themselves to the ground as Owen had. Others, their faces in their hands,
turned away, or walked off a few paces.
"What do you mean?" Richard asked.
Owen looked up, his face ashen. "The story I told you about our land
... about our town and the other great cities? How in my town we all lived
together and were happy with our lives?" Richard nodded. "Not all were."
Kahlan crossed her arms and leaned toward Owen. "What do you mean, not
all were?"
Owen lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. "Some wanted more than our
simple joyful life. Some people ... well, they wanted to change things. They
said they wanted to make things better. They wanted to improve our life, to
build places for themselves, even though this is against our ways."
"Owen is right," an older man said in a grim tone. "In my time I have
seen a great many of these people who were unable to endure what some called
the chafing principles of our empire."
"And what happened when people wanted to make these changes, or could
not endure the principles of your empire?" Richard asked.
Owen looked to each side, to the other dispirited faces. "The great
speakers renounced their ideas. The Wise One said they would only bring
strife among us. Their hopes for new ways were turned aside and they were
denounced." Owen swallowed. "So these people decided they would leave
Bandakar. They went out of our land, taking the path through the opening in
the boundary, to find a new life for themselves. Not a single one ever
returned to us."
Richard wiped a hand across his face. "Then they died looking for their
new life, a better life than what you had to offer."
"But you don't understand." Owen rose to his feet. "We are like those
people." He swept his arm back at his men. "We have refused to go back and
give ourselves over to the men of the Order, even though we know that people
are being tortured because we hide. We know it will not stop the Order, so
we don't go back.
"We have gone against the wishes of our great speakers, and the Wise
One, to try to save our people. We have been denounced for what we choose to
do. We have gone out of the pass to seek information, to find a way to rid
ourselves of the Imperial Order. Do you see? We are much the same as those
others throughout our history. Like those others, we chose to leave and try
to change things rather than to endure the way things were."
"Then perhaps you are beginning to see," Richard said, "that everything
you were taught showed you only how to embrace death, not life. Perhaps you
see that what you called the teaching of enlightenment was no more than
blinders pulled over your eyes."
Richard put his hand on Owen's shoulder. He gazed down at the statue of
himself in his other hand and then looked around at the tense faces.
"You men are the ones left after all the rest have failed the tests.
You alone got this far. You alone have started to use your minds to try to
find a solution for you and your loved ones. You have much more to learn,
but you have at least started to make some of the right choices. You must
not stop now; you must meet with courage what I will call upon you to do, if
you are to truly have a chance to save your loved ones."
For the first time they looked at least a little proud. They had been
recognized, not for how well they repeated meaningless sayings, but for the
decisions they reached on their own.
Jennsen was frowning in thought. "Richard, why couldn't people get back
in through the passage out through the boundary? If they wanted to go off
and have a new life but then discovered that they would have to go through
the Pillars of Creation, why wouldn't they go back, at least to get
supplies, to get what they needed so they could make it through?"
"That's right," Kahlan said. "George Cypher went through the boundary
at Kings' Port and then returned. Adie said that the boundary had to have a
passage, a vent, like where these people banished criminals, so why couldn't
people come back in? There was a pass out, so why did they never return?"
The men nodded, curious to hear why no one ever came back.
"From the first, I've wondered the same thing." Richard rubbed a thumb
along the glossy black surface of the statue of himself. "I think that the
boundaries in the Midlands had to have an opening through them because they
were so big--so long. This boundary, here, is nothing compared to those; I
doubt that the same kind of vent would be needed.
"Because it was just one bent section of a boundary and not very long,
I suspect that Kaja-Rang was able to put in a pass that allowed criminals to
be banished through it, but would not allow passage back in. After all, if a
criminal was banished and found he couldn't escape, he would return.
Kaja-Rang wouldn't have wanted that to happen."
"How could such a thing work?" Jennsen asked.
Richard rested his left hand on the hilt of his sword. "Certain snakes
can swallow prey much larger than themselves. Their teeth are angled back so
that as the prey is devoured, it's impossible for it to come back out, to
escape. I suppose that the pass through the boundary could have been somehow
like that--only able to be traversed in one direction."
"Do you think such a thing is possible?" Jennsen asked.
"There is precedent for such safeguards," Kahlan said.
Richard nodded his agreement. "The great barrier between the New and
the Old World had defenses to allow certain people, under specific
conditions, one passage through and back, but not two." He pointed the
warning beacon up at the statue. "A wizard of Kaja-Rang's ability would
surely have known how to craft a pass through the boundary that did not
allow any return. After all, he called it up out of the underworld itself
and it remained viable for nearly three thousand years."
"So then anyone who went out of this boundary died," Owen said.
Richard nodded. "I'm afraid so. Kaja-Rang appeared to have made
elaborate plans that functioned as he intended for all this time. He even
made contingencies should the boundary fail."
"That's something I don't understand," a young man said. "If this
wizard was so great, and his magic was so powerful that he could make a wall
of death to keep us separated from the world for three thousand years, then
how could it possibly fail? In the last two years it simply went away. Why?"
"I believe it was because of me," Kahlan said.
She took a step closer to the men. Richard didn't try to stop her. At
this point, it wouldn't do to appear as if he were withholding information
from them.
"A couple of years ago, in a desperate act to save Richard's life, I
inadvertently called forth underworld power that I believe may be slowly
destroying magic in our world. Richard banished this evil magic, but it had
been here in the world of life for a time, so the effects may be
irreversible."
Worried looks passed among the men. This woman before them had just
admitted that because of something she'd done, their protection had failed.
Because of her, horrifying violence and brutality had befallen them. Because
of her, their way of life had ended.
You still have not shown us your magic," one of the men finally said.
Richard's hand slipped away from the small of Kahlan's back as he
stepped toward the men.
"Kaja-Rang devised a facet to his magic, linked to the boundary he
placed here, to help protect it." Richard held up the small figure of
himself for all the men to see. "This was sent to warn me that the boundary
to your land had failed."
"Why is the top part of it that strange black?" asked a man standing in
the front.
"I believe that it's an indication of how I'm running out of time, how
I may be dying."
Worried whispering swept through the group of men. Richard held up a
hand, urging them to listen to him as he went on.
"This sand inside--can you all see this sand?"
Stretching their necks, they all tried to get a look, but not all were
close enough, so Richard walked among them, holding up the statue so that
they could all see that it looked like him, and see the sand falling inside.
"This is not really sand," he told them. "It's magic."
Owen's face twisted with skepticism. "But you said we couldn't see
magic."
"You are all pristinely ungifted and aren't touched by magic, so you
can't see regular magic. The boundary, however, still prevented you from
going out into the world, didn't it? Why do you suppose that was so?"
"It was a wall of death," an older man spoke up, seeming to think that
it was self-evident.
"But how could it harm people who are not affected by magic? Going into
the boundary itself meant death for you the same as anyone else. Why?
"Because the boundary is a place in this world where the underworld
also existed. The underworld is the world of the dead. You may be ungifted,
but you are mortal; since you are linked to life, so, too, are you linked to
death."
Richard again held the statue up. "This magic, as well, is tied to the
underworld. Since you are all mortal, you have a connection to the
underworld, to the Keeper's power, to death. That's why you can see the sand
that shows how my time trickles away."
"I don't see anything magical about sand trickling down," a man
grumbled. "Just because you say it's magic, or that it's your life trickling
away, that doesn't seem to prove anything."
Richard turned the statue sideways. The sand continued to flow, but
sideways.
Gasps and astonished whispering broke out among the men as they watched
the sand flowing laterally.
They crowded in close like curious children to see the statue as
Richard held it up, on its side, so they could see magic. Some reached out
and tentatively touched the inky black surface as Richard held the figure of
himself out for them to inspect. Others leaned close, peering in to see the
sand flowing askew in the lower part, where the figure was still
transparent.
The men spoke of what a wonder it was, but they weren't sure about his
explanation of underworld magic.
"But we all see this," one of the men said. "This doesn't show us that
we're really different from you or anyone else, as you say we are. This
shows us only that we are all able to see this magic, the same as you. Maybe
we aren't this pristinely ungifted people you seem to think we are."
Richard thought about it a moment, thought about what he could do to
show them the true aspects of magic. Even though he was gifted, he didn't
know a great deal about controlling his own gift, except that it was in part
powered by anger linked to need. He couldn't simply demonstrate some bit of
magic the way Zedd could, and besides, even if he could do something
magical, they wouldn't be able to see it.
Out of the corner of his eye, Richard saw Cara standing with her arms
folded. An idea came to him.
"The bond between the Lord Rahl and his people is a bond of magic,"
Richard said. "That same magic powers other things, besides the protection
that the bond affords against the dream walker."
Richard gestured for Cara to come forward. "In addition to being my
friend, Cara is also a Mord-Sith. For thousands of years Mord-Sith have been
fierce protectors of the Lord Rahl." Richard lifted Cara's arm for the men
to see the red rod hanging from the fine gold chain at her wrist. "This is
an Agiel, the weapon of a Mord-Sith. The Agiel is powered by a Mord-Sith's
connection to the Lord Rahl--to me."
"But it has no blade on it," a man said as he looked closely at the
Agiel swinging on the end of the gold chain. "It has nothing of any use as a
weapon."
"Take a closer look at it," Richard suggested as he held Cara's elbow
and guided her forward, among the men. "Look at it closely to satisfy
yourself that what this man has observed, that it has no blade, that it is
nothing more than this slender rod, is true."
The men leaned in close as Cara walked among them, holding her arm up,
letting the men touch and inspect her Agiel as it dangled from its chain.
When they had all had a look, inspecting the length of it, looking at the
end, hefting it to see that it wasn't heavy and couldn't really be used as a
club, Richard told Cara to touch it to the men. The Agiel spun up into her
fist. Men flinched back at the grim look on her face as she came at them
with the thing that Richard had told them was a weapon.
Cara touched her Agiel to Owen's shoulder.
"She touched me with this red rod before," he assured his men. "It does
nothing."
Cara pressed the Agiel to every man close enough for her to reach. A
few cringed back, fearful of being harmed, even though it had harmed none of
their fellows. Many of the men, though, felt the touch of her Agiel and were
satisfied that there was no ill effect.
Richard rolled up his sleeve. "Now, I will show you that this really is
a powerful weapon of magic."
He held his arm out to Cara. "Draw blood," he said in a calm voice that
did not betray what he really thought of being touched by an Agiel.
Cara stared at him. "Lord Rahl, I don't--"
"Do it," Richard commanded as he held his arm out.
"Here," Tom said, thrusting his bared arm in front of her. "Do it to
me, instead."
Cara immediately saw this as a preferable test.
"No!" Jennsen objected, but too late.
Tom cried out as Cara touched the end of her Agiel to his arm. He
staggered back a step, a trickle of blood running down his arm. The men
stared, unsure what they were seeing.
"It must be a trick of some kind," one suggested.
As Jennsen comforted Tom, Richard held his arm out again.
"Show them," he told Cara. "Show them what a Mord-Sith's Agiel can do
with magic alone."
Cara looked into his eyes. "Lord Rahl..."
"Do it. Show them, so they understand." He turned to the men. "Gather
around closer so you can see that it does its terrible task with no visible
means. Watch closely so that you can all see that it's magic alone doing its
grisly work."
Richard clenched his fist as he held the inside of his arm up for her
to touch. "Do it so that they can clearly see what it will do; otherwise it
will be for nothing. Don't make me do this for nothing."
Cara pressed her lips tight with the displeasure of his command. She
looked once more at the resolve in his eyes. When she did, he could see in
her blue eyes the pain it gave her to hold the Agiel. He clenched his teeth
and nodded that he was ready. With an iron visage, she laid the Agiel
against the inside of his forearm.
It felt like lightning hit him.
The touch of the Agiel was out of all proportion to what it would
appear it should feel like. The thunderous jolt of pain shot up his arm. The
shock of it slammed into his shoulder. It felt like the bones in his entire
arm shattered. Teeth gritted, he held his trembling arm out as Cara slowly
dragged the Agiel down toward his wrist. Blood-filled blisters rose in its
wake. Blood gushed down his arm.
Richard held his breath, kept his abdominal muscles tight, as he went
to one knee, not because he intended to, but because he couldn't remain
standing under the weight of pain as he held his arm up for Cara as she
pressed the Agiel to it. The men gasped as they watched, shocked at the
blood, the obvious pain. They whispered their astonishment.
Cara withdrew the weapon. Richard released the rigid tension in his
muscles, bending forward as he panted, trying to catch his breath, trying to
remain upright. Blood dripped off his fingers.
Kahlan was there beside him with a small scarf Jennsen pulled from a
pocket. "Are you out of your mind?" she hissed heatedly as she wrapped his
bleeding arm.
"Thanks," he said in response to her care, not wanting to address her
question.
He couldn't make his fingers stop trembling. Cara had held little back.
He was sure that she hadn't broken any bones, but it felt as if she had. He
could feel tears of pain running down his face.
When Kahlan finished, Cara put a hand under his arm and helped him to
his feet. "The Mother Confessor is right," she growled under her breath.
"You are out of your mind."
Richard didn't argue the need of what he'd had her do, but instead
turned to the men. He held his arm out. A wet crimson stain slowly grew
along the length of the scarf bandage.
"There is powerful magic for you. You can't see the magic, but you can
see the results. That magic can kill, should Cara wish it." The men cast
worried glances her way, viewing her with newfound respect. "But it could
not harm you men because you have no ability to interact with such magic.
Only those born with the spark of the gift can feel the touch of an Agiel."
The mood had changed. The sight of blood had sobered everyone.
Richard paced slowly before the men. "I've given you the truth in all
that I've told you. I've kept nothing important or relevant from you, nor
will I. I've told you who I am, who you are, and how we've come to this
point. If there is anything you wish to know, I will give you my truthful
answer."
When Richard paused, the men looked around at one another, seeing if
anyone would ask a question. No one did.
"The time has come," Richard said, "for you men to decide your future
and the future of your loved ones. Today is the day upon which that future
hinges."
Richard gestured toward Owen. "I know that Owen had a woman he loved,
Marilee, who was taken away by the Order. I know that each of you has
suffered great loss at the hands of the men of the Imperial Order. I don't
know all your names, yet, or the names of the loved ones taken from you, but
please believe me when I tell you that I know such pain.
"While I understand how you came to the point where you thought you had
no options but to poison me, it wasn't right for you to have done so." Many
men looked away from Richard's gaze, casting their own downward. "I'm going
to give you a chance to set the proper course for yourselves and your loved
ones."
He let them consider this a moment before going on. "You men have
passed many tests to make it this far, to have survived this long in such a
brutal situation as you have all faced, but now you must make a choice."
Richard rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. "I want to know where
you've hidden the antidote to the poison you've given me."
Worried looks spread through the crowd. Men glanced to the side, trying
to judge the feelings of their fellows, trying to see what they would do.
Owen, too, tried to gauge the reaction of his friends, but being just
as uncertain as he, they offered no firm indication of what they wanted to
do. Finally he licked his lips and timidly asked a question.
"If we say that we will tell you where the antidote is, will you agree
to first give us your word that you will help us?"
Richard resumed his measured pacing. The men nervously waited for his
answer as they watched blood drip off his fingers, leaving a trail of
crimson drops on the stone.
"No," Richard said. "I will not allow you to link two separate issues.
It was wrong to poison me. This is your chance to reverse that wrong.
Linking it to any concession perpetuates the fallacy that it can somehow be
justified. Telling me where you've hidden the antidote is the only proper
thing for you to do, now, and must be without condition. This is the day you
must decide how you will live your future. Until you give me your decision,
I will tell you nothing more."
Some of the men looked on the verge of panic, some on the verge of
tears. Owen prodded them all back, away from Richard, so that they could
discuss it among themselves.
"No," Richard said, his pacing coming to a halt. The men all fell
silent and turned back toward him. "I don't want any of you coming to a
decision because of what another says. I want each of you to give me your
own personal decision."
The men stared. A number spoke up all at once, wanting to know what he
meant.
"Their leader, Emperor Jagang, uses those with magic to help accomplish
his ends, among which, he claims, is the eradication of magic. Jagang is a
dream walker descended from those dream walkers of so long ago. His ability
as a dream walker is magic, yet he does not disqualify himself from leading
his empire. Even though he has magic, which he claims makes people unfit to
have any say in the future, he calls himself Jagang the Just.
"Despite what they declare they believe, their goal is to rule people,
plain and simple. They seek power but dress it up in noble-sounding robes.
Every tyrant thinks he is different. They are all the same. They all rule by
brute force."
Owen was frowning, trying to grasp it all. "So, those in the Old World
did not live by their word, by what they claimed they believed. They lived
in conflict. They preached that man was better without magic, but they
continued to want to use magic."
"That's right."
Owen gestured up at the statue. "What of this man, then? Why is he
here, if he is against what they preached?"
Dark clouds roiled above the towering statue. The still air hung cold,
heavy, and damp. It felt as if a storm were holding back its onslaught,
waiting to hear the rest.
"This man is here because he fought to save the people of the Old World
from something they feared more than magic itself," Richard said.
He gazed up at the resolute face with its eyes fixed forever on the
place called the Pillars of Creation.
"This man," Richard said in a quiet voice, "this wizard, Kaja-Rang,
collected all of those pristinely ungifted people, those pillars of
Creation, who had been banished down here from the New World, along with any
people who while they lived here had joined with them, and he sent them all
there."
Richard pointed off into the distance behind the statue.
"He put all those people in that place, protected by the mountains all
around, and then he placed a boundary of death before them, across this
pass, so that they could never again come out to be among the rest of the
people of the world.
"Kaja-Rang gave these people their name: the Bandakar. The name,
bandakar, is from a very old language called High D'Haran. It means 'the
banished.' This man, Kaja-Rang, is the one who sealed them in and saved his
people from the pristinely ungifted, from those without magic."
"You," Richard said to the men before him, "are the descendants of
those banished people. You are the descendants of Alric Rahl, of the people
sent into exile in the Old World. You are all descendants of the House of
Rahl. Your ancestors and mine are the same men. You are the banished
people."
The top of the pass before the statue of Kaja-Rang was dead silent. The
men stared in shock.
And then pandemonium broke out. Richard made no effort to stop them, to
bring them to be quiet. Rather, he stood close beside Kahlan as he let them
take it in. He wanted to give them the time they needed to come to grasp the
enormity of what he had told them.
Arms in the air, some men cried out with the outrage at what they'd
heard, others wailed with the horror of the story, some wept in sorrow, many
argued, a few protested various points that others answered, while yet
others repeated key elements to one another almost as if to hear the words
again so they could test them, agreeing finally that it might very well be
so.
But through it all, they all slowly began to grasp the enormity of what
they'd heard. They all began to hear the ring of truth in the story.
Chattering like magpies, all talking at once, they expressed disbelief,
outrage, wonder, and even fear, as they came to the heady comprehension of
who they really were.
At the whispered urging of some among the group, after having gotten
over the initial shock, the men all quieted and at last turned back to
Richard, hungry to know more.
"You are this gifted man, the favored heir, the Lord Rahl, and we are
the ones banished by your kind," one of the men said, expressing what looked
to be a common fear, the unspoken question of what this would mean for them.
"That's right," Richard said. "I am the Lord Rahl, the leader of the
D'Haran Empire, and you are the descendants of the pillars of Creation who
were banished. I am gifted as have been my ancestors, every Lord Rahl before
me. You are ungifted as were your ancestors."
Standing before the statue of Kaja-Rang, the man who had banished them,
Richard looked out at all the tense faces.
"That banishment was a grievous wrong. It was immoral. As Lord Rahl, I
denounce the banishment and declare it forever ended. You are no longer the
Empire of Bandakar, the banished ones, you are now once again, as you once
were, D'Harans, if you choose to be."
Every man seemed to hold his breath, waiting to see if he meant it, or
would add more, or if he might even recant it.
Richard put his arm around Kahlan's waist as he calmly gazed out at all
the hopeful expressions.
Richard smiled. "Welcome home."
And then they were all falling at his feet, kissing his boots, his
pants, his hands, and, for those who couldn't crowd in close enough, the
ground before him. In short order, they were kissing the hem of Kahlan's
dress.
They had found a relation, and were in turn welcoming him among them.
As the men crowded around their feet, openly offering their gratitude
for ending their sentence of banishment, Richard shared a sidelong glance
with Kahlan. Cara looked decidedly displeased by the display but didn't
interfere.
Trying to bring a halt to the tearful tribute, Richard gestured for the
men to get up. "There is much more to tell you. Listen to me, now."
The smiling, tearful men drew back, hands clasped while gazing at him
as if he were a long-lost brother. There were a few older men among the
crowd and some of middle age, but most ranged from young, like Owen, to a
little older, like Richard. They were all men who had been through terrible
times.
The most difficult part still lay ahead; Richard had to make them face
up to what was to come.
Looking over at Jennsen, standing alone off to the side, he gestured
for her to come forward.
Jennsen emerged from the shadows of the statue, catching the attention
of all eyes as she made her way toward Richard. The men all watched her
coming into the light. She looked so beautiful that Richard couldn't help
smiling as she stepped across the rocks. Pulling on a red ringlet, she cast
a shy glance at the men.
When Richard held an arm out, she sought protection under the shelter
of that arm as she gazed nervously out at men who were like her in one
important way.
"This is my sister, Jennsen Rahl," Richard said. "She was born
pris-tinely ungifted, just like all of you. Our father tried to kill her, as
has been done for thousands of years with ungifted offspring."
"And you?" a man asked, still skeptical. "You will not reject her?"
Richard hugged Jennsen with the one arm. "For what? For what crime
should I reject her? Because she was born a woman, instead of a man like me?
Because she isn't as tall as me? Because she has red hair, instead of hair
like mine? Because her eyes are blue and not gray? ... Because she is
ungifted?"
The men shifted their weight to the other foot or folded their arms.
Some, after all he had already said, averted their eyes, looking embarrassed
to have even asked the question.
"She's beautiful, smart, and uses her head. She, too, fights for her
right to live, and does so through reasoned means. She is as you men,
pristinely ungifted. Because she shares an understanding of the value of
life, I embrace her."
Richard heard the bleat and turned. Betty, her rope trailing behind,
trotted up the rise. Jennsen rolled her eyes as Betty came close, peering
up, her tail wagging in a blur.
Jennsen snatched up the rope, inspecting the end. Richard could see
that it had been chewed through.
"Betty," she scolded, shaking the end of the rope at the unrepentant
goat, "what did you do?"
Betty bleated her answer, clearly proud of herself.
Jennsen heaved a sigh as she shrugged an apology at Richard.
The men had all taken several steps back, murmuring their dread to one
another.
"I'm not a witch," Jennsen told them in a heated tone. "Just because I
have red hair that doesn't mean I'm a witch."
The men looked thoroughly unconvinced.
"I've had dealings with a very real witch woman," Richard told them. "I
can assure you, red hair is no mark of a witch. It just isn't true."
"It is true," one of the men insisted. He pointed at Betty. "There is
her attendant spirit."
Richard's brow wrinkled. "Attendant spirit?"
"That's right," another told him. "A witch always has a familiar with
her. She called her attendant spirit and it came to her."
"Called her?" Jennsen brandished the frayed end of the rope at the men.
"I tied her to a tree and she chewed through her rope."
Another man shook his finger at her. "You called her with magic and she
came."
Fists at her sides, Jennsen took a step toward the men. They took a
collective step back.
"You men all had family and friends--a community of people. I had no
friends and could have none because my mother and I had to run from my
father my whole life to keep from being caught. He would have tortured and
murdered me had he caught me--the same as he would have done with you. I
could have no childhood friends, so my mother gave me Betty. Betty was just
newborn; we grew up together. Betty chewed through her rope because I'm the
only family she's ever known and she simply wanted to be close to me.
"I was banished from everyone for my crime of birth, just like your
ancestors. You all know the injustice of such banishment and you know its
pain. And now you foolish men would banish me from your acceptance because I
have red hair and a goat as a pet? You are spineless cowards and hypocrites!
"First you poison the only person in the world brave enough to end our
banishment from the rest of mankind and now you fear me and reject me
because of silly superstitions. If I did have magic, I'd burn you all to a
cinder for your cruel attitudes!"
Richard put a hand on her shoulder and drew her back. "It will be all
right," he whispered to her. "Just let me talk to them."
"You tell us that you're a wizard," an older man in the back called
out, "and then you expect us to believe it's so--on faith--because you say
it is, while you claim that we should not hold to our beliefs, such as our
fear that she could be a witch with her familiar, because it's held only on
faith."
"That's right," another said. "You claim your belief is in real magic,
while you dismiss our belief. A lot of what you say makes sense, but I don't
agree with all of it."
There could be no partial agreement. To reject part of the truth was to
reject it all. Richard considered his options, how he could convince people
without magic, who could not see magic, that real magic existed. From their
perspective, he seemed guilty of the same error he was telling them they
were making. How could he demonstrate a rainbow of color to the blind?
"You have a point," Richard said. "Give me a moment and I will show you
the reality of the magic I talk about."
He motioned Cara closer. "Get me the warning beacon," he said in a
confidential tone.
Cara immediately took off down the hill. He saw that Jennsen's angry
blue eyes were filled with tears but she didn't cry. Kahlan pulled her back
farther as Richard addressed the men.
"There is more I must tell you--some things you need to understand. I
have ended the banishment, but that does not mean that I unconditionally
accept you back as one of our people."
"But you said that we were welcomed home," Owen said.
"I'm stating the obvious--that you have a right to your own life. Out
of goodwill I welcome you all to be part of D'Hara if you wish-- part of
what D'Hara now stands for. But by welcoming you back, that does not mean
that I welcome people unconditionally.
"All men should be free to live their own lives, but make no mistake,
there is a vast difference between that freedom and anarchy.
"If we triumph in our struggle, you are welcome to be free people of a
D'Haran Empire which holds a belief in specific values. For example, you can
think whatever you wish and try to persuade others of the value of your
beliefs, but you cannot act on a view that those who fight to gain that
freedom are savages or criminals, even though you expect to enjoy the fruits
of their struggle. At minimum, they have earned your respect and gratitude.
Their lives are no less than yours and are not expendable for your benefit.
That is slavery."
"But you have savage ways and engage in violence for a land we have
never even seen," one of the younger men said. He pointed an arm back toward
Bandakar. "The only land we have ever known is here and we unconditionally
reject your love of violence."
"Land?" Richard spread his arms. "We do not fight for land. We are
loyal to an ideal--an ideal of liberty wherever man lives. We do not guard
territory, bleed for a piece of dirt. We don't fight because we love
violence. We fight for our freedom as individuals to live our own lives, to
pursue our own survival, our own happiness.
"Your unconditional rejection of violence makes you smugly think of
yourselves as noble, as enlightened, but in reality it is nothing less than
abject moral capitulation to evil. Unconditional rejection of self-defense,
because you think it's a supposed surrender to violence, leaves you no
resort but begging for mercy or offering appeasement.
"Evil grants no mercy, and to attempt to appease it is nothing more
than a piecemeal surrender to it. Surrender to evil is slavery at best,
death at worst. Thus, your unconditional rejection of violence is really
nothing more than embracing death as preferable to life.
"You will achieve what you embrace.
"The right, the absolute necessity, of vengeance against anyone who
initiates force against you is fundamental to survival. The morality of a
people's self-defense is in its defense of each individual's right to life.
It's an intolerance of violence, made real by an unwavering willingness to
crush any who would launch violence against you. The unconditional
determination to destroy any who would initiate force against you is an
exaltation of the value of life. Refusing to surrender your life to any thug
or tyrant who lays claim to it is in fact embracing life itself.
"If you are unwilling to defend your right to your own lives, then you
are merely like mice trying to argue with owls. You think their ways are
wrong. They think you are dinner.
"The Imperial Order preaches that mankind is corrupt and evil, and
therefore life is of little value. Their actions certainly bear this out.
They moralize that you can only win salvation and happiness in some other
world, and then only by sacrificing your life in this one.
"Generosity is fine, if it's by your free choice, but a belief in the
primacy of self-sacrifice as a moral requisite is nothing less than the
sanctioning of slavery. Those who tell you that it is your responsibility
and duty to sacrifice are trying to blind you to the chains they are
slipping around your neck.
"As D'Harans, you will not be required to sacrifice your life to
another, and by the same token you cannot demand that others sacrifice
themselves to you. You may believe as you wish, you may even feel that you
cannot take up arms and fight directly for our survival, but you must help
support our cause and you may not contribute materially or spiritually to
the destruction of our values and therefore our lives-- that is treason and
will be treated as such.
"The Imperial Order has violently invaded innocent lands, like yours.
They have enslaved, tortured, raped, and murdered in order to seize rule.
They have done no less in the New World. They have forfeited their right to
be heard. There is no moral dilemma involved, no ethical question open to
debate; they must be ground into dust."
A man stepped forward. "But common decency in dealing with our fellow
man requkes that we must show them mercy for their misguided ways."
"There is no greater value than life--and that's what you partially
recognize by your confused notion of granting mercy. Their conscious,
deliberate act of murder takes the irreplaceable value of life from another.
A murderer, by his own choice to kill, forfeits the right to his own life.
Mercy for such evil is nothing short of excusing it and thus allowing evil
to prevail--it codifies the taking of innocent life by not making the
murderer forfeit their own guilty life.
"Mercy grants value to the life of a killer, while, at the same time,
it strips away the value of the life of the innocent victim. It makes the
life of a killer more important than the life of an innocent. It is thus a
trade of the good to the evil. It is the victory of death over life."
"So," Owen wondered aloud, "because the Order has attacked your land
and murdered its people, you intend to try to kill every living person in
the Old World?"
"No. The Order is evil and from the Old World. That does not mean that
the people of the Old World are evil simply because they happen to have been
born on a patch of ground ruled by evil men. Some actively support these
rulers and therefore embrace evil, but not everyone does. Many of the people
in the Old World are also the victims of the rule of the Imperial Order and
suffer greatly under its brutality. Many struggle against this evil rule. As
we speak, many risk their lives to rid themselves of these evil men. We
fight for the same thing: liberty.
"Where those who seek liberty were born is irrelevant. We believe in
the value of the individual's life. That means that where someone lives does
not make them evil--it's their beliefs and actions that matter.
"But make no mistake--many people are an active part of the Imperial
Order and its murderous ways. Actions must have consequences. The Order must
be eradicated."
"Surely, you would allow some compromise," one of the older men said.
"If, hoping to appease it, you willingly compromise with unrepentant
evil, you only allow such evil to sink its fangs into you; from that day on
its venom will course through your veins until it finally kills you."
"But that's too harsh a sentiment," the man said. "It's just being
stubborn and obstructing a constructive path. There is always room for
compromise."
Richard tapped his thumb against his chest. "You men decided to give me
poison. That poison will kill me; that makes it evil. How would you suggest
I compromise with poison?"
No one had an answer.
"In trade between willing parties who share moral values and who deal
fairly and honestly with one another, compromise over something like price
is legitimate. In matters of morality or truth, there can be no compromise.
"Compromising with murderers, which is precisely what you are
suggesting, grants them moral equivalence where none can rightfully exist.
Moral equivalence says that you are no better than they; therefore, their
belief--that they should be able to torture, rape, or murder you-- is just
as morally valid as your view--that you have the right to live free of their
violence. Moral compromise rejects the concept of right and wrong. It says
that everyone is equal, all desires are equally valid, all action is equally
valid, so everyone should compromise to get along.
"Where could you compromise with those who torture, rape, and murder
people? In the number of days a week you will be tortured? In the number of
men to be allowed to rape your loved ones? In how many of your family are to
be murdered?
"No moral equivalence exists in that situation, nor can it exist, so
there can be no compromise, only suicide.
"To even suggest compromise can exist with such men is to sanction
murder."
Most of the men appeared shocked and startled to hear someone speaking
to them in such a straightforward manner. They seemed to be losing interest
in their supply of empty adages. Some of the men looked to be moved by
Richard's words. A few even looked inspired by their clarity; he could see
it in their eyes, as if they were seeing things for the first time.
Cara came up behind Richard and handed him the warning beacon. Richard
wasn't sure, but it seemed as if the inky black had taken over more of the
surface of the small figure than the last time he'd seen it. Inside, the
sand continued to trickle down onto the accumulated pile in the bottom.
"Kaja-Rang placed the boundary across this pass to seal your people in.
He is the one who named you. He knew your people shunned violence and he
feared you might end up being prey to criminals. He is the one who gave you
a way to banish them from your land so that you could continue to have the
kind of life you wanted. He told your people of the passage through the
boundary so that you could rid yourselves of criminals if you rallied the
will."
Owen looked troubled. "If this great wizard, Kaja-Rang, didn't want our
people among the population of the Old World because we would mix with them
and spread our pristinely ungifted trait, as you call it, then what about
the criminals we banish? Sending those men out into the world would cause
the thing they feared. Making this pass through the boundary and telling our
ancestors about it would seem to defeat the whole purpose of the boundary."
Richard smiled. "Very good, Owen. You are beginning to think for
yourself."
Owen smiled. Richard gestured up at the statue of Kaja-Rang.
"You see where he's looking? It's a place called the Pillars of
Creation. It's a deathly hot place where nothing lives--a land stalked by
death. The boundary that Kaja-Rang placed had sides to it. When you sent
people out of your land, through the boundary, the walls of death to the
sides prevented those banished people from escaping into the world at large.
They had only one way they could go: the Pillars of Creation.
"Even with water and supplies, and knowing where you must go to get
past it, trying to go through the valley known as the Pillars of Creation is
almost certain death. Without water and supplies, without knowing the land,
without knowing how to travel it and where you must go to escape such a
place, those you banished faced certain death."
The men stared, wide-eyed. "Then, when we banished a criminal, we were
actually executing them," one of the men said.
"That's right."
"This Kaja-Rang tricked us, then," the man added. "Tricked us into what
was actually the killing of those men."
"You think that a terrible trick?" Richard asked. "You people were
deliberately setting known criminals loose on the world to prey on
unsuspecting people. You were knowingly setting free violent men, and
condemning unsuspecting people outside your land to be victims of violence.
Rather than put murderers to death, you were, as far as you knew-- had you
given it any thought--knowingly assisting them in going on to kill others.
In the blind attempt to avoid violence at all cost, you actually championed
it.
"You told yourselves that those other people didn't matter, because
they weren't enlightened, like you, that you were better than they because
you were above violence, that you unconditionally rejected violence. If you
even thought about it, you considered these people beyond the boundary to be
savages, their lives unimportant. For all intents and purposes, you were
sacrificing their innocent lives for the lives of those men you knew to be
evil.
"What Kaja-Rang was doing, besides keeping the pristinely ungifted from
being at large in the world, was executing those criminals you banished
before they could harm other people. You think yourselves noble in rejecting
violence, but your actions would have fostered it. Only Kaja-Rang's actions
prevented it."
"Dear Creator. It is far worse than that." Owen sank down, sitting
heavily. "Far worse than you even realize."
Other men, too, looked to be stricken with horror. Some had to lower
themselves to the ground as Owen had. Others, their faces in their hands,
turned away, or walked off a few paces.
"What do you mean?" Richard asked.
Owen looked up, his face ashen. "The story I told you about our land
... about our town and the other great cities? How in my town we all lived
together and were happy with our lives?" Richard nodded. "Not all were."
Kahlan crossed her arms and leaned toward Owen. "What do you mean, not
all were?"
Owen lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. "Some wanted more than our
simple joyful life. Some people ... well, they wanted to change things. They
said they wanted to make things better. They wanted to improve our life, to
build places for themselves, even though this is against our ways."
"Owen is right," an older man said in a grim tone. "In my time I have
seen a great many of these people who were unable to endure what some called
the chafing principles of our empire."
"And what happened when people wanted to make these changes, or could
not endure the principles of your empire?" Richard asked.
Owen looked to each side, to the other dispirited faces. "The great
speakers renounced their ideas. The Wise One said they would only bring
strife among us. Their hopes for new ways were turned aside and they were
denounced." Owen swallowed. "So these people decided they would leave
Bandakar. They went out of our land, taking the path through the opening in
the boundary, to find a new life for themselves. Not a single one ever
returned to us."
Richard wiped a hand across his face. "Then they died looking for their
new life, a better life than what you had to offer."
"But you don't understand." Owen rose to his feet. "We are like those
people." He swept his arm back at his men. "We have refused to go back and
give ourselves over to the men of the Order, even though we know that people
are being tortured because we hide. We know it will not stop the Order, so
we don't go back.
"We have gone against the wishes of our great speakers, and the Wise
One, to try to save our people. We have been denounced for what we choose to
do. We have gone out of the pass to seek information, to find a way to rid
ourselves of the Imperial Order. Do you see? We are much the same as those
others throughout our history. Like those others, we chose to leave and try
to change things rather than to endure the way things were."
"Then perhaps you are beginning to see," Richard said, "that everything
you were taught showed you only how to embrace death, not life. Perhaps you
see that what you called the teaching of enlightenment was no more than
blinders pulled over your eyes."
Richard put his hand on Owen's shoulder. He gazed down at the statue of
himself in his other hand and then looked around at the tense faces.
"You men are the ones left after all the rest have failed the tests.
You alone got this far. You alone have started to use your minds to try to
find a solution for you and your loved ones. You have much more to learn,
but you have at least started to make some of the right choices. You must
not stop now; you must meet with courage what I will call upon you to do, if
you are to truly have a chance to save your loved ones."
For the first time they looked at least a little proud. They had been
recognized, not for how well they repeated meaningless sayings, but for the
decisions they reached on their own.
Jennsen was frowning in thought. "Richard, why couldn't people get back
in through the passage out through the boundary? If they wanted to go off
and have a new life but then discovered that they would have to go through
the Pillars of Creation, why wouldn't they go back, at least to get
supplies, to get what they needed so they could make it through?"
"That's right," Kahlan said. "George Cypher went through the boundary
at Kings' Port and then returned. Adie said that the boundary had to have a
passage, a vent, like where these people banished criminals, so why couldn't
people come back in? There was a pass out, so why did they never return?"
The men nodded, curious to hear why no one ever came back.
"From the first, I've wondered the same thing." Richard rubbed a thumb
along the glossy black surface of the statue of himself. "I think that the
boundaries in the Midlands had to have an opening through them because they
were so big--so long. This boundary, here, is nothing compared to those; I
doubt that the same kind of vent would be needed.
"Because it was just one bent section of a boundary and not very long,
I suspect that Kaja-Rang was able to put in a pass that allowed criminals to
be banished through it, but would not allow passage back in. After all, if a
criminal was banished and found he couldn't escape, he would return.
Kaja-Rang wouldn't have wanted that to happen."
"How could such a thing work?" Jennsen asked.
Richard rested his left hand on the hilt of his sword. "Certain snakes
can swallow prey much larger than themselves. Their teeth are angled back so
that as the prey is devoured, it's impossible for it to come back out, to
escape. I suppose that the pass through the boundary could have been somehow
like that--only able to be traversed in one direction."
"Do you think such a thing is possible?" Jennsen asked.
"There is precedent for such safeguards," Kahlan said.
Richard nodded his agreement. "The great barrier between the New and
the Old World had defenses to allow certain people, under specific
conditions, one passage through and back, but not two." He pointed the
warning beacon up at the statue. "A wizard of Kaja-Rang's ability would
surely have known how to craft a pass through the boundary that did not
allow any return. After all, he called it up out of the underworld itself
and it remained viable for nearly three thousand years."
"So then anyone who went out of this boundary died," Owen said.
Richard nodded. "I'm afraid so. Kaja-Rang appeared to have made
elaborate plans that functioned as he intended for all this time. He even
made contingencies should the boundary fail."
"That's something I don't understand," a young man said. "If this
wizard was so great, and his magic was so powerful that he could make a wall
of death to keep us separated from the world for three thousand years, then
how could it possibly fail? In the last two years it simply went away. Why?"
"I believe it was because of me," Kahlan said.
She took a step closer to the men. Richard didn't try to stop her. At
this point, it wouldn't do to appear as if he were withholding information
from them.
"A couple of years ago, in a desperate act to save Richard's life, I
inadvertently called forth underworld power that I believe may be slowly
destroying magic in our world. Richard banished this evil magic, but it had
been here in the world of life for a time, so the effects may be
irreversible."
Worried looks passed among the men. This woman before them had just
admitted that because of something she'd done, their protection had failed.
Because of her, horrifying violence and brutality had befallen them. Because
of her, their way of life had ended.
You still have not shown us your magic," one of the men finally said.
Richard's hand slipped away from the small of Kahlan's back as he
stepped toward the men.
"Kaja-Rang devised a facet to his magic, linked to the boundary he
placed here, to help protect it." Richard held up the small figure of
himself for all the men to see. "This was sent to warn me that the boundary
to your land had failed."
"Why is the top part of it that strange black?" asked a man standing in
the front.
"I believe that it's an indication of how I'm running out of time, how
I may be dying."
Worried whispering swept through the group of men. Richard held up a
hand, urging them to listen to him as he went on.
"This sand inside--can you all see this sand?"
Stretching their necks, they all tried to get a look, but not all were
close enough, so Richard walked among them, holding up the statue so that
they could all see that it looked like him, and see the sand falling inside.
"This is not really sand," he told them. "It's magic."
Owen's face twisted with skepticism. "But you said we couldn't see
magic."
"You are all pristinely ungifted and aren't touched by magic, so you
can't see regular magic. The boundary, however, still prevented you from
going out into the world, didn't it? Why do you suppose that was so?"
"It was a wall of death," an older man spoke up, seeming to think that
it was self-evident.
"But how could it harm people who are not affected by magic? Going into
the boundary itself meant death for you the same as anyone else. Why?
"Because the boundary is a place in this world where the underworld
also existed. The underworld is the world of the dead. You may be ungifted,
but you are mortal; since you are linked to life, so, too, are you linked to
death."
Richard again held the statue up. "This magic, as well, is tied to the
underworld. Since you are all mortal, you have a connection to the
underworld, to the Keeper's power, to death. That's why you can see the sand
that shows how my time trickles away."
"I don't see anything magical about sand trickling down," a man
grumbled. "Just because you say it's magic, or that it's your life trickling
away, that doesn't seem to prove anything."
Richard turned the statue sideways. The sand continued to flow, but
sideways.
Gasps and astonished whispering broke out among the men as they watched
the sand flowing laterally.
They crowded in close like curious children to see the statue as
Richard held it up, on its side, so they could see magic. Some reached out
and tentatively touched the inky black surface as Richard held the figure of
himself out for them to inspect. Others leaned close, peering in to see the
sand flowing askew in the lower part, where the figure was still
transparent.
The men spoke of what a wonder it was, but they weren't sure about his
explanation of underworld magic.
"But we all see this," one of the men said. "This doesn't show us that
we're really different from you or anyone else, as you say we are. This
shows us only that we are all able to see this magic, the same as you. Maybe
we aren't this pristinely ungifted people you seem to think we are."
Richard thought about it a moment, thought about what he could do to
show them the true aspects of magic. Even though he was gifted, he didn't
know a great deal about controlling his own gift, except that it was in part
powered by anger linked to need. He couldn't simply demonstrate some bit of
magic the way Zedd could, and besides, even if he could do something
magical, they wouldn't be able to see it.
Out of the corner of his eye, Richard saw Cara standing with her arms
folded. An idea came to him.
"The bond between the Lord Rahl and his people is a bond of magic,"
Richard said. "That same magic powers other things, besides the protection
that the bond affords against the dream walker."
Richard gestured for Cara to come forward. "In addition to being my
friend, Cara is also a Mord-Sith. For thousands of years Mord-Sith have been
fierce protectors of the Lord Rahl." Richard lifted Cara's arm for the men
to see the red rod hanging from the fine gold chain at her wrist. "This is
an Agiel, the weapon of a Mord-Sith. The Agiel is powered by a Mord-Sith's
connection to the Lord Rahl--to me."
"But it has no blade on it," a man said as he looked closely at the
Agiel swinging on the end of the gold chain. "It has nothing of any use as a
weapon."
"Take a closer look at it," Richard suggested as he held Cara's elbow
and guided her forward, among the men. "Look at it closely to satisfy
yourself that what this man has observed, that it has no blade, that it is
nothing more than this slender rod, is true."
The men leaned in close as Cara walked among them, holding her arm up,
letting the men touch and inspect her Agiel as it dangled from its chain.
When they had all had a look, inspecting the length of it, looking at the
end, hefting it to see that it wasn't heavy and couldn't really be used as a
club, Richard told Cara to touch it to the men. The Agiel spun up into her
fist. Men flinched back at the grim look on her face as she came at them
with the thing that Richard had told them was a weapon.
Cara touched her Agiel to Owen's shoulder.
"She touched me with this red rod before," he assured his men. "It does
nothing."
Cara pressed the Agiel to every man close enough for her to reach. A
few cringed back, fearful of being harmed, even though it had harmed none of
their fellows. Many of the men, though, felt the touch of her Agiel and were
satisfied that there was no ill effect.
Richard rolled up his sleeve. "Now, I will show you that this really is
a powerful weapon of magic."
He held his arm out to Cara. "Draw blood," he said in a calm voice that
did not betray what he really thought of being touched by an Agiel.
Cara stared at him. "Lord Rahl, I don't--"
"Do it," Richard commanded as he held his arm out.
"Here," Tom said, thrusting his bared arm in front of her. "Do it to
me, instead."
Cara immediately saw this as a preferable test.
"No!" Jennsen objected, but too late.
Tom cried out as Cara touched the end of her Agiel to his arm. He
staggered back a step, a trickle of blood running down his arm. The men
stared, unsure what they were seeing.
"It must be a trick of some kind," one suggested.
As Jennsen comforted Tom, Richard held his arm out again.
"Show them," he told Cara. "Show them what a Mord-Sith's Agiel can do
with magic alone."
Cara looked into his eyes. "Lord Rahl..."
"Do it. Show them, so they understand." He turned to the men. "Gather
around closer so you can see that it does its terrible task with no visible
means. Watch closely so that you can all see that it's magic alone doing its
grisly work."
Richard clenched his fist as he held the inside of his arm up for her
to touch. "Do it so that they can clearly see what it will do; otherwise it
will be for nothing. Don't make me do this for nothing."
Cara pressed her lips tight with the displeasure of his command. She
looked once more at the resolve in his eyes. When she did, he could see in
her blue eyes the pain it gave her to hold the Agiel. He clenched his teeth
and nodded that he was ready. With an iron visage, she laid the Agiel
against the inside of his forearm.
It felt like lightning hit him.
The touch of the Agiel was out of all proportion to what it would
appear it should feel like. The thunderous jolt of pain shot up his arm. The
shock of it slammed into his shoulder. It felt like the bones in his entire
arm shattered. Teeth gritted, he held his trembling arm out as Cara slowly
dragged the Agiel down toward his wrist. Blood-filled blisters rose in its
wake. Blood gushed down his arm.
Richard held his breath, kept his abdominal muscles tight, as he went
to one knee, not because he intended to, but because he couldn't remain
standing under the weight of pain as he held his arm up for Cara as she
pressed the Agiel to it. The men gasped as they watched, shocked at the
blood, the obvious pain. They whispered their astonishment.
Cara withdrew the weapon. Richard released the rigid tension in his
muscles, bending forward as he panted, trying to catch his breath, trying to
remain upright. Blood dripped off his fingers.
Kahlan was there beside him with a small scarf Jennsen pulled from a
pocket. "Are you out of your mind?" she hissed heatedly as she wrapped his
bleeding arm.
"Thanks," he said in response to her care, not wanting to address her
question.
He couldn't make his fingers stop trembling. Cara had held little back.
He was sure that she hadn't broken any bones, but it felt as if she had. He
could feel tears of pain running down his face.
When Kahlan finished, Cara put a hand under his arm and helped him to
his feet. "The Mother Confessor is right," she growled under her breath.
"You are out of your mind."
Richard didn't argue the need of what he'd had her do, but instead
turned to the men. He held his arm out. A wet crimson stain slowly grew
along the length of the scarf bandage.
"There is powerful magic for you. You can't see the magic, but you can
see the results. That magic can kill, should Cara wish it." The men cast
worried glances her way, viewing her with newfound respect. "But it could
not harm you men because you have no ability to interact with such magic.
Only those born with the spark of the gift can feel the touch of an Agiel."
The mood had changed. The sight of blood had sobered everyone.
Richard paced slowly before the men. "I've given you the truth in all
that I've told you. I've kept nothing important or relevant from you, nor
will I. I've told you who I am, who you are, and how we've come to this
point. If there is anything you wish to know, I will give you my truthful
answer."
When Richard paused, the men looked around at one another, seeing if
anyone would ask a question. No one did.
"The time has come," Richard said, "for you men to decide your future
and the future of your loved ones. Today is the day upon which that future
hinges."
Richard gestured toward Owen. "I know that Owen had a woman he loved,
Marilee, who was taken away by the Order. I know that each of you has
suffered great loss at the hands of the men of the Imperial Order. I don't
know all your names, yet, or the names of the loved ones taken from you, but
please believe me when I tell you that I know such pain.
"While I understand how you came to the point where you thought you had
no options but to poison me, it wasn't right for you to have done so." Many
men looked away from Richard's gaze, casting their own downward. "I'm going
to give you a chance to set the proper course for yourselves and your loved
ones."
He let them consider this a moment before going on. "You men have
passed many tests to make it this far, to have survived this long in such a
brutal situation as you have all faced, but now you must make a choice."
Richard rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. "I want to know where
you've hidden the antidote to the poison you've given me."
Worried looks spread through the crowd. Men glanced to the side, trying
to judge the feelings of their fellows, trying to see what they would do.
Owen, too, tried to gauge the reaction of his friends, but being just
as uncertain as he, they offered no firm indication of what they wanted to
do. Finally he licked his lips and timidly asked a question.
"If we say that we will tell you where the antidote is, will you agree
to first give us your word that you will help us?"
Richard resumed his measured pacing. The men nervously waited for his
answer as they watched blood drip off his fingers, leaving a trail of
crimson drops on the stone.
"No," Richard said. "I will not allow you to link two separate issues.
It was wrong to poison me. This is your chance to reverse that wrong.
Linking it to any concession perpetuates the fallacy that it can somehow be
justified. Telling me where you've hidden the antidote is the only proper
thing for you to do, now, and must be without condition. This is the day you
must decide how you will live your future. Until you give me your decision,
I will tell you nothing more."
Some of the men looked on the verge of panic, some on the verge of
tears. Owen prodded them all back, away from Richard, so that they could
discuss it among themselves.
"No," Richard said, his pacing coming to a halt. The men all fell
silent and turned back toward him. "I don't want any of you coming to a
decision because of what another says. I want each of you to give me your
own personal decision."
The men stared. A number spoke up all at once, wanting to know what he
meant.