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where they stood, they couldn't make out the sides of the lifeless stretch,
the places where growth began.
Looking to the east, though, the pattern was evident. A clearly defined
strip--miles wide--ran off into the distance.
Nothing grew within the bounds of the straight strip of lifeless
desert, whether going over rock or sandy ground. To either side the ground
with widely spaced brush and lichen growing on the rock was darker. The
place where nothing grew was a lighter tan. In the distance the discrepancy
in the color was even more apparent.
The lifeless strip ran straight for mile after mile toward the far
mountains, gradually becoming but a faint line following the rise of the
ground until, finally, in the hazy distance, it could no longer be seen.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Kahlan asked in a low, troubled
voice.
"What?" Cara asked. "What are you thinking?"
Richard studied the confused concern on the Mord-Sith's face. "What
kept Darken Rahl's armies in D'Hara? What prevented him, for so many years,
from invading the Midlands and taking it, even though he wanted it?"
"He couldn't cross the boundary," Cara said as if he must be having
heat stroke.
"And what made up the boundary?"
At last, Cara's face, framed by the black desert garb, went white, too.
"The boundary was the underworld?"
Richard nodded. "It was like a rip in the veil, where the underworld
existed in this world. Zedd told us about it. He put the boundary up with a
spell he found in the Keep--a spell from those ancient times of the great
war. Once up, the boundary was a place in this world where the world of the
dead also existed. In that place, where both worlds touched, nothing could
grow."
"But are you so sure things wouldn't still grow there?" Cara asked. "It
was still our world, after all--the world of life."
"It would be impossible for anything to grow there. The world of life
was there, in that spot--the ground was there--but life couldn't exist there
on that ground because it shared that same space with the world of the dead.
Anything there would be touched by death."
Cara looked out at the straight, lifeless strip running off into the
wavering distance. "So you think what? . . . This is a boundary?"
"Was."
Cara looked from his face, to Kahlan, and again out to the distance.
"Dividing what?"
Overhead a flight of black-tipped races came into sight, riding the
high currents, turning lazy circles as they watched.
"I don't know," Richard admitted.
He looked west again, back down the gradual slope running away from the
mountains, back to where they had been.
"But look," Richard said, gesturing out into the burning wasteland from
where they had come. "It runs back toward the Pillars of Creation."
As the things growing thinned and eventually ceased to be back that
way, so too did the lifeless strip. It became indistinguishable from the
surrounding wasteland because there was no life to mark where the line had
been.
"There's no telling how far it runs. For all I know," Richard said,
"it's possible that it runs all the way back to the valley itself."
"That part makes no sense to me," Kahlan said. "I can see what you mean
about it maybe being like the boundaries up in the New World, the boundaries
between Westland, the Midlands, and D'Hara. That much I follow. But the
spirits take me, I don't get why it would run to the Pillars of Creation.
That part just strikes me as more than odd."
Richard turned and gazed back to the east, where they were headed, to
the rumpled gray wall of mountains rising steeply up from the broad desert
floor, studying the distant notch that sat a little north of where the
boundary line ran toward those mountains.
He looked south, to the wagon making its way toward those mountains.
"We better catch up with the others," Richard finally said. "I need to
get back to translating the book."
The spectral spires around Richard glowed under the lingering caress of
the low sun. In the amber light, as he scouted the forsaken brink of the
towering mountains beyond, long pools of shadow were darkening to the
blue-black color of bruises.
The pinnacles of reddish rock stood like stony guardians along the
lower reaches of the desolate foothills, as if listening for the echoing
crunch of his footsteps along the meandering gravel beds.
Richard had felt like being alone to think, so he had set out to scout
by himself. It was hard to think when people were constantly asking
questions.
He was frustrated that the book hadn't yet told him anything that would
in any way help explain the presence of the strange boundary line, much less
the connection of the book's title, the place called the Pillars of
Creation, and those ungifted people like Jennsen. The book, in the beginning
that he'd so far translated, anyway, appeared mostly to be an historical
record dealing with unanticipated matters involving occurrences of "pillars
of Creation," as those like Jennsen were called, and the unsuccessful
attempts at "curing" those "unfortunates."
Richard was beginning to get the clear sense that the book was laying a
careful foundation of early details in preparation for something calamitous.
The nearly quaking care of the recounting of every possible course of action
that had been investigated gave him the feeling that whoever wrote the book
was being painstaking for reasons of consequence.
Not daring to slow their pace, Richard had been translating while
riding in the wagon. The dialect was slightly different from the High
D'Haran he was used to reading, so working out the translation was slow
going, especially sitting in the back of the bouncing wagon. He had no way
of knowing if the book would eventually offer any answers, but he felt a
gnawing worry over what the unfolding account was working up to. He would
have jumped ahead, but he'd learned in the past that doing so often wasted
more time than it saved, since it interfered with accurately grasping the
whole picture, which sometimes led to dangerously erroneous conclusions. He
would just have to keep at it.
After working all day, focused intently on the book, he'd ended up with
a fierce headache. He'd had days without them, but now when they came it
seemed they were worse each time. He didn't tell Kahlan how concerned he was
that he wouldn't make it to the sliph's well in Tanimura. Besides working at
translating, he racked his brain trying to find a solution.
While he had no idea what the key to the headaches brought on by the
gift was, he had the nagging feeling that it was within himself. He feared
it was a matter of balance he was failing to see. He had even resorted when
out alone, once, to sitting and meditating as the Sisters had once taught
him in order to try to focus on the gift within. It had been to no avail.
It would be dark soon and they would need to stop for the night. Since
the terrain had changed, it was no longer a simple task to see if the area
all around them was clear. Now there were places where an army could lie in
wait. With the races shadowing them, there was no telling who might know
where to find them. Besides simply wanting a break to think about what he'd
read and what he might find within himself to answer the problem of his
headaches, Richard wanted to check the surrounding area himself.
Richard paused for a moment to watch a family of quail, the juveniles
fully grown, hurry across an open patch of ground. They trotted across the
exposed gravel in a line while the father, perched atop a rock, stood
lookout. As soon as they melted into the brush, they were again invisible.
Small scraggly pine trees dotted the sweep of irregular hills, gullies,
and rocky outcroppings at the fringe of the mountains. Up higher, on the
nearby slopes, larger conifers grew in greater abundance. In low, sheltered
places clumps of brush lay in thick clusters. Thin grasses covered some of
the open ground.
Richard wiped sweat from his eyes. He hoped that with the sun going
down the air might cool a little. As he made his way along the concealment
of the base of a runoff channel in a fold of two hills, he reached for the
strap of his waterskin, about to take a long drink, when movement on a far
hillside caught his attention.
He slipped behind the screen of a long shelf of rock to stay out of
sight. Taking a careful peek, he saw a man making his way down the loose
scree on the side of the hill. The sound of the rock crunching underfoot and
sliding down the slope sent a distant echo through the rocky canyons.
Richard had expected that as they left the forbidding wasteland they
might at any time begin encountering people, so he had had everyone change
out of the black outfits of the nomadic desert people and back into their
unassuming traveling clothes. While he was in black trousers and simple
shirt, his sword was hardly inconspicuous. Kahlan, as well, had put on
simple clothes that were more in keeping with the impoverished people of the
Old World, but on Kahlan they didn't seem to make much difference; it was
hard to hide her figure and her hair, but most of all her presence. Once
those green eyes of hers fixed on people, they usually had an urge to drop
to a knee and bow their head. Her clothes made little difference.
No doubt Emperor Jagang had spread their description far and wide and
had offered a reward large enough that even his enemies would find it hard
to resist. For many in the Old World, though, the price of continued life
under the brutal rule of the Imperial Order was too high. Despite the
reward, there were many who hungered to live free and were willing to act to
gain that goal.
There was also the problem of the bond the Lord Rahl had with the
D'Haran people; through that ancient bond forged by Richard's ancestors,
D'Harans could sense where the Lord Rahl was. The Imperial Order could
discover where Richard was by that bond, too. All they had to do was torture
the information out of a D'Haran. If one person failed to talk under
torture, they would not be shy about trying others until they learned what
they wanted.
As Richard watched, the lone man, once he reached the bottom of the
hill, made his way along the gravel beds lining the bottom of the rocky
gullies. Off to Richard's right the wagon and horses were lifting a long
trail of dust. That was where the man seemed to be headed.
At such a distance it was hard to tell for sure, but Richard doubted
that the man was a soldier. He wouldn't likely be a scout, not in his own
homeland, and they weren't near the hotbeds of the revolt against the rule
of the Imperial Order. Richard didn't think there would be any reason for
soldiers to be going this way, through such uninhabited areas. That was,
after all, why he had picked this route, heading east to the shadow of the
mountains before turning to a more northerly route back to where they had
been.
There was also the possibility that the bond had inadvertently revealed
Richard's whereabouts and an army was out looking for him. If the man was a
soldier, there could shortly be many more, like ants, swarming down out of
the hills.
Richard climbed the back side of a short rocky prominence and lay on
his stomach, watching over the top. As the man got closer, Richard could see
that he looked young, under thirty years, a bit scrawny, and was dressed
nothing at all like a soldier. By the way he stumbled, he was not used to
the terrain, or maybe just not used to traveling. It was tiring walking over
ground of loose, sharp, broken rock, especially if it was on a slope, since
it never provided any solid place for a steady stride.
The man stopped, stretching his neck to peer at the wagon. Panting from
the effort of making it down the slope, he combed his fine blond hair back
repeatedly with his fingers, then bent at the waist and rested a hand on a
knee while he caught his breath.
When the man straightened and started out once more, crunching through
the gravel at the bottom of the wash, Richard slid back down the rock. He
used the intervening lay of the land and patches of scraggly pine to screen
himself from sight. He paused from time to time, as he moved closer, to
listen for the heavy footsteps and labored breathing, checking his
dead-reckoning estimation of where the man would be.
From behind a freestanding wall of rock a good sixty feet tall, Richard
carefully peered out for a look. He had managed to close most of the
distance without the man being aware of his presence. Richard moved silently
from tree to rock to the back side of slopes, until he was out ahead of the
man and in his line of travel.
Still as stone behind a twisted reddish spire of rock jutting from the
broken ground, Richard listened to the crunch of footfalls approaching,
listened to the man gulping for breath as he climbed over fingers of rock
that lay in his way.
When the man was not six feet away, Richard stepped out right in front
of him.
The man gasped, clutching his light travel coat beneath his chin as he
cringed back a step.
Richard regarded the man without outward emotion, but inside the
sword's power churned with the menace of rage restrained. For an instant,
Richard felt the power falter. The magic of the sword keyed off its master's
perception of danger, so such hesitation could be because the smaller man
didn't appear to be an immediate threat.
The man's clothes, brown trousers, flaxen shirt, and a light, frayed
fustian coat, had seen better days. He looked to have had a rough time of
his journey--but then, Richard, too, had put on unassuming clothes in order
not to raise suspicion. The man's backpack looked to hold precious little.
Two waterskins, their straps crisscrossed across his chest, bunching the
light coat, were flat and empty. He carried no weapons that Richard saw, not
even a knife.
The man waited expectantly, as if he feared to be the first to speak.
"You appear to be headed for my friends," Richard said, tipping his
head toward the thin golden plume of dust hanging like a beacon in the
sunlight above the darkening plain, giving the man a chance to explain
himself.
The man, wide-eyed, shoulders hunched, raked back his hair several
times. Richard stood before him like a stone pillar, blocking his way. The
man's blue eyes turned to each side, apparently checking to see if he had an
escape route should he decide to bolt.
"I mean you no harm," Richard said. "I just want to know what you're up
to."
"Up to?"
"Why you're headed for the wagon."
The man glanced toward the wagon, not visible beyond the craggy folds
of rock, then down at Richard's sword, and finally up into his eyes.
"I'm ... looking for help," he finally said.
"Help?"
The man nodded. "Yes. I'm searching for the one whose craft is
fighting."
Richard cocked his head. "You're looking for a soldier of some kind?"
He swallowed at the frown on Richard's face. "Yes, that's right."
Richard shrugged. "The Imperial Order has lots of soldiers. I'm sure
that if you keep looking you will come across some."
The man shook his head. "No. I seek the man from far away--from far to
the north. The man who came to bring freedom to many of the oppressed people
of the Old World. The man who gives us all hope that the Imperial Order--may
the Creator forgive their misguided ways--will be cast out of our lives so
that we can be at peace once again."
"Sorry," Richard said, "I don't know anyone like that."
The man didn't look disappointed by Richard's words. He looked more
like he simply didn't believe them. His fine features were pleasant-looking,
even though he appeared unconvinced.
"Do you think you could"--the man hesitantly lifted an arm out,
pointing--"at least... let me have a drink?"
Richard relaxed a bit. "Sure."
He pulled the strap off his shoulder and tossed his waterskin to the
man. He caught it as if it were precious glass he feared to drop. He pried
at the stopper, finally getting it free, and started gulping the water.
He stopped abruptly, lowering the waterskin. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean
to start drinking all your water right down."
"It's all right." Richard gestured for him to drink up. "I have more
back at the wagon. You look to need it."
As Richard hooked a thumb behind his wide leather belt, the man bowed
his head in thanks before tipping the waterskin up for a long drink.
"Where did you hear about this man who fights for freedom?" Richard
asked.
The man brought the waterskin down again, his eyes never leaving
Richard as he paused to catch his breath. "From many a tongue. The freedom
he has spread down here in the Old World has brought hope to us all."
Richard smiled inwardly at how the bright hope of freedom burned even
in a dark place like the heart of the Old World. There were people
everywhere who hungered for the same things in life, for a chance to live
their life free and by their own labor to better themselves.
Overhead a black-tipped race, wings spread wide, popped into sight as
it glided across the open swath of sky above the rise of rock to each side.
Richard didn't have his bow, but the race stayed out of range, anyway.
The man shrank at seeing the race the way a rabbit would shrink when it
saw a hawk.
"Sorry I can't help you," Richard said when the race had disappeared.
He checked behind, in the direction of the wagon, out beyond the nearby
hill. "I'm traveling with my wife and family, looking for work, for a place
to mind our own business."
Richard's business was the revolution, if he was to have a chance for
his plan to work, and there were a number of people waiting on him in that
regard. He had more urgent problems, first, though.
"But, Lord Rahl, my people need--"
Richard spun back around. "Why would you call me that?"
"I'm, I'm sorry." The man swallowed. "I didn't mean to anger you."
"What makes you think I'm this Lord Rahl?"
The man painted his hand up and down in front of Richard as he
sputtered, trying to find words. "You, you, you just... are. I can't imagine
... what else you want me to say. I'm sorry if I have offended you by being
so forward, Lord Rahl."
Cara stalked out from behind a rocky spire. "What have we here?"
The man gasped in surprise at seeing her as he flinched back yet
another step, clutching the waterskin to his chest as if it were a shield of
steel.
Tom, his silver knife to hand, stepped up out of a gully behind the
man, blocking the way should the man decide to run back the way he'd come.
The man turned in a circle to see Tom towering behind. As he finally
came back around and saw Kahlan standing beside Richard, he let out another
gasp. They all were wearing dusty traveling clothes, but somehow Richard
didn't suppose that at that moment they looked at all like simple travelers
in search of work.
"Please," the man said, "I don't mean any harm."
"Take it easy," Richard said as he stole a sidelong glance at Cara--
his words meant not only for the man but the Mord-Sith as well. "Are you
alone?" Richard asked him.
"Yes, Lord Rahl. I'm on a mission for my people, just as I told you.
You are of course to be forgiven your aggressive nature--I would expect
nothing less. I want you to know I hold no feelings of resentment toward
you."
"Why does he think you're the Lord Rahl?" Cara said to Richard in a
tone that sounded more accusation than question.
"I've heard the descriptions," the man put in. Still clutching the
waterskin to his chest, he pointed with the other hand. "And that sword.
I've heard about Lord Rahl's sword." His gaze moved cautiously to Kahlan.
"And the Mother Confessor, of course," he added, dipping his head.
"Of course," Richard sighed.
He'd expected that he would have to hide the sword around strangers,
but now he knew just how important that was going to be whenever they went
into any populated areas. The sword would be relatively easy to hide. Not so
with Kahlan. He thought that maybe they could cover her in rags and say she
was a leper.
The man leaned cautiously out, arm extended, and handed Richard his
waterskin. "Thank you, Lord Rahl."
Richard took a long drink of the terrible-tasting water before offering
it to Kahlan. She lifted hers out for him to see as she declined with a
single shake of her head. Richard took another long swig before replacing
the stopper and slinging the strap back over his shoulder.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Owen."
"Well, Owen, why don't you come back to camp with us for the night. We
can fill up your waterskins for you, at least, before you're on your way in
the morning."
Cara was near to bursting as she gritted her teeth at Richard. "Why
don't you just let me see to--"
"I think Owen has problems we can all understand. He's concerned for
his friends and family. In the morning, he can be on his way, and we can be
on ours."
Richard didn't want the man out there somewhere, in the dark, where
they couldn't as easily keep an eye on him as they could if he were in camp.
In the morning it would be easy enough to make sure that he wasn't following
them. Cara finally understood Richard's intent and relaxed. He knew she
would want any stranger in her sight while Richard and Kahlan were sleeping.
Kahlan at his side, Richard started back to the wagon. The man
followed, his head swiveling side to side, from Tom to Cara, and back again.
Since they were headed back to the wagon, Richard finished what water
remained in his waterskin while, behind, Owen thanked him for the invitation
and promised not to be any trouble.
Richard intended to see to it that Owen kept his promise.
Up in the wagon, Richard dunked Owen's two waterskins in the barrel
that still had water. Owen, sitting with his back pressed against a wheel,
glanced up at Richard from time to time, watching expectantly, as Cara
glared at him. Cara clearly didn't like the fellow, but as protective as
Mord-Sith were, that didn't necessarily mean that it was warranted.
For some reason, though, Richard didn't care for the man, either. It
wasn't so much that he disliked him, just that he couldn't warm to the
fellow. He was polite and certainly didn't look threatening, but there was
something about the man's attitude that made Richard feel... edgy.
Tom and Friedrich broke up dried wood they'd collected, feeding it into
the small fire. The wonderful aroma of pine pitch covered the smell of the
nearby horses.
From time to time Owen cast a fearful eye at Cara, Kahlan, Tom, and
Friedrich. By far, though, he seemed most uneasy about Jennsen. He tried to
avert his eyes from her, tried not to look her directly in the eye, but his
gaze kept being drawn to her red hair shining in the firelight. When Betty
approached to investigate the stranger, Owen stopped breathing. Richard told
Owen that the goat just wanted attention. Owen gingerly patted the top of
Betty's head as if the goat were a gar that might take off his arm if he
weren't careful.
Jennsen, with a smile and ignoring the way he stared at her hair,
offered Owen some of her dried meat.
Owen just stared wide-eyed up at her leaning down over him.
"I'm not a witch," she said to Owen. "People think my red hair is a
sign that I'm a witch. I'm not. I can assure you, I have no magic."
The edge in her voice surprised Richard, reminding him that there was
iron under the feminine grace.
Still wide-eyed, Owen said, "Of course not. I, I... just never saw such
... beautiful hair before, that's all."
"Why, thank you," Jennsen said, her smile returning. She again offered
him a piece of dried meat.
"I'm sorry," Owen said in polite apology, "but I prefer not to eat
meat, if it's all right with you."
He quickly reached in his pocket, bringing out a cloth pouch holding
dried biscuit. He forced a smile at Jennsen as he held out the biscuits.
"Would you like one of mine?"
Tom started, glaring at Owen.
"Thanks, no," Jennsen said as she withdrew her extended hand and sat
down on a low, flat rock. She snagged Betty by an ear and made her lie down
at her feet. "You'd best eat the biscuits yourself if you don't want meat,"
she said to Owen. "I'm afraid we don't have a lot that isn't."
"Why don't you eat meat?" Richard asked.
Owen looked up over his shoulder at Richard in the wagon above him. "I
don't like the thought of harming animals just to satisfy my want of food."
Jennsen smiled politely. "That's a kindhearted sentiment."
Owen twitched a smile before his gaze was drawn once again to her hair.
"It's just the way I feel," he said, finally looking away from her.
"Darken Rahl felt the same way," Cara said, turning the glare on
Jennsen. "I saw him horsewhip a woman to death because he caught her eating
a sausage in the halls of the People's Palace. It struck him as
disrespectful of his feelings."
Jennsen stared in astonishment.
"Another time," Cara went on as she chewed a bite of sausage, "I was
with him when he came around a corner outside, near the gardens. He spotted
a cavalry man atop his horse eating a meat pie. Darken Rahl lashed out with
a flash of conjured lightning, beheading the man's horse in an
instant--thump, it dropped into the hedge. The man managed to land on his
feet as the rest of his horse crashed to the ground. Darken Rahl reached
out, drew the man's sword, and in a fit of anger slashed the belly of the
horse open. Then he seized the soldier by the scruff of his neck and shoved
his face into the horse's innards, screaming at him to eat. The man tried
his best, but ended up suffocated in the horse's warm viscera."
Owen covered his mouth as he closed his eyes.
Cara waved her sausage as if indicating Darken Rahl standing before
her. "He turned to me, the fire gone out of him, and asked me how people
could be so cruel as to eat meat."
Jennsen, her mouth hanging open, asked, "What did you say?"
Cara shrugged. "What could I say? I told him I didn't know."
"But why would people eat meat, then, if he was like that?" Jennsen
asked.
"Most of the time, he wasn't. Vendors sold meat at the palace and he
usually paid it no mind. Sometimes he would shake his head in disgust, or
call them cruel, but usually he didn't even take notice of it."
Friedrich was nodding. "That was the thing about the man--you never
knew what he was going to do. He might smile at a person, or have them
tortured to death. You never knew."
Cara stared into the low flames of the fire before her. "There was no
way to reason out how he would react to anything." Her voice took on a
quiet, haunted quality. "A lot of people simply decided that it was only a
matter of time until he killed them, too, and so they lived their lives as
the condemned would, waiting for the axe to fall, taking no pleasure in life
or the thought of their future."
Tom nodded his grim agreement with Cara's assessment of life in D'Hara
as he fed a crook of driftwood into the fire.
"Is that what you did, Cara?" Jennsen asked.
Cara looked up and scowled. "I am Mord-Sith. Mord-Sith are always ready
to embrace death. We do not wish to die old and toothless."
Owen, nibbling his dried biscuit as if out of obligation to eat since
the rest of them were, was clearly shaken by the story. "I can't imagine
life with such savagery as all of you must live. Was this Darken Rahl
related to you, Lord Rahl?" Owen suddenly seemed to think he might have made
a mistake, and rushed to amend his question. "He has the same name ... so I
thought, well, I just thought--but I didn't mean to imply that I thought you
were like him...."
Stepping down from the wagon, Richard handed Owen his full wa-terskins.
"He was my father."
"I didn't mean anything by the question. I would never intentionally
cast aspersions on a man's father, especially a man who--"
"I killed him," Richard said.
Richard didn't feel like elaborating. He recoiled from the very thought
of going into the whole dreadful tale.
Owen gaped around as if he were a fawn surrounded by wolves.
"He was a monster," Cara said, appearing to feel the need to rise to
Richard's defense. "Now the people of D'Hara have a chance to look forward
to a future of living their lives as they wish."
Richard sat down beside Kahlan. "At least they will if they can be free
of the Imperial Order."
Head down, Owen nibbled on his biscuit as he watched the others.
When no one else spoke, Kahlan did. "Why don't you tell us your reasons
for coming here, Owen."
Richard recognized her tone as that of the Mother Confessor asking a
polite question meant to put a frightened petitioner at ease.
He dipped his head respectfully. "Yes, Mother Confessor."
"You know her, too?" Richard asked.
Owen nodded. "Yes, Lord Rahl."
"How?"
The man's gaze shifted from Richard to Kahlan and back again.
"Word of you and the Mother Confessor has spread everywhere. Word of
the way you freed the people of Altur'Rang from the oppression of the
Imperial Order is known far and wide. Those who want freedom know that you
are the one who gives it."
Richard frowned. "What do you mean, I'm the one who gives it?"
"Well, before, the Imperial Order ruled. They are brutal--forgive me,
they are misguided and don't know any better. That is why their rule is so
brutal. Perhaps it isn't their fault. It is not for me to say." Owen looked
away as he tried to come up with words while apparently seeing his own
visions of what the Imperial Order had done to convince him of their
brutality. "Then you came and gave people freedom--just as you did in
Altur'Rang."
Richard wiped a hand across his face. He needed to translate the book,
he needed to find out what was behind the thing Cara had touched and the
black-tipped races following them, he needed to get back to Victor and those
who were engaged in the revolt against the Order, he was past due to meet
Nicci, and he needed to deal with his headaches. At least, maybe Nicci could
help with that much of it.
"Owen, I don't 'give' people freedom."
"Yes, Lord Rahl."
Owen evidently took Richard's words as something he dared not argue
with, but his eyes clearly said that he didn't believe it.
"Owen, what do you mean when you say that you think I give people
freedom?"
Owen took a tiny bite of his biscuit as he glanced around at the
others. He squirmed his shoulders in a self-conscious shrug. Finally, he
cleared his throat.
"Well, you, you do what the Imperial Order does--you kill people." He
waved his biscuit awkwardly, as if it were a sword, stabbing the air. "You
kill those who enslave people, and then you give the people who were
enslaved their freedom so that peace can return."
Richard took a deep breath. He wasn't sure if Owen meant it the way it
came out, or if it was just that he was having difficulty explaining himself
in front of people who made him nervous.
"That's not exactly the way it is," Richard said.
"But that's why you came down here. Everyone knows it. You came down
here to the Old World to give people freedom."
Elbows on his knees, Richard leaned forward rubbing his palms together
as he thought about how much he wanted to explain. He felt a wave of
calmness when Kahlan draped a gentle, comforting hand over the back of his
shoulder. He didn't want to go into the horror of how he had been taken
prisoner and taken from Kahlan, thinking he would never see her again.
Richard put the whole weight of emotion over that long ordeal aside and
took another approach. "Owen, I'm from up in the New World--"
"Yes, I know," Owen said as he nodded. "And you came here to free
people from--"
"No. That's not the truth of it. We lived in the New World. We were
once at peace, apparently much like your people were. Emperor Ja-gang--"
"The dream walker."
"Yes, Emperor Jagang, the dream walker, sent his armies to conquer the
New World, to enslave our people--"
"My people, too."
Richard nodded. "I understand. I know what a horror that is. His
soldiers are rampaging up through the New World, murdering, enslaving our
people."
Owen turned his watery gaze off into the darkness as he nodded. "My
people, too."
"We tried to fight back," Kahlan told him. "But there are too many.
Their army is far too vast for us to drive them out of our land."
Owen nibbled his biscuit again, not meeting her gaze. "My people are
terrified of the men of the Order--may the Creator forgive their misguided
ways."
"May they scream in agony for all eternity in the darkest shadow of the
Keeper of the underworld," Cara said in merciless correction.
Owen stared slack-jawed at such a curse spoken aloud.
"We couldn't fight them like that--simply drive them back to the Old
World," Richard said, bringing Owen's gaze back to him as he went on with
the story. "So I'm down here, in Jagang's homeland, helping people who
hunger to be free to cast off the shackles of the Order. While he's away
conquering our land, he has left his own homeland open to those who hunger
for freedom. With Jagang and his armies away, that gives us a chance to
strike at Jagang's soft underbelly, to do him meaningful harm.
"I'm doing this because it's the only way we can fight back against the
Imperial Order--our only means to succeed. If I weaken his foundation, his
source of men and support, then he will have to withdraw his army from our
land and return south to defend his own.
"Tyranny cannot endure forever. By its very nature it rots everything
it rules, including itself. But that can take lifetimes. I'm trying to
accelerate that process so that I and those I love can be free in our
lifetimes--free to live our own lives. If enough people rise up against the
Imperial Order's rule, it may even loosen Jagang's grip on power and bring
him and the Order down.
"That's how I'm fighting him, how I'm trying to defeat him, how I'm
trying to get him out of my land."
Owen nodded. 'This is what we need, too. We are victims of fate. We
need for you to come and get his men out of our land, and then to withdraw
your sword, your ways, from our people so we may live in tranquility again.
We need you to give us freedom."
The driftwood popped, sending a glowing swirl of sparks skyward.
Richard, hanging his head, tapped his fingertips together. He didn't think
the man had heard a word he'd said. They needed rest. He needed to translate
the book. They needed to get to where they were going. At least he didn't
have a headache.
"Owen, I'm sorry," he finally said in a quiet voice. "I can't help you
in so direct a manner. But I would like you to understand that my cause is
to your advantage, too, and that what I'm doing will also cause Jagang to
eventually pull his troops out of your homeland as well, or at least weaken
their presence so that you can throw them out yourselves."
"No," Owen said. "His men will not leave my land until you come and ..
." Owen winced. "And destroy them."
The very word, the implication, looked sickening to the man.
"Tomorrow," Richard said, no longer bothering to try to sound polite,
"we have to be on our way. You will have to be on your way as well. I wish
you success in ridding your people of the Imperial Order."
"We cannot do such a thing," Owen protested. He sat up straighten "We
are not savages. You and those like you--the unenlightened ones--it is up to
you to do it and give us freedom, I am the only one who can bring you. You
must come and do as your kind does. You must give our empire freedom."
Richard rubbed his fingertips across the furrows of his brow. Cara
started to rise. A look from Richard sat her back down.
"I gave you water," Richard said as he stood. "I can't give you
freedom."
"But you must--"
"Double watch tonight," Richard said as he turned to Cara, cutting Owen
off.
Cara nodded once as her mouth twisted with a satisfied smile of iron
determination.
"In the morning," Richard added, "Owen will be on his way."
"Yes," she said, her blue-eyed glare sliding to Owen, "he certainly
will be."
What is it?" Kahlan asked as she rode up beside the wagon.
Richard looked to be furious about something. She saw then that he had
the book in one hand; his other was a fist. He opened his mouth, about to
speak, but when Jennsen, up on the seat beside Tom, turned back to see what
was going on, Richard said to her instead, "Kahlan and I are going to check
the road up ahead. Keep your eye on Betty so she doesn't jump out, will you,
Jenn?"
Jennsen smiled at him and nodded.
"If Betty gives you any trouble," Tom said, "just let me know and I'll
take her to a lady I know and have some goat sausages made up."
Jennsen grinned at their private joke and gave Tom a good-natured elbow
in his ribs. As Richard climbed over the side of the wagon and dropped to
the ground, she snapped her fingers at the tail-wagging goat.
"Betty! You just stay there. Richard doesn't need you tagging along
every single time."
Betty, front hooves on the chafing rail, bleated as she looked up at
Jennsen, as if asking for her to reconsider.
"Down," Jennsen said in admonishment. "Lie down."
Betty bleated and reluctantly hopped back down into the wagon bed, but
she would settle for no less than a scratch behind the ears as consolation
before she would lie down.
Kahlan leaned over from her seat in the saddle and untied the reins to
Richard's horse from the back of the wagon. He stepped into the stirrup and
gracefully swung up in one fluid motion. She could see that he was agitated
about something, but it made her heart sing just to look at him.
He shifted his weight forward slightly, urging his horse ahead. Kahlan
squeezed her legs to the side of her own horse to spur her into a canter to
keep up with Richard. He rode out ahead, rounding several turns in the
flatter land among the rough hillsides, until he caught up with Cara and
Friedrich, patrolling out in the lead.
"We're going to check out front for a while," he told them. "Why don't
you fall back and check behind."
Kahlan knew that Richard was sending them to the back because if he
took Kahlan to the back under the pretense of watching anything that might
come up on them from behind, Cara would keep falling back to check on them.
If they were out front, Cara wouldn't worry about them dropping back and
getting lost.
Cara laid her reins over and turned back. Sweat stuck Kahlan's shirt to
her back as she leaned over her horse's withers, urging her ahead as
Richard's horse sprang away. Despite the clumps of tall grass dotting the
foothills and occasional sparse patches of woods, the heat was still with
them. It cooled some at night, now, but the days were hot, with the humidity
increasing as the clouds built up against the wall of mountains to their
right.
Up close, the barrier of rugged mountains to the east was an
intimidating sight. Sheer rock walls rose up below projecting plateaus
heaped to their very edge with loose rock crumbled from yet higher plateaus
and walls, as if the entire range was all gradually crumbling. With drops of
thousands of feet at the fringe of overhanging shelves of rock, climbing
such unstable scree would be impossible. If there were passes through the
arid slopes, they were no doubt few and would prove difficult.
But making it past those gray mountains of scorching rock, they could
now see, was hardly the biggest problem.
Those closer mountains spreading north and south in the burning heat at
the edge of the desert partially hid what lay to the other side--a far more
daunting range of snowcapped peaks rising up to completely block any passage
east. Those imposing mountains were beyond the scale of any Kahlan had ever
seen. Not even the most rugged of the Rang'Shada Mountains in the Midlands
were their match. These mountains were like a race of giants. Precipitous
walls of rock soared thousands of feet straight up. Harrowing slopes rose
unbroken by any pass or rift and were so arduous that few trees could find a
foothold. Lofty snow-packed peaks that ascended majestically above windswept
clouds were jammed so close together that it reminded her more of a knife's
long jagged edge than separate summits.
The day before, when Kahlan had seen Richard studying those imposing
mountains, she had asked him if he thought there was any way across them. He
had said no, that the only way he could see to get beyond was possibly the
notch he'd spotted before, when he had found the place where the strange
boundary had once been, and that notch still lay some distance north.
For now, they skirted the dry side of the closer mountains as that
range made its way north along the more easily traversed lowlands.
Along the base of a gentle hill covered in clumps of brown grasses,
Richard finally slowed his horse. He turned in his saddle, checking that the
others were still coming, if a goodly distance behind.
He pulled his horse close beside her. "I skipped ahead in the book."
Kahlan didn't like the sound of that. "When I asked you before why you
didn't skip ahead, you said that it wasn't a wise thing to do.'\
"I know, but I wasn't really getting anywhere and we need answers^ As
their horses settled into a comfortable walk, Richard rubbed his shoulders.
"After all that heat I can't believe how cold it's getting."
"Cold? What are you--"
"You know those rare people like Jennsen?" The leather of his saddle
squeaked as he leaned toward her. "Ones born pristinely ungifted-- without
even that tiny spark of the gift? The pillars of Creation? Well, back when
this book was written, they weren't so rare."
"You mean it was more common for them to be born?"
"No, the ones who had been born began to grow up, get married, and have
children--ungifted children."
Kahlan looked over in surprise. "The broken links in the chain of the
gift that you were talking about, before?"
Richard nodded. "They were children of the Lord Rahl. Back then, it
wasn't like it has been in recent times with Darken Rahl, or his father.
From what I can tell, all the children of the Lord Rahl and his wife were
part of his family, and treated as such, even though they were born with
this problem. It seems that the wizards tried to help them-- both the direct
offspring, and then their children, and their children. They tried to cure
them."
"Cure them? Cure them of what?"
Richard lifted his arms in a heated gesture of frustration. "Of being
born ungifted--of being born without even that tiny spark of the gift like
everyone else has. The wizards back then tried to restore the breaks in the
link."
"How did they think they would be able to cure someone of not having
even the spark of the gift?"
Richard pressed his lips together as he thought of a way to explain
it_"Well, you know the wizards who sent you across the boundary to find
Zedd?"
"Yes," Kahlan said in a suspicious drawl.
"They weren't born with the gift--born wizards, that is. What were
they--second or third wizards? Something like that? You told me about them,
once." He snapped his fingers as it came to him. "Wizards of the third
Order. Right?"
"Yes. Just one, Giller, was the Second Order. None were able to pass
the tests to be a wizard of the First Order, like Zedd, because they didn't
have the gift. Being wizards was their calling, but they weren't gifted in
the conventional sense--but they still had that spark of the gift that
everyone has."
"That's what I'm talking about," Richard said. "They weren't born with
the gift to be wizards--just the spark of it like everyone else. Yet Zedd
somehow trained them to be able to use magic--to be wizards-- even though
they weren't born that way, born with the gift to be wizards."
"Richard, that was a lifetime of work."
"I know, but the point is that Zedd was able to help them to be
wizards--at least wizards enough to pass his tests and conjure magic."
"Yes, I suppose. When I was young they taught me about the workings of
magic and the Wizard's Keep, about those people and creatures in the
the places where growth began.
Looking to the east, though, the pattern was evident. A clearly defined
strip--miles wide--ran off into the distance.
Nothing grew within the bounds of the straight strip of lifeless
desert, whether going over rock or sandy ground. To either side the ground
with widely spaced brush and lichen growing on the rock was darker. The
place where nothing grew was a lighter tan. In the distance the discrepancy
in the color was even more apparent.
The lifeless strip ran straight for mile after mile toward the far
mountains, gradually becoming but a faint line following the rise of the
ground until, finally, in the hazy distance, it could no longer be seen.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Kahlan asked in a low, troubled
voice.
"What?" Cara asked. "What are you thinking?"
Richard studied the confused concern on the Mord-Sith's face. "What
kept Darken Rahl's armies in D'Hara? What prevented him, for so many years,
from invading the Midlands and taking it, even though he wanted it?"
"He couldn't cross the boundary," Cara said as if he must be having
heat stroke.
"And what made up the boundary?"
At last, Cara's face, framed by the black desert garb, went white, too.
"The boundary was the underworld?"
Richard nodded. "It was like a rip in the veil, where the underworld
existed in this world. Zedd told us about it. He put the boundary up with a
spell he found in the Keep--a spell from those ancient times of the great
war. Once up, the boundary was a place in this world where the world of the
dead also existed. In that place, where both worlds touched, nothing could
grow."
"But are you so sure things wouldn't still grow there?" Cara asked. "It
was still our world, after all--the world of life."
"It would be impossible for anything to grow there. The world of life
was there, in that spot--the ground was there--but life couldn't exist there
on that ground because it shared that same space with the world of the dead.
Anything there would be touched by death."
Cara looked out at the straight, lifeless strip running off into the
wavering distance. "So you think what? . . . This is a boundary?"
"Was."
Cara looked from his face, to Kahlan, and again out to the distance.
"Dividing what?"
Overhead a flight of black-tipped races came into sight, riding the
high currents, turning lazy circles as they watched.
"I don't know," Richard admitted.
He looked west again, back down the gradual slope running away from the
mountains, back to where they had been.
"But look," Richard said, gesturing out into the burning wasteland from
where they had come. "It runs back toward the Pillars of Creation."
As the things growing thinned and eventually ceased to be back that
way, so too did the lifeless strip. It became indistinguishable from the
surrounding wasteland because there was no life to mark where the line had
been.
"There's no telling how far it runs. For all I know," Richard said,
"it's possible that it runs all the way back to the valley itself."
"That part makes no sense to me," Kahlan said. "I can see what you mean
about it maybe being like the boundaries up in the New World, the boundaries
between Westland, the Midlands, and D'Hara. That much I follow. But the
spirits take me, I don't get why it would run to the Pillars of Creation.
That part just strikes me as more than odd."
Richard turned and gazed back to the east, where they were headed, to
the rumpled gray wall of mountains rising steeply up from the broad desert
floor, studying the distant notch that sat a little north of where the
boundary line ran toward those mountains.
He looked south, to the wagon making its way toward those mountains.
"We better catch up with the others," Richard finally said. "I need to
get back to translating the book."
The spectral spires around Richard glowed under the lingering caress of
the low sun. In the amber light, as he scouted the forsaken brink of the
towering mountains beyond, long pools of shadow were darkening to the
blue-black color of bruises.
The pinnacles of reddish rock stood like stony guardians along the
lower reaches of the desolate foothills, as if listening for the echoing
crunch of his footsteps along the meandering gravel beds.
Richard had felt like being alone to think, so he had set out to scout
by himself. It was hard to think when people were constantly asking
questions.
He was frustrated that the book hadn't yet told him anything that would
in any way help explain the presence of the strange boundary line, much less
the connection of the book's title, the place called the Pillars of
Creation, and those ungifted people like Jennsen. The book, in the beginning
that he'd so far translated, anyway, appeared mostly to be an historical
record dealing with unanticipated matters involving occurrences of "pillars
of Creation," as those like Jennsen were called, and the unsuccessful
attempts at "curing" those "unfortunates."
Richard was beginning to get the clear sense that the book was laying a
careful foundation of early details in preparation for something calamitous.
The nearly quaking care of the recounting of every possible course of action
that had been investigated gave him the feeling that whoever wrote the book
was being painstaking for reasons of consequence.
Not daring to slow their pace, Richard had been translating while
riding in the wagon. The dialect was slightly different from the High
D'Haran he was used to reading, so working out the translation was slow
going, especially sitting in the back of the bouncing wagon. He had no way
of knowing if the book would eventually offer any answers, but he felt a
gnawing worry over what the unfolding account was working up to. He would
have jumped ahead, but he'd learned in the past that doing so often wasted
more time than it saved, since it interfered with accurately grasping the
whole picture, which sometimes led to dangerously erroneous conclusions. He
would just have to keep at it.
After working all day, focused intently on the book, he'd ended up with
a fierce headache. He'd had days without them, but now when they came it
seemed they were worse each time. He didn't tell Kahlan how concerned he was
that he wouldn't make it to the sliph's well in Tanimura. Besides working at
translating, he racked his brain trying to find a solution.
While he had no idea what the key to the headaches brought on by the
gift was, he had the nagging feeling that it was within himself. He feared
it was a matter of balance he was failing to see. He had even resorted when
out alone, once, to sitting and meditating as the Sisters had once taught
him in order to try to focus on the gift within. It had been to no avail.
It would be dark soon and they would need to stop for the night. Since
the terrain had changed, it was no longer a simple task to see if the area
all around them was clear. Now there were places where an army could lie in
wait. With the races shadowing them, there was no telling who might know
where to find them. Besides simply wanting a break to think about what he'd
read and what he might find within himself to answer the problem of his
headaches, Richard wanted to check the surrounding area himself.
Richard paused for a moment to watch a family of quail, the juveniles
fully grown, hurry across an open patch of ground. They trotted across the
exposed gravel in a line while the father, perched atop a rock, stood
lookout. As soon as they melted into the brush, they were again invisible.
Small scraggly pine trees dotted the sweep of irregular hills, gullies,
and rocky outcroppings at the fringe of the mountains. Up higher, on the
nearby slopes, larger conifers grew in greater abundance. In low, sheltered
places clumps of brush lay in thick clusters. Thin grasses covered some of
the open ground.
Richard wiped sweat from his eyes. He hoped that with the sun going
down the air might cool a little. As he made his way along the concealment
of the base of a runoff channel in a fold of two hills, he reached for the
strap of his waterskin, about to take a long drink, when movement on a far
hillside caught his attention.
He slipped behind the screen of a long shelf of rock to stay out of
sight. Taking a careful peek, he saw a man making his way down the loose
scree on the side of the hill. The sound of the rock crunching underfoot and
sliding down the slope sent a distant echo through the rocky canyons.
Richard had expected that as they left the forbidding wasteland they
might at any time begin encountering people, so he had had everyone change
out of the black outfits of the nomadic desert people and back into their
unassuming traveling clothes. While he was in black trousers and simple
shirt, his sword was hardly inconspicuous. Kahlan, as well, had put on
simple clothes that were more in keeping with the impoverished people of the
Old World, but on Kahlan they didn't seem to make much difference; it was
hard to hide her figure and her hair, but most of all her presence. Once
those green eyes of hers fixed on people, they usually had an urge to drop
to a knee and bow their head. Her clothes made little difference.
No doubt Emperor Jagang had spread their description far and wide and
had offered a reward large enough that even his enemies would find it hard
to resist. For many in the Old World, though, the price of continued life
under the brutal rule of the Imperial Order was too high. Despite the
reward, there were many who hungered to live free and were willing to act to
gain that goal.
There was also the problem of the bond the Lord Rahl had with the
D'Haran people; through that ancient bond forged by Richard's ancestors,
D'Harans could sense where the Lord Rahl was. The Imperial Order could
discover where Richard was by that bond, too. All they had to do was torture
the information out of a D'Haran. If one person failed to talk under
torture, they would not be shy about trying others until they learned what
they wanted.
As Richard watched, the lone man, once he reached the bottom of the
hill, made his way along the gravel beds lining the bottom of the rocky
gullies. Off to Richard's right the wagon and horses were lifting a long
trail of dust. That was where the man seemed to be headed.
At such a distance it was hard to tell for sure, but Richard doubted
that the man was a soldier. He wouldn't likely be a scout, not in his own
homeland, and they weren't near the hotbeds of the revolt against the rule
of the Imperial Order. Richard didn't think there would be any reason for
soldiers to be going this way, through such uninhabited areas. That was,
after all, why he had picked this route, heading east to the shadow of the
mountains before turning to a more northerly route back to where they had
been.
There was also the possibility that the bond had inadvertently revealed
Richard's whereabouts and an army was out looking for him. If the man was a
soldier, there could shortly be many more, like ants, swarming down out of
the hills.
Richard climbed the back side of a short rocky prominence and lay on
his stomach, watching over the top. As the man got closer, Richard could see
that he looked young, under thirty years, a bit scrawny, and was dressed
nothing at all like a soldier. By the way he stumbled, he was not used to
the terrain, or maybe just not used to traveling. It was tiring walking over
ground of loose, sharp, broken rock, especially if it was on a slope, since
it never provided any solid place for a steady stride.
The man stopped, stretching his neck to peer at the wagon. Panting from
the effort of making it down the slope, he combed his fine blond hair back
repeatedly with his fingers, then bent at the waist and rested a hand on a
knee while he caught his breath.
When the man straightened and started out once more, crunching through
the gravel at the bottom of the wash, Richard slid back down the rock. He
used the intervening lay of the land and patches of scraggly pine to screen
himself from sight. He paused from time to time, as he moved closer, to
listen for the heavy footsteps and labored breathing, checking his
dead-reckoning estimation of where the man would be.
From behind a freestanding wall of rock a good sixty feet tall, Richard
carefully peered out for a look. He had managed to close most of the
distance without the man being aware of his presence. Richard moved silently
from tree to rock to the back side of slopes, until he was out ahead of the
man and in his line of travel.
Still as stone behind a twisted reddish spire of rock jutting from the
broken ground, Richard listened to the crunch of footfalls approaching,
listened to the man gulping for breath as he climbed over fingers of rock
that lay in his way.
When the man was not six feet away, Richard stepped out right in front
of him.
The man gasped, clutching his light travel coat beneath his chin as he
cringed back a step.
Richard regarded the man without outward emotion, but inside the
sword's power churned with the menace of rage restrained. For an instant,
Richard felt the power falter. The magic of the sword keyed off its master's
perception of danger, so such hesitation could be because the smaller man
didn't appear to be an immediate threat.
The man's clothes, brown trousers, flaxen shirt, and a light, frayed
fustian coat, had seen better days. He looked to have had a rough time of
his journey--but then, Richard, too, had put on unassuming clothes in order
not to raise suspicion. The man's backpack looked to hold precious little.
Two waterskins, their straps crisscrossed across his chest, bunching the
light coat, were flat and empty. He carried no weapons that Richard saw, not
even a knife.
The man waited expectantly, as if he feared to be the first to speak.
"You appear to be headed for my friends," Richard said, tipping his
head toward the thin golden plume of dust hanging like a beacon in the
sunlight above the darkening plain, giving the man a chance to explain
himself.
The man, wide-eyed, shoulders hunched, raked back his hair several
times. Richard stood before him like a stone pillar, blocking his way. The
man's blue eyes turned to each side, apparently checking to see if he had an
escape route should he decide to bolt.
"I mean you no harm," Richard said. "I just want to know what you're up
to."
"Up to?"
"Why you're headed for the wagon."
The man glanced toward the wagon, not visible beyond the craggy folds
of rock, then down at Richard's sword, and finally up into his eyes.
"I'm ... looking for help," he finally said.
"Help?"
The man nodded. "Yes. I'm searching for the one whose craft is
fighting."
Richard cocked his head. "You're looking for a soldier of some kind?"
He swallowed at the frown on Richard's face. "Yes, that's right."
Richard shrugged. "The Imperial Order has lots of soldiers. I'm sure
that if you keep looking you will come across some."
The man shook his head. "No. I seek the man from far away--from far to
the north. The man who came to bring freedom to many of the oppressed people
of the Old World. The man who gives us all hope that the Imperial Order--may
the Creator forgive their misguided ways--will be cast out of our lives so
that we can be at peace once again."
"Sorry," Richard said, "I don't know anyone like that."
The man didn't look disappointed by Richard's words. He looked more
like he simply didn't believe them. His fine features were pleasant-looking,
even though he appeared unconvinced.
"Do you think you could"--the man hesitantly lifted an arm out,
pointing--"at least... let me have a drink?"
Richard relaxed a bit. "Sure."
He pulled the strap off his shoulder and tossed his waterskin to the
man. He caught it as if it were precious glass he feared to drop. He pried
at the stopper, finally getting it free, and started gulping the water.
He stopped abruptly, lowering the waterskin. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean
to start drinking all your water right down."
"It's all right." Richard gestured for him to drink up. "I have more
back at the wagon. You look to need it."
As Richard hooked a thumb behind his wide leather belt, the man bowed
his head in thanks before tipping the waterskin up for a long drink.
"Where did you hear about this man who fights for freedom?" Richard
asked.
The man brought the waterskin down again, his eyes never leaving
Richard as he paused to catch his breath. "From many a tongue. The freedom
he has spread down here in the Old World has brought hope to us all."
Richard smiled inwardly at how the bright hope of freedom burned even
in a dark place like the heart of the Old World. There were people
everywhere who hungered for the same things in life, for a chance to live
their life free and by their own labor to better themselves.
Overhead a black-tipped race, wings spread wide, popped into sight as
it glided across the open swath of sky above the rise of rock to each side.
Richard didn't have his bow, but the race stayed out of range, anyway.
The man shrank at seeing the race the way a rabbit would shrink when it
saw a hawk.
"Sorry I can't help you," Richard said when the race had disappeared.
He checked behind, in the direction of the wagon, out beyond the nearby
hill. "I'm traveling with my wife and family, looking for work, for a place
to mind our own business."
Richard's business was the revolution, if he was to have a chance for
his plan to work, and there were a number of people waiting on him in that
regard. He had more urgent problems, first, though.
"But, Lord Rahl, my people need--"
Richard spun back around. "Why would you call me that?"
"I'm, I'm sorry." The man swallowed. "I didn't mean to anger you."
"What makes you think I'm this Lord Rahl?"
The man painted his hand up and down in front of Richard as he
sputtered, trying to find words. "You, you, you just... are. I can't imagine
... what else you want me to say. I'm sorry if I have offended you by being
so forward, Lord Rahl."
Cara stalked out from behind a rocky spire. "What have we here?"
The man gasped in surprise at seeing her as he flinched back yet
another step, clutching the waterskin to his chest as if it were a shield of
steel.
Tom, his silver knife to hand, stepped up out of a gully behind the
man, blocking the way should the man decide to run back the way he'd come.
The man turned in a circle to see Tom towering behind. As he finally
came back around and saw Kahlan standing beside Richard, he let out another
gasp. They all were wearing dusty traveling clothes, but somehow Richard
didn't suppose that at that moment they looked at all like simple travelers
in search of work.
"Please," the man said, "I don't mean any harm."
"Take it easy," Richard said as he stole a sidelong glance at Cara--
his words meant not only for the man but the Mord-Sith as well. "Are you
alone?" Richard asked him.
"Yes, Lord Rahl. I'm on a mission for my people, just as I told you.
You are of course to be forgiven your aggressive nature--I would expect
nothing less. I want you to know I hold no feelings of resentment toward
you."
"Why does he think you're the Lord Rahl?" Cara said to Richard in a
tone that sounded more accusation than question.
"I've heard the descriptions," the man put in. Still clutching the
waterskin to his chest, he pointed with the other hand. "And that sword.
I've heard about Lord Rahl's sword." His gaze moved cautiously to Kahlan.
"And the Mother Confessor, of course," he added, dipping his head.
"Of course," Richard sighed.
He'd expected that he would have to hide the sword around strangers,
but now he knew just how important that was going to be whenever they went
into any populated areas. The sword would be relatively easy to hide. Not so
with Kahlan. He thought that maybe they could cover her in rags and say she
was a leper.
The man leaned cautiously out, arm extended, and handed Richard his
waterskin. "Thank you, Lord Rahl."
Richard took a long drink of the terrible-tasting water before offering
it to Kahlan. She lifted hers out for him to see as she declined with a
single shake of her head. Richard took another long swig before replacing
the stopper and slinging the strap back over his shoulder.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Owen."
"Well, Owen, why don't you come back to camp with us for the night. We
can fill up your waterskins for you, at least, before you're on your way in
the morning."
Cara was near to bursting as she gritted her teeth at Richard. "Why
don't you just let me see to--"
"I think Owen has problems we can all understand. He's concerned for
his friends and family. In the morning, he can be on his way, and we can be
on ours."
Richard didn't want the man out there somewhere, in the dark, where
they couldn't as easily keep an eye on him as they could if he were in camp.
In the morning it would be easy enough to make sure that he wasn't following
them. Cara finally understood Richard's intent and relaxed. He knew she
would want any stranger in her sight while Richard and Kahlan were sleeping.
Kahlan at his side, Richard started back to the wagon. The man
followed, his head swiveling side to side, from Tom to Cara, and back again.
Since they were headed back to the wagon, Richard finished what water
remained in his waterskin while, behind, Owen thanked him for the invitation
and promised not to be any trouble.
Richard intended to see to it that Owen kept his promise.
Up in the wagon, Richard dunked Owen's two waterskins in the barrel
that still had water. Owen, sitting with his back pressed against a wheel,
glanced up at Richard from time to time, watching expectantly, as Cara
glared at him. Cara clearly didn't like the fellow, but as protective as
Mord-Sith were, that didn't necessarily mean that it was warranted.
For some reason, though, Richard didn't care for the man, either. It
wasn't so much that he disliked him, just that he couldn't warm to the
fellow. He was polite and certainly didn't look threatening, but there was
something about the man's attitude that made Richard feel... edgy.
Tom and Friedrich broke up dried wood they'd collected, feeding it into
the small fire. The wonderful aroma of pine pitch covered the smell of the
nearby horses.
From time to time Owen cast a fearful eye at Cara, Kahlan, Tom, and
Friedrich. By far, though, he seemed most uneasy about Jennsen. He tried to
avert his eyes from her, tried not to look her directly in the eye, but his
gaze kept being drawn to her red hair shining in the firelight. When Betty
approached to investigate the stranger, Owen stopped breathing. Richard told
Owen that the goat just wanted attention. Owen gingerly patted the top of
Betty's head as if the goat were a gar that might take off his arm if he
weren't careful.
Jennsen, with a smile and ignoring the way he stared at her hair,
offered Owen some of her dried meat.
Owen just stared wide-eyed up at her leaning down over him.
"I'm not a witch," she said to Owen. "People think my red hair is a
sign that I'm a witch. I'm not. I can assure you, I have no magic."
The edge in her voice surprised Richard, reminding him that there was
iron under the feminine grace.
Still wide-eyed, Owen said, "Of course not. I, I... just never saw such
... beautiful hair before, that's all."
"Why, thank you," Jennsen said, her smile returning. She again offered
him a piece of dried meat.
"I'm sorry," Owen said in polite apology, "but I prefer not to eat
meat, if it's all right with you."
He quickly reached in his pocket, bringing out a cloth pouch holding
dried biscuit. He forced a smile at Jennsen as he held out the biscuits.
"Would you like one of mine?"
Tom started, glaring at Owen.
"Thanks, no," Jennsen said as she withdrew her extended hand and sat
down on a low, flat rock. She snagged Betty by an ear and made her lie down
at her feet. "You'd best eat the biscuits yourself if you don't want meat,"
she said to Owen. "I'm afraid we don't have a lot that isn't."
"Why don't you eat meat?" Richard asked.
Owen looked up over his shoulder at Richard in the wagon above him. "I
don't like the thought of harming animals just to satisfy my want of food."
Jennsen smiled politely. "That's a kindhearted sentiment."
Owen twitched a smile before his gaze was drawn once again to her hair.
"It's just the way I feel," he said, finally looking away from her.
"Darken Rahl felt the same way," Cara said, turning the glare on
Jennsen. "I saw him horsewhip a woman to death because he caught her eating
a sausage in the halls of the People's Palace. It struck him as
disrespectful of his feelings."
Jennsen stared in astonishment.
"Another time," Cara went on as she chewed a bite of sausage, "I was
with him when he came around a corner outside, near the gardens. He spotted
a cavalry man atop his horse eating a meat pie. Darken Rahl lashed out with
a flash of conjured lightning, beheading the man's horse in an
instant--thump, it dropped into the hedge. The man managed to land on his
feet as the rest of his horse crashed to the ground. Darken Rahl reached
out, drew the man's sword, and in a fit of anger slashed the belly of the
horse open. Then he seized the soldier by the scruff of his neck and shoved
his face into the horse's innards, screaming at him to eat. The man tried
his best, but ended up suffocated in the horse's warm viscera."
Owen covered his mouth as he closed his eyes.
Cara waved her sausage as if indicating Darken Rahl standing before
her. "He turned to me, the fire gone out of him, and asked me how people
could be so cruel as to eat meat."
Jennsen, her mouth hanging open, asked, "What did you say?"
Cara shrugged. "What could I say? I told him I didn't know."
"But why would people eat meat, then, if he was like that?" Jennsen
asked.
"Most of the time, he wasn't. Vendors sold meat at the palace and he
usually paid it no mind. Sometimes he would shake his head in disgust, or
call them cruel, but usually he didn't even take notice of it."
Friedrich was nodding. "That was the thing about the man--you never
knew what he was going to do. He might smile at a person, or have them
tortured to death. You never knew."
Cara stared into the low flames of the fire before her. "There was no
way to reason out how he would react to anything." Her voice took on a
quiet, haunted quality. "A lot of people simply decided that it was only a
matter of time until he killed them, too, and so they lived their lives as
the condemned would, waiting for the axe to fall, taking no pleasure in life
or the thought of their future."
Tom nodded his grim agreement with Cara's assessment of life in D'Hara
as he fed a crook of driftwood into the fire.
"Is that what you did, Cara?" Jennsen asked.
Cara looked up and scowled. "I am Mord-Sith. Mord-Sith are always ready
to embrace death. We do not wish to die old and toothless."
Owen, nibbling his dried biscuit as if out of obligation to eat since
the rest of them were, was clearly shaken by the story. "I can't imagine
life with such savagery as all of you must live. Was this Darken Rahl
related to you, Lord Rahl?" Owen suddenly seemed to think he might have made
a mistake, and rushed to amend his question. "He has the same name ... so I
thought, well, I just thought--but I didn't mean to imply that I thought you
were like him...."
Stepping down from the wagon, Richard handed Owen his full wa-terskins.
"He was my father."
"I didn't mean anything by the question. I would never intentionally
cast aspersions on a man's father, especially a man who--"
"I killed him," Richard said.
Richard didn't feel like elaborating. He recoiled from the very thought
of going into the whole dreadful tale.
Owen gaped around as if he were a fawn surrounded by wolves.
"He was a monster," Cara said, appearing to feel the need to rise to
Richard's defense. "Now the people of D'Hara have a chance to look forward
to a future of living their lives as they wish."
Richard sat down beside Kahlan. "At least they will if they can be free
of the Imperial Order."
Head down, Owen nibbled on his biscuit as he watched the others.
When no one else spoke, Kahlan did. "Why don't you tell us your reasons
for coming here, Owen."
Richard recognized her tone as that of the Mother Confessor asking a
polite question meant to put a frightened petitioner at ease.
He dipped his head respectfully. "Yes, Mother Confessor."
"You know her, too?" Richard asked.
Owen nodded. "Yes, Lord Rahl."
"How?"
The man's gaze shifted from Richard to Kahlan and back again.
"Word of you and the Mother Confessor has spread everywhere. Word of
the way you freed the people of Altur'Rang from the oppression of the
Imperial Order is known far and wide. Those who want freedom know that you
are the one who gives it."
Richard frowned. "What do you mean, I'm the one who gives it?"
"Well, before, the Imperial Order ruled. They are brutal--forgive me,
they are misguided and don't know any better. That is why their rule is so
brutal. Perhaps it isn't their fault. It is not for me to say." Owen looked
away as he tried to come up with words while apparently seeing his own
visions of what the Imperial Order had done to convince him of their
brutality. "Then you came and gave people freedom--just as you did in
Altur'Rang."
Richard wiped a hand across his face. He needed to translate the book,
he needed to find out what was behind the thing Cara had touched and the
black-tipped races following them, he needed to get back to Victor and those
who were engaged in the revolt against the Order, he was past due to meet
Nicci, and he needed to deal with his headaches. At least, maybe Nicci could
help with that much of it.
"Owen, I don't 'give' people freedom."
"Yes, Lord Rahl."
Owen evidently took Richard's words as something he dared not argue
with, but his eyes clearly said that he didn't believe it.
"Owen, what do you mean when you say that you think I give people
freedom?"
Owen took a tiny bite of his biscuit as he glanced around at the
others. He squirmed his shoulders in a self-conscious shrug. Finally, he
cleared his throat.
"Well, you, you do what the Imperial Order does--you kill people." He
waved his biscuit awkwardly, as if it were a sword, stabbing the air. "You
kill those who enslave people, and then you give the people who were
enslaved their freedom so that peace can return."
Richard took a deep breath. He wasn't sure if Owen meant it the way it
came out, or if it was just that he was having difficulty explaining himself
in front of people who made him nervous.
"That's not exactly the way it is," Richard said.
"But that's why you came down here. Everyone knows it. You came down
here to the Old World to give people freedom."
Elbows on his knees, Richard leaned forward rubbing his palms together
as he thought about how much he wanted to explain. He felt a wave of
calmness when Kahlan draped a gentle, comforting hand over the back of his
shoulder. He didn't want to go into the horror of how he had been taken
prisoner and taken from Kahlan, thinking he would never see her again.
Richard put the whole weight of emotion over that long ordeal aside and
took another approach. "Owen, I'm from up in the New World--"
"Yes, I know," Owen said as he nodded. "And you came here to free
people from--"
"No. That's not the truth of it. We lived in the New World. We were
once at peace, apparently much like your people were. Emperor Ja-gang--"
"The dream walker."
"Yes, Emperor Jagang, the dream walker, sent his armies to conquer the
New World, to enslave our people--"
"My people, too."
Richard nodded. "I understand. I know what a horror that is. His
soldiers are rampaging up through the New World, murdering, enslaving our
people."
Owen turned his watery gaze off into the darkness as he nodded. "My
people, too."
"We tried to fight back," Kahlan told him. "But there are too many.
Their army is far too vast for us to drive them out of our land."
Owen nibbled his biscuit again, not meeting her gaze. "My people are
terrified of the men of the Order--may the Creator forgive their misguided
ways."
"May they scream in agony for all eternity in the darkest shadow of the
Keeper of the underworld," Cara said in merciless correction.
Owen stared slack-jawed at such a curse spoken aloud.
"We couldn't fight them like that--simply drive them back to the Old
World," Richard said, bringing Owen's gaze back to him as he went on with
the story. "So I'm down here, in Jagang's homeland, helping people who
hunger to be free to cast off the shackles of the Order. While he's away
conquering our land, he has left his own homeland open to those who hunger
for freedom. With Jagang and his armies away, that gives us a chance to
strike at Jagang's soft underbelly, to do him meaningful harm.
"I'm doing this because it's the only way we can fight back against the
Imperial Order--our only means to succeed. If I weaken his foundation, his
source of men and support, then he will have to withdraw his army from our
land and return south to defend his own.
"Tyranny cannot endure forever. By its very nature it rots everything
it rules, including itself. But that can take lifetimes. I'm trying to
accelerate that process so that I and those I love can be free in our
lifetimes--free to live our own lives. If enough people rise up against the
Imperial Order's rule, it may even loosen Jagang's grip on power and bring
him and the Order down.
"That's how I'm fighting him, how I'm trying to defeat him, how I'm
trying to get him out of my land."
Owen nodded. 'This is what we need, too. We are victims of fate. We
need for you to come and get his men out of our land, and then to withdraw
your sword, your ways, from our people so we may live in tranquility again.
We need you to give us freedom."
The driftwood popped, sending a glowing swirl of sparks skyward.
Richard, hanging his head, tapped his fingertips together. He didn't think
the man had heard a word he'd said. They needed rest. He needed to translate
the book. They needed to get to where they were going. At least he didn't
have a headache.
"Owen, I'm sorry," he finally said in a quiet voice. "I can't help you
in so direct a manner. But I would like you to understand that my cause is
to your advantage, too, and that what I'm doing will also cause Jagang to
eventually pull his troops out of your homeland as well, or at least weaken
their presence so that you can throw them out yourselves."
"No," Owen said. "His men will not leave my land until you come and ..
." Owen winced. "And destroy them."
The very word, the implication, looked sickening to the man.
"Tomorrow," Richard said, no longer bothering to try to sound polite,
"we have to be on our way. You will have to be on your way as well. I wish
you success in ridding your people of the Imperial Order."
"We cannot do such a thing," Owen protested. He sat up straighten "We
are not savages. You and those like you--the unenlightened ones--it is up to
you to do it and give us freedom, I am the only one who can bring you. You
must come and do as your kind does. You must give our empire freedom."
Richard rubbed his fingertips across the furrows of his brow. Cara
started to rise. A look from Richard sat her back down.
"I gave you water," Richard said as he stood. "I can't give you
freedom."
"But you must--"
"Double watch tonight," Richard said as he turned to Cara, cutting Owen
off.
Cara nodded once as her mouth twisted with a satisfied smile of iron
determination.
"In the morning," Richard added, "Owen will be on his way."
"Yes," she said, her blue-eyed glare sliding to Owen, "he certainly
will be."
What is it?" Kahlan asked as she rode up beside the wagon.
Richard looked to be furious about something. She saw then that he had
the book in one hand; his other was a fist. He opened his mouth, about to
speak, but when Jennsen, up on the seat beside Tom, turned back to see what
was going on, Richard said to her instead, "Kahlan and I are going to check
the road up ahead. Keep your eye on Betty so she doesn't jump out, will you,
Jenn?"
Jennsen smiled at him and nodded.
"If Betty gives you any trouble," Tom said, "just let me know and I'll
take her to a lady I know and have some goat sausages made up."
Jennsen grinned at their private joke and gave Tom a good-natured elbow
in his ribs. As Richard climbed over the side of the wagon and dropped to
the ground, she snapped her fingers at the tail-wagging goat.
"Betty! You just stay there. Richard doesn't need you tagging along
every single time."
Betty, front hooves on the chafing rail, bleated as she looked up at
Jennsen, as if asking for her to reconsider.
"Down," Jennsen said in admonishment. "Lie down."
Betty bleated and reluctantly hopped back down into the wagon bed, but
she would settle for no less than a scratch behind the ears as consolation
before she would lie down.
Kahlan leaned over from her seat in the saddle and untied the reins to
Richard's horse from the back of the wagon. He stepped into the stirrup and
gracefully swung up in one fluid motion. She could see that he was agitated
about something, but it made her heart sing just to look at him.
He shifted his weight forward slightly, urging his horse ahead. Kahlan
squeezed her legs to the side of her own horse to spur her into a canter to
keep up with Richard. He rode out ahead, rounding several turns in the
flatter land among the rough hillsides, until he caught up with Cara and
Friedrich, patrolling out in the lead.
"We're going to check out front for a while," he told them. "Why don't
you fall back and check behind."
Kahlan knew that Richard was sending them to the back because if he
took Kahlan to the back under the pretense of watching anything that might
come up on them from behind, Cara would keep falling back to check on them.
If they were out front, Cara wouldn't worry about them dropping back and
getting lost.
Cara laid her reins over and turned back. Sweat stuck Kahlan's shirt to
her back as she leaned over her horse's withers, urging her ahead as
Richard's horse sprang away. Despite the clumps of tall grass dotting the
foothills and occasional sparse patches of woods, the heat was still with
them. It cooled some at night, now, but the days were hot, with the humidity
increasing as the clouds built up against the wall of mountains to their
right.
Up close, the barrier of rugged mountains to the east was an
intimidating sight. Sheer rock walls rose up below projecting plateaus
heaped to their very edge with loose rock crumbled from yet higher plateaus
and walls, as if the entire range was all gradually crumbling. With drops of
thousands of feet at the fringe of overhanging shelves of rock, climbing
such unstable scree would be impossible. If there were passes through the
arid slopes, they were no doubt few and would prove difficult.
But making it past those gray mountains of scorching rock, they could
now see, was hardly the biggest problem.
Those closer mountains spreading north and south in the burning heat at
the edge of the desert partially hid what lay to the other side--a far more
daunting range of snowcapped peaks rising up to completely block any passage
east. Those imposing mountains were beyond the scale of any Kahlan had ever
seen. Not even the most rugged of the Rang'Shada Mountains in the Midlands
were their match. These mountains were like a race of giants. Precipitous
walls of rock soared thousands of feet straight up. Harrowing slopes rose
unbroken by any pass or rift and were so arduous that few trees could find a
foothold. Lofty snow-packed peaks that ascended majestically above windswept
clouds were jammed so close together that it reminded her more of a knife's
long jagged edge than separate summits.
The day before, when Kahlan had seen Richard studying those imposing
mountains, she had asked him if he thought there was any way across them. He
had said no, that the only way he could see to get beyond was possibly the
notch he'd spotted before, when he had found the place where the strange
boundary had once been, and that notch still lay some distance north.
For now, they skirted the dry side of the closer mountains as that
range made its way north along the more easily traversed lowlands.
Along the base of a gentle hill covered in clumps of brown grasses,
Richard finally slowed his horse. He turned in his saddle, checking that the
others were still coming, if a goodly distance behind.
He pulled his horse close beside her. "I skipped ahead in the book."
Kahlan didn't like the sound of that. "When I asked you before why you
didn't skip ahead, you said that it wasn't a wise thing to do.'\
"I know, but I wasn't really getting anywhere and we need answers^ As
their horses settled into a comfortable walk, Richard rubbed his shoulders.
"After all that heat I can't believe how cold it's getting."
"Cold? What are you--"
"You know those rare people like Jennsen?" The leather of his saddle
squeaked as he leaned toward her. "Ones born pristinely ungifted-- without
even that tiny spark of the gift? The pillars of Creation? Well, back when
this book was written, they weren't so rare."
"You mean it was more common for them to be born?"
"No, the ones who had been born began to grow up, get married, and have
children--ungifted children."
Kahlan looked over in surprise. "The broken links in the chain of the
gift that you were talking about, before?"
Richard nodded. "They were children of the Lord Rahl. Back then, it
wasn't like it has been in recent times with Darken Rahl, or his father.
From what I can tell, all the children of the Lord Rahl and his wife were
part of his family, and treated as such, even though they were born with
this problem. It seems that the wizards tried to help them-- both the direct
offspring, and then their children, and their children. They tried to cure
them."
"Cure them? Cure them of what?"
Richard lifted his arms in a heated gesture of frustration. "Of being
born ungifted--of being born without even that tiny spark of the gift like
everyone else has. The wizards back then tried to restore the breaks in the
link."
"How did they think they would be able to cure someone of not having
even the spark of the gift?"
Richard pressed his lips together as he thought of a way to explain
it_"Well, you know the wizards who sent you across the boundary to find
Zedd?"
"Yes," Kahlan said in a suspicious drawl.
"They weren't born with the gift--born wizards, that is. What were
they--second or third wizards? Something like that? You told me about them,
once." He snapped his fingers as it came to him. "Wizards of the third
Order. Right?"
"Yes. Just one, Giller, was the Second Order. None were able to pass
the tests to be a wizard of the First Order, like Zedd, because they didn't
have the gift. Being wizards was their calling, but they weren't gifted in
the conventional sense--but they still had that spark of the gift that
everyone has."
"That's what I'm talking about," Richard said. "They weren't born with
the gift to be wizards--just the spark of it like everyone else. Yet Zedd
somehow trained them to be able to use magic--to be wizards-- even though
they weren't born that way, born with the gift to be wizards."
"Richard, that was a lifetime of work."
"I know, but the point is that Zedd was able to help them to be
wizards--at least wizards enough to pass his tests and conjure magic."
"Yes, I suppose. When I was young they taught me about the workings of
magic and the Wizard's Keep, about those people and creatures in the