Stone of Tears (43 page)

Margaret’s hand was clutched tightly around the gold flower at her neck, her fingernails digging into her palm. How could they have seen the pool of her Han? She had underestimated them, that was how. Underestimated what they could do with the gift. It was going to cost her her life.

But only her. Only her. Please, dear Creator, only her. She could sense Jedidiah close at her side.

“Jedidiah …” she whispered, “run. I’ll try to hold them off while you escape. Run, my love. Run for your life.”

His powerful hand came up and gripped her upper arm. “I don’t think so, ‘my love’.” Her eyes were captured by his cruelly empty expression. “I tried to save you, Margaret. I tried to get you to turn back. But you wouldn’t listen.” He glanced to the Sister across the clearing. “If I got her oath, couldn’t we just …” The Sister glared back. He sighed. “No, I suppose we couldn’t.”

He gave her a strong shove into the clearing. She came to a stumbling stop at the edge of the candles. She had gone numb. Her mind refused to work. Her voice refused to work.

The Sister across the circle clasped her hands together, looking to Jedidiah. “Has she told anyone else?”

“No. Just me. She was looking for proof before she went to anyone else for help.” His eyes returned to her. “Isn’t that right, my love?” He shook his head again, the smirk of a smile touching his lips. Lips she had kissed. She felt sick. She felt like the biggest fool the Creator had ever seen. “Such a shame.”

“You have done well, Jedidiah. You will be rewarded. And as for you, Margaret … well, tomorrow Jedidiah will report that after trying to avoid the insistent affections of an older woman, he finally and firmly rejected you for good, and you ran away in shame and humiliation. If they come here and find your bones, it will confirm their fears that you chose to end your life because you felt unworthy to live any longer as a Sister of the light.”

The dark flecked eyes glided back to Margaret. “Let me have her. Let me test my new gift. Let me taste it.”

Those eyes kept Margaret frozen, her hand still clutching the gold flower at her neck. She could hardly breathe through the numbing agony of knowing Jedidiah had betrayed her.

She had prayed to the Creator to give Jedidiah strength, strength to help others. She had had no idea who those others would be. The Creator had answered her prayers, foolish as they had been.

When the Sister consented, the thin lips widened in a greedy grin. Margaret felt naked, helpless, in the penetrating gaze of those flecked eyes.

At last, Margaret made her mind work. Her thoughts sprang to a terrified groping for a way of escape. She could only think of one thing to do, before it was too late. With panicked abandon, she let her Han explode through every fiber of herself, and brought forth a shield; the most powerful shield she knew—a shield of air. She made it hard as steel. Impenetrable. She poured her hurt and hate into it.

The thin smile never left. The flecked eyes didn’t move. “Air, is it then? With the gift, I can see it now. Shall I show you what I can do with air? What the gift can do with it?”

“The Creator’s power will protect me,” Margaret managed.

The thin smile turned to a sneer. “You think so? Let me show you the Creator’s impotence.”

Her hand came up. Margaret expected a ball of Wizard’s Fire. It wasn’t; it was a ball of air so dense she could see it, see it coming. It was so dense it distorted what was seen through it. Margaret could hear the whoosh of its approach, the wail of its power. It went through her shield like flaming pitch through paper.

It shouldn’t have been able to do that; her shield was air. Air should not have been able to break a shield of air, not a shield as strong as she had made. But this was air made not by a mere Sister, but one with the gift. A wizard’s gift.

Confused, Margaret realized she was laying on the ground, looking up at the stars, pretty stars: the Creator’s stars. She couldn’t draw a breath. Simply, couldn’t.

She thought it odd; she didn’t remember the air hitting her. Only her breath being ripped violently from her lungs. She felt cold, but there was something warm against her face. Warm and wet. It was a comfort.

Her legs didn’t seem to work. Try as she might, she couldn’t make them move. With the greatest of effort, she managed to lift her head a bit. The Sisters hadn’t moved, but somehow, they were farther away now. They all watched her. Margaret looked down at herself.

Something was terribly wrong.

Below her ribs, there was mostly nothing there. Just the shredded, wet, remains of her insides, and then nothing. Where the rest of her should have been, there was nothing. Where had her legs gone? They must be somewhere. They had to be somewhere.

There they were. They lay a little distance away, where she had been standing.

So. That was why she couldn’t take a breath. Air shouldn’t have been able to do that. It was impossible. At least air wielded by a Sister shouldn’t have been able to do that. It was a wonder.

Dear Creator, why have you not helped me? I was doing your work. Why have you let this be done.

It should hurt, shouldn’t it? Shouldn’t it hurt to be ripped in half? But it didn’t. It didn’t hurt the least little bit.

Cold. She felt only cold. But the warm rope of her guts laying against her face felt good. Warm. She took comfort in the warmth.

Maybe it didn’t hurt because the Creator was helping her. That must be it. The Creator had taken her pain.
Dear Creator, thank you. I did my best. I am sorry I failed you. Send another.

Boots were near: Jedidiah. Husband Jedidiah; bastard Jedidiah.

“I tried to warn you, Margaret. I tried to keep you away. You can’t say I didn’t try.”

Her arms lay sprawled out to her sides. In her right hand she could feel the little gold flower. She hadn’t let go of it. Even as she was torn in half, she never let go. She tried to now, but she couldn’t make her hand open. She wished she had the strength to open her hand. She didn’t want to die with that in her hand. But she just couldn’t open her fingers.

Dear Creator, I have failed in this, too.

Since she couldn’t release it, she did the only other thing she could think of. She sent the rest of her power into it. Maybe someone would see, and ask the right question.

Tired. She was so very tired.

She tried to close her eyes, but they wouldn’t close. How could a person die, if they couldn’t close their eyes?

There were a lot of stars. Pretty stars. There seemed to be fewer than she remembered. Hardly any at all. She thought her mother had told her once how many there were. But she couldn’t remember.

Well, she would just have to count them.

One … Two …

“How long?” Chase asked.

The seven fierce looking men that were squatted down in a half circle before her and Chase just stared at him and blinked. None of the seven had any weapons except belt knives, and one didn’t even have that. But there were a lot of other men standing behind them, and they all had bows or spears, or both.

Rachel tugged her thick, brown, woolen cloak tighter around herself and shifted her weight as she squatted, wiggling her toes, wishing her feet weren’t so cold. They were starting to tingle. She stroked her fingers over the big, amber stone hanging on the chain from her neck. Its smooth, teardrop shape felt warm against her fingers.

Chase mumbled something Rachel couldn’t understand as he pushed his heavy black cloak back over his shoulders and then pointed with a stick at the two people drawn in the dirt. All the leather belts for his weapons creaked as he leaned forward on boots big enough for any of the other men to fit both of their feet into just one. He tapped his stick on the ground again, then turned and pushed his hand out toward the grassland.

“How long?” He pointed at the drawing and pushed his hand out a few more times. “How long since they left?”

They chattered something Chase and she couldn’t understand, and then the man with long silver hair falling down around his sun brown face, the one who didn’t have a coyote hide around his shoulders but wore only simple buckskin clothes, drew another picture in the dirt. She could tell what it was easy this time. It was the sun. He made marks under it. Chase watched as the man drew three rows of marks under the picture of the sun. He stopped.

Chase stared at the picture. “Three weeks.” He looked up at the man with the long hair. “Three weeks?” He pointed at the sun on the ground and held up most of his fingers three times. “They’ve been gone three weeks?”

The man gave a nod and made some more of those funny words.

Siddin handed her another piece of flat bread with honey. It tasted wonderful. She tried to eat it slowly, but it was gone before she knew it. She had tasted honey only once before, back at the castle when she lived there as the Princess’s playmate. The Princess never let her have honey, said it wasn’t for the likes of her, but one of the cooks had given her some once.

Her stomach fluttered at the memory of how mean the Princess had been to her. She never wanted to live in a castle again. Now that she was Chase’s daughter, she would never have to. Every night she lay in her blankets, before she went to sleep, and wondered what the rest of her new family was like.

Chase said she would have sisters and brothers. And a real mother. He said she would have to mind her new mother. She could do that. It was easy to mind when someone loved you.

Chase loved her. He never really said it, but it was easy to tell. He put his huge arm around her, and stroked her hair, when she was afraid of sounds in the dark.

Siddin smiled at her as he licked the honey off his fingers. It was nice to see him again. When they had first came here she thought there was going to be trouble. Scary men, all painted with mud, and with grass stuck all over themselves, came up to them when they were still out on the grassland. She didn’t even see where they came from. They were just there all of a sudden.

Rachel was afraid at first, because the men pointed arrows at them, and their voices sounded scary and she couldn’t understand what they said, but Chase just got off the horse and held her in his arms while he watched them. He didn’t even draw his sword or anything. She didn’t think anything scared him. He was the bravest man she ever saw. The men had looked at her as she stared at them, and Chase stroked her hair and told her not to be afraid. The men stopped pointing the arrows at them, and led them to the village.

When they got here, she saw Siddin. Siddin knew her and Chase, from before when Kahlan had saved him from Queen Milena back in the castle. Zedd, Kahlan, Chase, Siddin and she had all been together when they were running with the box. She couldn’t speak Siddin’s language, but he knew them, and told his father who they were. After that, everyone was real nice to them.

Chase pointed with one finger to one of the pictures of a person, the finger of his other hand to the other picture, and then held the fingers together and pointed away, moving his hands like they were going over hills. “Richard and Kahlan left three weeks ago, and they went north? To Aydindril?”

The men all shook their heads and started jabbering again. Siddin’s father held up his hand for quiet. He pointed at himself and the other men and held up three fingers, then he pointed at the picture on the ground that had a dress and said Kahlan’s name, and then he pointed north.

Chase pointed at the picture of the sun, then the picture of Kahlan, then at the men, holding up three fingers, then north. “Three weeks ago, Kahlan and three of your men went north, to Aydindril?”

The men all nodded and said “Kahlan” and “Aydindril”.

Chase put a knee to the ground as he leaned forward, tapping the picture of the other person. “But Richard went, too.” He pointed north again. “Richard went to Aydindril too. With Kahlan.”

The men all turned to the man with the long silver hair. He looked at Chase and then shook his head. The carved piece of bone hanging from a leather thong around his neck swung back and forth. He pointed down at the picture of the man with a sword, and then pointed in a different direction.

Chase stared at the man for a long minute, then he frowned, as if he didn’t understand. The man leaned over with the stick and drew three more people, each with a dress. He looked up from under his eyebrows as if he wanted to make sure Chase was watching, and then he drew an “X” across two of the figures. His eyes returned to Chase again as he folded his arms over his knees, waiting.

“What does that mean? Dead? Is that what you mean, they are dead?” The men stared, not moving. Chase pulled a single finger, like a knife, across his throat. “Dead?”

The man with the silver hair gave one nod and said, “dead”, but it sounded a little funny the way he made the word seem longer than it should. He pointed with his stick to the picture of the sun, then the picture of Kahlan, and then he pointed over his shoulder to the way they went. He pointed to the sun again, then at the picture of Richard, then at the picture of the woman without the “X”, then he pointed in a different direction.

Chase stood. His chest rose and then fell as he let out the deep breath. He was awfully tall. He stared in the direction the man with the silver hair said Richard had gone. “East. That’s deeper into the wilds,” he whispered to himself. “Why isn’t he with Kahlan?” He rubbed his chin. Rachel thought he looked worried. It couldn’t be that he looked scared. Nothing scared Chase. “Dear spirits, why would Richard go deeper into the wilds? What could possess Kahlan to let that boy go into the wilds? And who is he with?” The men all glanced at each other, as if they were wondering why Chase was talking to the air.

Chase squatted back down, all his leather creaking, and pointed at the drawing of the third woman and frowned and shrugged at the men. He pointed at the picture of Richard and the woman and pointed east again. He held the palms of his hands up near his shoulders as he shrugged and made faces to show he didn’t understand.

The man with the long silver hair gave Chase a sad look as he let out a long breath. He pointed at the third woman, the one without an “X”, and then he turned and took a rope from a man behind him. He wrapped the rope around his own neck. He looked to Chase’s frown and then he pointed to the picture of Richard. When Chase looked up and their eyes met, the man pulled the rope tight with a snap. He pointed east. He touched the stick to the picture of Kahlan and then pulled his fingers down his cheeks, from the corners of his eye, like tears, then pointed north.

Chase stood. It was almost a jump. His face was pale. “She took him,” he whispered. “This woman captured Richard, and took him into the wilds.”

Rachel stood next to him. “What does it mean, Chase? Why didn’t Kahlan go with him?”

He looked down at her. His face had an odd, still look that made her stomach knot up. “She went for help. She went to Aydindril. To get Zedd.”

No one made a sound. He stared back out to the east as he hooked a thumb behind his big silver belt buckle.

“Dear spirits,” he whispered to himself, “if Richard really did go into the wilds, turn him north. Don’t let him go to the south, or even Zedd won’t be able to help him.”

Rachel hugged her doll tight. “What’s the wilds?”

“A very bad place, little one.” He stared out unblinking toward the darkening sky. “A very bad place.”

The way he said it, all calm and quiet, gave her goose bumps.

Zedd could feel the muscles in the horse’s back flexing under him as he ducked beneath a branch while slowing the animal. Zedd favored riding bareback. If he needed to ride a horse, he preferred to let the animal feel as unencumbered as possible. He thought it only fair. Most seemed to appreciate his consideration, this one especially. She gave him more than she ever would have under a saddle, and he had taken taken everything she had given.

He had proffered his saddle and the rest of the tack to a man named Haff. Haff had the biggest ears Zedd had ever seen. How a man with ears the like of those had ever found a wife was a wonder. But have a wife he did, and four children, too, and he looked to have more need of the tack than Zedd. Not to ride, of course, but to sell. His crops and stores had been carried off by soldiers of the D’Haran army.

It was the least Zedd could do. After all, Rachel was soaked to the bone, and Haff offered them a dry place to sleep, even if it was in a dilapidated little barn, and his wife offered them a cabbage soup, thin as it was, asking nothing in return. It was worth a saddle just to see the look on Chase’s face when Zedd said he wasn’t hungry.

The big man ate enough for three men, though, and he should have known better. There was going to be much hunger this winter. The tack wouldn’t bring its worth, not with hunger spreading like a dark wind before a thunderhead, but it would bring something, maybe enough to take the hardest edge off the winter.

Zedd saw Chase put a coin in each of the four children’s pockets, when he thought no one was looking, growling at them in a tone that would make a grown man blanch, but which for some odd reason made children only smile, not to look in the pocket until he was gone. He hoped it wasn’t gold. The boundary warden could smell a thief open a window in the next town and probably tell you his name, too, but he had no wits about him around children.

Haff suspiciously wanted to know what he was to do in return for the tack. Zedd told him he was to swear his undying loyalty to the Mother Confessor, and the new Lord Rahl of D’Hara, both of whom had put a stop to things the like of which had been done to him. The man had stared at him, his big ears sticking out under that ridiculous knit hat with a tassel on each side that only served to draw attention where it wasn’t needed, and had said, “Done,” with a firm nod.

A small start: one loyal, for the price of a saddle. That it would all be so easy. But that was weeks ago. Now, he was alone.

The sweet smell of a birch fire drifted to him through the thick woods, the horse lifting her nose to it as she stepped carefully along the narrow path. In the still air, gathering darkness sent deepening shadows across the way. Even before the small house came into view, he could hear the racket: the sound of furniture being overturned, the crash of pots and pans, and demons being cursed. The horse’s ears pricked toward the commotion as they rode down the twisting trail. Zedd gave her a reassuring pat on the neck.

The little house, wood walls dark with age, and a roof thickly layered with ferns and dry pine needles, was set back into the towering trees, nestled among rough trunks dark in the day’s end. He dismounted to the side of the brown, dead ferns spreading like a garden in front of the house. The horse rolled her eyes toward him as he came around to give her a scratch under her jaw.

“Be a good girl and find yourself something to eat.” He put a finger under the horse’s chin, forcing her head up. “But stay close?” The horse nickered. With a smile, Zedd rubbed her gray nose. “Good girl.”