Stone of Tears (68 page)

All better?

Rachel nodded. “Yes! It’s all better. Thank you.”

The hands pulled off her shoes and stockings. She sat on a warm rock and dangled her bare feet in the soothing water. It would be so wonderful to bathe and be rid of the dirt and sweat.

The hands reached for the stone hanging on the necklace around her neck. The hands drew back, as if afraid.

We cannot remove this thing. You must do it without our help.

Through the soothing warmth and security of the beautiful land around her, through the comfort of the peace she had found, through her desire to do as the gentle murmurs had asked, a voice rose up in her mind. It was Zedd’s voice, telling her that she must not give the Stone to anyone, for any reason, telling her how important it was for her to guard it always.

She looked up, from the circles of ripples her feet made in the water, to the gentle faces. “I don’t want to take it off. Can’t I leave it on?”

The smiles returned and widened.

Of course you can, Rachel, if that is what you wish. If that is what would make you happy.

“I want it to stay on. That would make me happy.”

Then it will stay on. Now, and forever, if you wish.

She smiled a smile of peace and security as she slipped into the soothing water. It felt so good. She floated and drifted. She felt all her troubles sloughing away with the dirt. One moment, it seemed she couldn’t feel any more safe or happy, and then the next moment she did, and the next yet more.

She drew her arms through the healing, cleansing, golden water, swimming toward the other side of the pool where she remembered leaving Chase. She found him almost up to his neck in the water, his head tilted back, resting on a soft mat of grass at the bank. His eyes were closed and he had a wonderful smile on his face.

“Father?”

“Yes, Daughter,” he whispered without opening his eyes.

She swam up beside him. He lifted an arm and she slipped under it. It felt so good to have his arm around her shoulders, comforting her.

“Father, do we ever have to leave this place?”

“No. They say we can stay forever.”

She nuzzled against him. “I’m so glad.”

She slept, really slept, like she couldn’t remember ever sleeping before, so safe and sheltered, though she didn’t know how long. When she dressed, her clothes were clean, and seemed to sparkle like new. Chase’s clothes, too, were bright and shiny. She held hands and danced in circles with other children, glowing children, who’s voices and laughter echoed. It made her laugh, too, laugh with happiness like none she had ever felt before.

When she was hungry, she and Chase lay in the grass, the warm fog and glowing, smiling faces around them, and ate things that were sweet and delicious. When she was tired, she slept, never having to worry about where she slept, because she was safe, safe at last. And when she wanted to play, the other children came to play with her. They loved her. Everyone loved her. She loved everyone.

Sometimes she walked alone. Filmy shafts of sunlight streamed through the trees. Glowing meadows were filled with wildflowers bowing in the gentle breeze, winking with bright specks of color.

Sometimes she walked with Chase, holding his hand. She was so happy that he was contented now, too. He never had to fight anyone anymore. He was safe, too. He said he was at peace.

He sometimes took her for walks, and showed her the woods where, he said, he grew up, where, he said, he had played when he was as little as she. She smiled with delight at the look of happiness in his eyes. She loved him and was fulfilled knowing he, like she, had found peace, at last.

She looked up, and a small smile touched her thin lips. She hadn’t heard a sound, and she needn’t turn to look in the near darkness. She knew he was there, on the other side of the door. She knew how long he had been there.

Her legs still crossed, she rose smoothly on a cushion of air, hovering above the straw covered floor. The boy’s limp arms swung as they dangled, like weighted fishing line. Lacking any life or rigidity, his back bent backwards, draping over her arm. In her other hand was clutched the statue.

She unfolded her legs and stretched her slippered feet to the floor, settling her weight on them. As the boy slid from her arm, the dead weight of his head thunked against the floor. His arms and legs flopped askew to one side. His clothes were filthy. Disgusted, she wiped her hands on her skirts.

“Why don’t you come in, Jedidiah.” Her voice echoed from the cold stone. “I know you are there. Don’t try to pretend you are not.”

The heavy door squeaked slowly open and the shadowed figure strolled into the light of a single candle burning on a rickety, nearby table that was the lower room’s only accouterment. He stood relaxed, silently watching, as the orange glow faded from her eyes, and they returned to the pale pale blue shot through with violet flecks.

His eyes went to the statue in her hand. “The owner sent me to find that. She wants it back.”

The thin smile grew. “Does she now?” She shrugged. “Well, I am through with it.” She held it out to him. “For now.”

Jedidiah’s face was a calm mask as he took the statue. “She doesn’t like it when you ‘borrow’ her things.”

She ran a finger down his cheek. “She is not the one I serve. I don’t really care what she likes and what she doesn’t.”

“You would be wise to care a little more.”

Her smile brightened. “Really? I could give her the same advice.” She twisted, holding an arm out to the body on the floor. “He had the gift.” Slowly, her hard eyes came back to his, the smile gone, as if one had never touched her features in all her life. Her voice came in a venomous hiss. “I have it now.”

The slightest frown of puzzlement touched his cool expression.

“Think we must have the ceremony, Jedidiah? The ritual in Hagen Woods?” She slowly shook her head. “Not anymore. That is only the first time, because we are female, and female Han cannot absorb the male.” Her voice lowered to a derisive whisper. “Not any longer. Now that I have the gift of a male, I can accept others without the ritual.”

Her face glided to within inches of his. “So can you, Jedidiah,” she breathed. “With the quillion, so can you. I could teach you. It’s sooo easy. I simply showed him the joining rite, to try to show him his Han.” Her cheek brushed his as she whispered into his ear. “But he didn’t know how to control his gift. I created a vacuum in the quillion.” She drew back to appraise his eyes. “It sucked the life right out of him. Sucked the gift right out of him. It is mine, now.”

He studied her eyes a time before glancing down at the body. “I don’t recall seeing him before.”

She continued to whisper to him from only inches away. “Don’t play games with me, Jedidiah. What you really mean is, where did I find him, and why haven’t the Sisters, if he has the gift.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “If he has the gift, why isn’t he collared?”

She cocked her head to the side. “Because he is so young. His Han is too weak to be detected by the other Sisters.” She tilted her head to the other side. “But not by me.” She touched her nose to his. “He was right here in the city. Right under their noses. Probably the offspring of a dalliance by one of you naughty boys.”

“Very efficient. Saves having to bother with reports. Avoids awkward questions.”

She glanced down at the body. “Be a good boy, and dispose of him for me. I found him living in squalor, down near the river. Dump him back there. No one will think anything of it.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You wish me to clean up after you?”

She ran a finger down his neck and across his throat, across his Rada’Han. “You make a serious mistake, Jedidiah, if you think of me as a mere Sister. I have the male gift now, same as you. And I know how to use it. You wouldn’t believe how much that power increases when you add the Han of another.”

“It would appear that you are becoming a Sister to be reckoned with. A wise person would take care with you.”

She patted his cheek. “Smart boy, Jedidiah.”

She gave him a little frown as she slipped her hands to his waist. “You know, Jedidiah, you may think of yourself as powerful in the gift, but I think you should worry about that. You have never had one to challenge your abilities before, your rightful place among the wizards here, but a new one comes. He will be here soon, and you have never seen one like this before. I think you may no longer be the pride of the Palace.”

His countenance showed no reaction, but his face slowly heated to red. He lifted the statue. “Well, you did say you would like to teach me.”

She waggled a finger in front of his face. “Uh, uh, uh. He is mine. You may have another. Any gift will swell your power, but this one is mine.”

He waggled the statue in front of her face. “She might have something to say about that. She has plans of her own. Plans for him.”

She smiled with one side of her mouth. “I know. And you are going to keep me informed of her plans.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “
You
have plans for
me
?”

The smile grew to both sides of her mouth. “Very special plans.” Her hands roamed lower down the sides of his hips, feeling the firmness of his young muscles under his robes. “You are good with your hands, good at making things, making things in metal. I have something I want you to make for me. Something invested with magic. I hear that is one of your talents with the gift.”

“You wish a trinket, an amulet, perhaps, in silver, or gold?”

“No, no, dear boy. You are to make it from steel. You are to gather the steel of a hundred sword points. Very special sword points. Sword points from the armory; old ones, ones that have been used. Ones that have pierced flesh in combat.”

He arched an eyebrow. “And what is it you wish made?”

She slid a hand up the inside of his thigh. “We will talk about it later.”

She smiled at how quickly he responded to her touch. “You must be lonely, since Margaret ran away. Sooo lonely. I think you need a friend who understands you. Did you know, Jedidiah, that with the male Han comes a unique understanding of the male? I now understand in a new light what it is that men appreciate. I think we are going to be very special friends. As a special friend, you get the reward before performing the task.”

She trickled a thread of magic into him, focusing it where it would do the most good. Her smile widened as his head rolled back. His eyes closed and he let out a throaty groan, and then gasped. Panting, he clutched his hands to her bottom, drawing her to him, and crushed his open mouth to hers.

She kicked the body out of her way as she let him force her to the straw covered floor.

The wolverine grew larger in his vision. The arrow waited for the flat, dark head to lift. A low growl came from behind his left shoulder.

“Quiet!” Richard hissed.

The gar fell silent. The wolverine’s head rose. With a zip, the arrow was away. Wings aquiver, the little gar bounced on the balls of its feet, its attention riveted to the flight of the arrow.

“Wait,” he whispered. The gar froze.

With a solid thunk, the arrow found its target. The gar squealed in glee. Wings spreading and flapping, it bounced higher and turned to him. Richard leaned close and pointed a finger at the gar’s wrinkly nose. The gar watched him attentively.

“All right, but you bring me back my arrow.”

Head bobbing in quick agreement, the gar bounded into the air. Richard watched by the dim, early dawn light as it swooped down on the dead quarry, pouncing as if it were about to escape. Fur flew as claws ripped. The dark silhouette lowered, its wings folding against its back, as it hunched over the prey, growling and pulling its meal apart.

Richard turned from the sight and watched instead the streaks of cloud change color against the brightening sky. Sister Verna would be awake soon. He still stood his watch despite her insistence that it wasn’t necessary.

She finally relented, but he knew she was angry because he wouldn’t back down.
That
made her angry. What didn’t? She was more angry that usual since coming through the Valley the day before. She was silently livid.

Richard glanced toward the little gar to see it was still eating. How it had managed to follow him through the Valley of the Lost, he couldn’t imagine. He had thought it was a mistake to keep feeding it before they reached the Valley, but he felt responsible for it. Every night when he had taken his watch, it came to him, and he had hunted food for it. He had thought he had seen the last of it when they crossed over into the Old World, but somehow, it had followed.

The little gar was passionately devoted to him when he was on watch. It ate with him, played with him, and slept at his feet, if not on them. When his watch was over, it hardly made a fuss about him leaving. Richard never once saw the gar at any other time. It seemed to instinctively know to stay away from the Sister, to avoid letting her see it. Richard was reasonably certain she would try to kill it. Maybe the gar knew that.

He was continually surprised by the intelligence of the furry little beast. It learned faster than any animal he had ever seen. Kahlan had told him that short-tail gars were smart. Now he knew how right she was.

He had only to show it something once or twice to make it understand. It was learning to understand his words, and tried to imitate them, although it didn’t seem to have the capacity for speech. Some of its sounds came strangely close.

Richard didn’t know what to do about the gar. He thought perhaps it should strike out on its own, learn to hunt and survive, but it wouldn’t leave; it followed, out of sight, wherever they went, even through danger. Perhaps it was too young to get by on its own. Maybe it saw Richard as its only way to survive. Maybe it saw him as a surrogate mother.

In truth, Richard didn’t really want it to leave. It had become a friend as they had traveled through the wilds. It gave him unconditional love, never criticized him, and never argued with him. It felt good to have a friend. How could he deny the same thing to the gar?

The flap of wings brought him out of his thoughts. The gar thumped to the ground before him. It had gained a lot of weight since Richard had first found it. He would have sworn it had grown nearly half a foot, too.

The sinew under the pink skin of its chest and belly had become taut, and its arms were no longer all hide and bone, as they had been, but were thickening with muscle.

He was afraid to think of how big it would eventually get. He hoped it would be on its own by then. Hunting enough food to feed a full-grown short-tail gar would be a full-time occupation.

After wiping the shaft on its fur-covered thigh to clean off the blood, the gar flashed Richard its hideous, bloodstained grin and held out the arrow. Richard pointed over his shoulder.

“I don’t want it. Put it back where it belongs.”

The gar reached over Richard’s shoulder and slid the arrow back into the quiver that leaned against a stump. It contorted its features, seemingly to question if it had done it correctly. Richard smiled as he patted its full belly.

“Good boy. You did it right.”

The gar flopped happily on the ground at his feet, contenting itself with licking blood from its claws and coarse fur. When it finished, it laid its long arms over Richard’s lap, and rested its head on them.

“You need a name.” The gar looked up, cocking its head to the side. Its tufted ears turned toward him. “Name.” He tapped his chest. “My name is Richard.” The gar reached out and tapped Richard’s chest in imitation. “Richard. Richard.”

It cocked its head to the other side. “Raaaa,” it growled through sharp fangs, its ears twitching.

Richard nodded. “Rich … ard.”

It tapped Richard’s chest again. “Raaaa gurrrr,” it said in its throaty growl, this time showing less teeth.

“Rich … ard.”

“Raaaach aaarg.”

Richard laughed. “That’s close. Now, what are we going to call you?” Richard thought about it, trying to think of something appropriate. The gar sat, its brow bunched into deep furrows, watching him intently. After a moment, it took Richard’s hand and tapped it against his chest.

“Raaaach aaarg,” it said. It pulled Richard’s hand to its own chest, tapping it against the fur. “Grrratch.”

“Gratch?” Richard sat up straighter in surprise. “Your name is Gratch?” He tapped the gar again. “Gratch?”

The gar nodded and grinned as it tapped its own chest. “Grrratch. Grrratch.”

Richard was a little taken aback; it had never occurred to him that the gar might have a name. “Gratch it is, then.” He tapped his own chest again. “Richard.” He smiled and patted the gar’s shoulder. “Gratch.”

The gar spread its wings and thumped its chest with open claws. “Grrrratch!”

Richard laughed and the gar leapt on him, letting out its throaty giggle as it wrestled him to the ground. Gratch’s love of wrestling was second only to its love of food. The two of them tumbled across the ground, laughing and struggling to gently get the best of each other.

Richard was gentler than Gratch about it. The gar would put its mouth around Richard’s arm, though, thankfully, at least it never bit. Its needle sharp fangs were long enough to easily go all the way through his arm, and he had seen the gar splinter bone with those teeth.

Richard brought the wrestling match to an end by sitting up on the stump. Gratch sat straddling him, arms, legs, and wings wrapped around him. It nuzzled against Richard’s shoulder. Gratch knew that at dawn Richard left.

Richard spied a rabbit in the underbrush, some distance off, and thought that perhaps Sister Verna would appreciate some meat for breakfast. “Gratch, I need a rabbit.”

Gratch climbed off his lap as Richard took up his bow. After the arrow was off, he told the gar to bring him the rabbit, but not to eat it. Gratch had learned to retrieve, and was happy to do it; he always got what was left of the skinning and gutting.

After Richard was done and had bid Gratch goodbye, he hiked back to camp. His mind wandered back to the vision of Kahlan he had had in the tower, and the things she had told him. The sight of her being beheaded haunted him. He recalled her words:

“
Speak if you must these words, but not of this vision. ‘Of all there were, but a single one born of the magic to bring forth truth will remain alive when the shadow’s threat is lifted. Therefore comes the greater darkness of the dead. For there to be a chance at life’s bond, this one in white must be offered to her people, to bring their joy and good cheer.
’”

He knew who the “this one in white” was. He knew what “bring their joy and good cheer” meant.

He thought, too, about the prophecy that Sister Verna had told him of, the one that said, “he is the bringer of death, and he shall so name himself.” She claimed the prophecy said that the holder of the sword is able to call the dead forth, call the past into the present. He wondered, and worried, what that could mean.

At the camp, he found Sister Verna squatted at the fire, cooking bannock. The aroma made his stomach grumble. The sparsely wooded country was coming to life with sounds of animals and bugs heralding the dawn. Clusters of small, dark birds sang from the tall, thinly foliated trees, and gray squirrels chased each other up and down their branches. Richard hung the the skewer with the rabbit over the fire as Sister Verna continued to mind the bannock.

“I brought you some breakfast. I thought you might like some meat.”

She gave only a grunt of acknowledgement.

“You still angry with me for saving your life yesterday?”

She carefully laid another small stick on the fire. “I am not angry with you for saving my life, Richard.”

“I thought you said your Creator hated lies. Do you think he believes you? I don’t.”

Her face turned so red Richard thought her curly hair might catch fire. “You will not speak blasphemy.”

“And lying is not?”

“You do not understand, Richard, why I am angry.”

Richard sat on the ground and, grasping his ankles, folded his legs in. “Maybe I do. You are supposed to be my protector. Not the other way around. Maybe you feel that you have failed. But I don’t feel that you failed. We both just did what we had to, to survive.”

“Did what we must?” Fine wrinkles radiated around her eyes as they narrowed. “As I recall from the book, when Bonnie, Geraldine, and Jessup led the people across the poison river, some of those people died.”

Richard smiled to himself. “So, you really did read it.”

“I told you I did! That was foolhardy. We could have been killed taking that risk.”

“We didn’t have any choice.”

“You always have a choice, Richard. That is what I am trying to teach you.” She sat back on her heels. “The wizards who created that place thought they had no choice, but they made things worse. You were using your Han back there, and you were doing it without understanding the consequences.”

“What choice did we have?”

Hands on her knees, she leaned forward. “We always have a choice, Richard. You were lucky, this time, that your use of magic didn’t get you killed.”

“What are you talking about?”

Sister Verna drew a saddlebag close and started rummaging through it, finally pulling out a green, cloth bag. “You got some blood from that beast on your arm. Did any of the bugs bite you?”

“On my legs.”

“Show me.”

Richard pulled up his pant legs and showed her the swollen, red bites. She shook her head and, whispering to herself, pulled first one and then a second bottle from the bag.

With a stick found on the ground nearby, she dipped a white paste from one bottle and wiped it onto the flat of a knife blade. She threw the stick in the fire. Taking up another stick, she dipped a dark paste from the other bottle and mixed it with the light on the flat of the blade, then spread it along the edge. She threw the second stick, with some of the mixed paste on it, into the fire. Richard flinched when it exploded in a white-hot ball of fire that lifted skyward, dissipating as it rose, turning to a boiling cloud of black smoke.

She held up the knife to reveal a gray paste spread on the blade. “Light and dark, earth and sky. Magic, to heal what would otherwise kill you by tonight. You have a way of getting yourself out onto thin limbs, Richard. Each step you take only makes your predicament worse. Now, come over here, closer.”

Richard dug his heels in and scooted around the fire. “Were you trying to decide whether or not you were going to help me?”

“Of course not. This is made from powerful magic, constructed magic, to smother the venom injected into you by the conjured creatures. Too soon, and the cure would kill you. Too late, the bites would kill you. It must be the right kind of magic, at the right time. I was simply waiting for the proper time.”

Richard wanted to argue with her, but instead said, “Thank you for helping me.” She frowned at him before leaning over his bites. “Sister, how was I making things worse?”

“You were being reckless. Using magic is dangerous, not only to others, but to the one who calls it forth as well.”

Richard winced as she drew the edge across one of the bites, first one way, then the other, cutting an X on it. The sting made his eyes water.

“How can it be dangerous to me?”

She concentrated as she leaned over his leg, whispering an incantation while stroking the knife across his swollen flesh. He tried not to jump when she cut the next bite. She was only making light cuts, but they stung fiercely.

“It is like starting a fire in the center of a tinder dry wood. You find yourself in the center of the fire, in the center of what you have started. What you did was foolish and dangerous.”

“Sister Verna, I was trying to stay alive.”

She jabbed a finger at one of the painful bites. “And look what happened! If I don’t heal you, you’ll die.” She finished with his legs and turned her attention to his arm. “When we were being attacked by those beasts, you thought to save us, but everything you did only increased the danger.”