Stone of Tears (91 page)

Richard sank to his knees. He felt like he might be sick. “Du Chaillu, forgive me for what I have done this night.”

She gently put a hand to his bowed head. “It has been my honor, to be the spirit woman of our people when the
Caharin
has come, to be the one to wear the prayer dress, and bring him to his people. You must do your duty, now, and return our land, as the old words tell us.”

Richard lifted his head. “And do the old words say how I am to accomplish this task?”

She slowly shook her head. “Only that we are to help you, and that you will. We are yours to command.”

In the dark, Richard felt a tear run down his cheek. “Then I command that the killing stop. You will do as I have already ordered. You will use the bird whistle to bring peace with the Majendie. While you are doing that, you will do as you promised, and have someone guide us to the Palace of the Prophets.”

Without looking up, Du Chaillu snapped her fingers. Richard realized, for the first time, that people in the shadows surrounded the bloody clearing. All were on their knees, bowed toward him. At the snap of her fingers, several sprang forward.

“Guide them to the big stone house.”

Richard stood before her, looking into her dark eyes. “Du Chaillu, I’m so sorry I killed your husbands. I begged you to stop it, but I’m so sorry.”

Her eyes bore the timeless look he had seen in others; Sister Verna, Shota, the witch woman, and Kahlan. He knew now that it was the gift he was seeing. She gave him a ghost of a smile. He didn’t know how she could smile at a time like this.

“They fought as hard as any Baka Ban Mana have ever fought. They had the honor of teaching the
Caharin
. They have given their lives for their people. They brought honor to themselves, and will live on as legends.”

She reached out and placed her hand on his bare chest. On the handprint there. “You are my husband, now.”

Richard’s eyes widened. “What?”

She gave a curious frown. “I wear the prayer dress. I am the spirit woman of our people. You are the
Caharin
. It is the old law. You are my husband.”

Richard shook his head. “No, I’m not. I already have …”

He was going to say he already had a love. But the words caught in his throat. Kahlan had sent him away. He had nothing.

She shrugged. “It could be worse for you. The last one who wore the prayer dress was old and wrinkled. She had no teeth. I hope that I bring at least some pleasure to your eyes, and maybe someday a song to your heart, but I belong to the
Caharin
. It is not for you, or me, to decide.”

“Yes it is!” He looked about and then snatched up his shirt. As he put it on, he saw Sister Verna at the edge of the clearing, watching him, like a bug in a box. He turned to Du Chaillu.

“You have a job to do. You will do it. The killing is ended. The Sister and I must get to the Palace so I can get this collar off.”

Du Chaillu leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Until I see you again, Richard, Seeker,
Caharin
, husband.”

Richard and Sister Verna sat on their horses, anchoring long, thin shadows, as they looked down from the grassy prominence. Trees meandered along the low places among some of the hills, and blanketed others in dusky green. The vast city below lay awash in a straw colored haze that muted the colors into a mellow monotone. The distant tiled and shingled roofs shimmered in the rays of the setting sun like points of light on a pond.

Richard had never seen so many buildings laid out in such an orderly array. Off to the edges they were smaller, but toward the core they seemed to grow, both in size, and in grandeur. The faraway sounds of tens of thousands of people and horses and wagons drifted all the way up to them on the hill, carried on the light, salty breeze.

A river meandered through the collection of countless buildings, dividing the city, with the part on the far side twice as large. At the edge of the city, docks lined the banks along the mouth of the majestic river. Boats of all sizes were not only moored there, but dotted the river, their white sails filled with air. Some of the boats, he could just make out, had three masts. Richard had never imagined that such large boats might exist.

Despite being there against his will, Richard found himself fascinated by the city, by all the people and all the sights it must hold. He had never seen such a place. He imagined a person could probably walk around for days and days, and not begin to see it all.

Beyond, shimmering with golden sparkles and reflections, lay the sea, stretching to a knife’s edge line at the horizon.

Dominating the city, near the center, rising up on an island of its own, stood a vast Palace, its imposing, crenelated west wall bathed in the sun’s golden rays. Baileys and ramparts and towers and sections and roofs, all of grand design, joined together into a complex structure that held labyrinthine courtyards with trees, or grass, or ponds. The Palace seemed to be stretching its stone arms, jealously trying to enclose the whole of the island atop which it sat.

Seen from this distance, with the thread-thin streets radiating out from the the island at the core of the city, and strand-like bridges spanning the river all around, the Palace reminded Richard of nothing as much as a fat spider sitting in the center of its web.

“The Palace of the Prophets,” Sister Verna said.

“Prison,” Richard said without looking to her.

She ignored the comment. “The city is Tanimura, and through it, the river Kern. The Palace itself sits on Halsband island.”

“Halsband.” His hackles lifted. “Is that some kind of sardonic joke?”

“What do you mean? Does Halsband have significance?”

Richard raised an eyebrow. “A halsband is a collar used to launch a hunting hawk on an attack.”

She gave a dismissive shrug. “You read too much into things.”

“Do I? We shall see.”

She let out a small sigh as she hunched her hips, starting her horse down the hill, and changed the subject. “It has been many years since I was home, but it looks as it always has.”

The two Baka Ban Mana men who had guided them through the swampy, trackless forest for the last two days had left them that morning, once Sister Verna was at last in familiar territory. Although he never lost his sense of direction, Richard could easily see how people could become disoriented there. But he was at home in such places of vast desolation, and was more likely to become lost in a building than dense woods.

The two men had spoken little over those two days. Though they were swordsmen as fierce as those Richard had fought, they were in awe of him. Richard had to shout before they would stop all the bowing. No amount of shouting, though, could make them stop calling him
Caharin
.

One night, before he went to stand his usual watch, Sister Verna had told him, in a quiet tone, that she was sorry that he had had to kill those thirty people. A little surprised by her sincerity and the seeming lack of meaning other than that stated, and haunted by the memory, he had thanked her for understanding.

Richard scanned the fertile hills and valleys. “Why isn’t this land farmed? With all those people, they must need to plant food.”

Sister verna lifted a hand holding the reins and indicated the land on the other side of the city. “Farms cover the land on that side of the river. On this side, it is not safe for man nor beast.” Tilting her head back, she indicated the land behind. “The Baka Ban Mana are always a threat.”

“So they don’t farm here because they are afraid of the Baka Ban Mana?

She cast a glance to her left. “Do you see that dark forest?” She watched him as he took in the fringe of the dense tangle in the next valley. Huge, old, gnarled trees were packed close together, covered with vines and moss, and harboring gloomy shadows. “This edge of the forest runs for miles more toward the city. It is the Hagen Woods. Stay far away from it. All who let the sun set on them in the Hagen woods die. Many who set foot there die before they have a chance to wait for the sun to go down. It is a place of vile magic.”

As they rode, he kept glancing to the Hagen Woods. He felt a longing for that gloomy place, as if it complemented his dark mood, as if he belonged in there. He found it hard to draw his eyes away.

Up close, the streets of Tanimura were not the orderly place they appeared from a distance. The fringes of the city were a confusion of squalor. Men pushing or pulling carts laden with loads of rice sacks, or carpets, or firewood, or hides, or even garbage, wove around and past each other, sometimes clogging the way. Lining the road were hawkers of every sort, selling everything from fruits and vegetables and strips of meat cooked on little sticks over tiny smokey fires in impromptu stone hearths, to herbs and fortunes, to boots and beads. At least the cooking gave spotty relief from the reeking stench of tanneries.

Huddled groups of men in worn, dirty clothes shouted with excitement or burst into laughter around games of cards and dice. Side streets and narrow alleyways were clogged with people and lined with ramshackle huts of tarp and tin. Naked children ran and played among the flimsy shelters, splashing in muddy puddles and chasing each other in games of catch the fox. Women squatted around buckets, washing clothes and chatting among themselves.

Sister Verna muttered to herself that she didn’t remember the squalor and the unhoused multitudes. Richard thought that, despite their condition, they looked happier than they had a right to.

Despite having lived out-of-doors, and being a little dirty and rumpled, Sister Verna, compared to these people, looked like royalty. Anyone coming close bowed in reverence to the Sister, and she prayed for the Creator’s blessing on them in return.

The timeworn buildings, some faced with faded, crumbling plaster, some with age darkened wood, were just as packed as the streets. Colorful wash hung from the rusty iron railings of nearly every tiny balcony. A few held pots of flowers or herbs. Laughter and the hum of conversation came from taverns and inns. A butcher shop displayed fly covered carcasses on the street out front. Other shops sold dried fish, or grain, or oils.

The farther he and the Sister went, the cleaner the city became. The road widened, even the side streets were wider, and none had huts leaning against the buildings. The shops had bigger windows with painted shutters, and better looking wares, many displaying colorful, locally woven carpets. By the time the wide road became lined with trees, the buildings were grand. The inns looked elegant, with doormen standing in red uniforms before them.

On the stone bridge over the Kern, men were lighting lamps hung on poles to show the way in the gathering darkness. In the river, below the bridge, fishermen in small boats with lanterns rowed through the dark water. Soldiers in ornate uniforms with gold trimmed white shirts and red tunics, and carrying polearms, patrolled each side of the river. As the horses’ hooves clopped along the cobblestone, Sister Verna finally spoke.

“It is a great day, at the Palace, when a new one with the gift arrives.” She cast him a brief, sideways glance. “It is a rare and joyous event. They will be happy to see you, Richard, please remember that. To them, this is an event of note in their calling. Though you feel differently, their hearts will be warmed by the sight of you. They will want you to feel welcome.”

Richard thought otherwise. “Make your point.”

“I just did. They will be delighted.”

“What you are saying, in other words, is you would like me not to horrify them right off.”

“I did not say that.” She glanced with a small frown at the soldiers guarding the bridge. She finally looked back to him. “I am simply asking you to realize that these women live for this very thing.”

Richard stared ahead as he rode past more guards in dress uniforms. “A wise person, a person I love, told me once that we all can only be who we are, no more, and no less.” His gaze swept the top of the wall ahead, noting the soldiers there, and what arms they carried. “I am the bringer of death, and I have nothing to live for.”

“That is not true, Richard,” she said in a quiet tone. “You are a young man, and you have much to live for. You have a long life ahead of you. And though you may have named yourself the bringer of death, I have seen you do nothing but strive to stop the killing. Sometimes you will not listen, and make matters worse, but it is through ignorance, not malice.”

“Since you abhor lies, Sister, I am sure you would not want me to pretend to feel other than I do.”

She sighed as they went through a huge gate in the thick, outer bailey wall, the horses’ hooves echoing inside the long, arched opening. Beyond, the road meandered among low, spreading trees. Windows in the buildings rising up all around were aglow with soft yellow light. Many of the buildings were connected by covered colonnades, or enclosed halls with arched openings covered over with lattice work. Benches dotted the far side of the courtyard, against a wall with a frieze carved with figures on horses.

Through archways with white painted gates, they came to the stables. Horses browsed in a field beyond. Boys dressed in neat livery, with black vests over tan shirts, came to hold the horses as he and the Sister dismounted. Richard gave Bonnie’s neck a scratch and then started taking down his belongings.

Sister Verna brushed out the wrinkles in her divided riding skirt and straightened her light cloak. She fussed at her curly hair. “No need for that, Richard. Someone will bring your things.”

“No one touches my things but me,” he said.

She sighed and shook her head, and then told the boy to have her things brought in. He bowed to her, and then hooked a lead line on Jessup. He gave a sharp snap on the line. Jessup balked.

The boy brought a whip around on the Jessup’s rump. “Move, you dumb beast!”

Jessup bellowed as he tried to yank his head away.

The next thing Richard knew, the boy was flying across the walkway. He slammed up against a flimsy wooden wall and landed on his seat, as a glowering Sister Verna loomed over him.

“Don’t you dare whip that horse! What’s the matter with you? How would you like it if I did that to you?” In shock, the boy shook his head. “If I ever hear of you whipping a horse again, you will be without a job, after I whip your skinny bottom.”

The wide-eyed lad gave a quick nod and apology. Sister Verna glared a moment longer and then turned, whistling for her horse. When Jessup trotted up, she scratched him under his chin, comforting and calming him. She led him inside to a stall and saw that he had water and hay. Richard made sure she didn’t see his smile.

As they walked across the courtyard, she said, “Just remember, Richard, there isn’t a Sister here, or even a novice, who, while at the same time as she was yawning, couldn’t throw you across a room like that with her Han.”

Inside a wood paneled hall with long yellow and blue carpets running under ornate side tables, three women waited. They became all atwitter at the sight of Sister Verna. Sister Verna was a head shorter than he, and none of these three women were as tall as she. They smoothed their full, pastel skirts, and tugged at the white bodices.

“Sister Verna!” one cried out as the three rushed up.

“Oh, dear Sister Verna, it’s so good to see you at last.”

A tear or two ran down their rosy faces. Their smiles looked about to burst their cheeks. Each looked a good deal younger than Sister Verna. She surveyed the big, wet eyes.

Sister Verna gave a tender stroke to the sniffling face before her. “Sister Phoebe.” She touched another’s hand. “And Sister Amelia, and Sister Janet. It is so good to see you again. It has been a long time indeed.”

The three giggled with excitement, at last composing themselves. Sister Phoebe’s round face looked about, past Richard.

“Where is he? Why haven’t you brought him in with you?”

Sister Verna lifted her hand toward Richard. “This is he. Richard, these are friends of mine. Sisters Phoebe, Amelia, and Janet.”

The smiles transformed into astonished looks. They blinked as they took in his size and age. They stared in open amazement before finally sputtering over each other’s words about how glad they were to meet him. The tore their eyes from him at last and returned their attention to Sister verna.