Confessor: Chainfire Trilogy Part 3

Chapter 15

“What is it?” Jennsen whispered to the young woman ahead of her as they both crawled through the tall, dry grass.

“Shh” was Laurie’s only answer.

Laurie and her husband had been out in the desolate place picking a late crop of wild figs that grew among the low hills. In the course of their work, as they had picked farther and farther afield, they had separated. As the afternoon drew to a close Laurie had wanted to head back to town but she hadn’t been able to find her husband. He seemed to have vanished.

Increasingly distraught, she’d eventually run back to the town of Hawton seeking Jennsen’s help. Needing to rush, Jennsen had decided to leave her pet goat, Betty, in her pen. Betty hadn’t been happy about it, but Jennsen was more concerned about finding Laurie’s husband. By the time they had returned with a small search party the sun had long since gone down.

As Owen, his wife Marilee, Anson, and Jennsen had spread out searching in among the low hills for Laurie’s missing husband, Laurie had found something she hadn’t expected. It had clearly shaken her. She wouldn’t say what it was; she wanted Jennsen to hurry to see it for herself, and she wanted Jennsen to be quiet about it.

Laurie cautiously lifted her head just enough to look off into the night.

She pointed and at the same time leaned back so that Jennsen could hear her whisper. “There.”

By now infected with Laurie’s obvious sense of alarm, Jennsen carefully stretched her neck up to peer into the darkness.

The tomb was open.

The great granite monument to Nathan Rahl had been slid to the side. Light shone up from under the ground, creating a softly glowing beacon in the dark heart of the starlit night.

Jennsen knew, of course, that it was not really Nathan Rahl’s tomb. Laurie wouldn’t know that, though.

Back when Nathan and Ann had been staying with them, Nathan had discovered the tomb with his name on it. He had also discovered that what appeared to be a rather extravagant tomb in the ancient graveyard was actually an entrance to secret underground rooms filled with books. He and Ann had told Jennsen that the stash was thousands of years old and had been protected all that time by magic.

Jennsen wouldn’t know; she had no magic. She was pristinely ungifted—a hole in the world, as it was sometimes called because those with magic were unable to use their gift to sense those like Jennsen. She was a rare creature—a pillar of Creation.

She and the people with her down in Bandakar were all pillars of Creation. In ancient times it had been learned that when the pristinely ungifted mingled with normal people, all of whom possessed at least a small spark of the gift, every child of such unions would be pristinely ungifted. Roaming free in the world they forever carried the latent potential to breed the gift itself out of mankind. In antiquity the solution to the ever-growing numbers of the pristinely ungifted had been to gather them all together and banish them.

The pristinely ungifted trait originated in the offspring of the Lord Rahl. Pristinely ungifted births were exceedingly rare, but once those with the trait became adults, the anomaly was spread forth into the general population. After the ancestors of these people in Bandakar had been banished, every child of a Rahl was tested. If found to be born pristinely ungifted such a child would immediately be put to death to prevent the trait from ever again spreading into the general population.

Jennsen, the offspring of rape by Darken Rahl, had managed to defy the odds and escape detection. Since Richard was now the Lord Rahl, eliminating any such flaw in his lineage fell to him.

But Richard found the very thought abhorrent and would not do such a thing. He believed that Jennsen and those like her had the same right to life as did he. He had actually been happy to discover that he had a half sister—pristinely ungifted or not. He had greeted her with open arms rather than murderous intent, as she had once expected.

Richard had broken the banishment and freed these people to live their own lives. Since Richard had become the Lord Rahl, they were no longer banished but welcomed into the world, as was Jennsen. Despite what it would eventually mean for the existence of magic within mankind, he had destroyed the barrier barring these people from the rest of the world.

Since the barrier had come down, many of the people from Bandakar had been captured by the Imperial Order and taken away to be used for breeding stock to hasten the end of magic. After the Imperial Order had been driven from Bandakar, most of the rest of these people had chosen to remain in their ancestral homeland for the time being. They wanted to take some time to learn about the outside world before deciding what they would do.

Jennsen felt a kinship with these people. Having been in hiding her whole life for fear of being put to death for the crime of her birth, she had in a way suffered under her own form of banishment. She had wanted to remain with these people as they all learned to be a part of their new, wider world. That new beginning, that excitement of building a new life for themselves full of possibilities, was a passion shared by them all.

Laurie obviously felt a sense of dread that their world was again being threatened. But with the Imperial Order on the march everyone’s world was threatened. In that sense there was nothing especially unique about the pristinely ungifted.

Jennsen wasn’t sure who it was that was now down in the tomb. She reasoned that it might be Nathan and Ann returned to retrieve books they needed from the long-forgotten underground library. Those books, too, had been banished to their hiding place behind boundaries that none had been able to cross until Richard had come along.

Jennsen reasoned that it might also be Richard down in the tomb. Nathan and Ann had long ago set off with Tom to find him. If they had succeeded they would have told him about the underground library. Perhaps he’d returned to see the ancient library for himself, or maybe he’d returned looking for something specific. Jennsen would dearly love to see her brother again. The very idea of it gave her a flutter of excitement.

She realized, though, that it could be someone else—someone who could harm them all. It was that thought that kept her from rushing down into the tomb.

Despite how much she wanted to go and see if it was Richard, Jennsen’s life on the run with her mother had given her a finely honed sense of caution, so she crouched motionless, watching for any sign of who it might be down in the tomb.

Mockingbirds in the distance repeated calls into the still darkness, trying to outdo one another in a kind of endless nightly argument. As she idly listened to the strident calls, Jennsen knew that it would be best to remain hidden and wait for whoever was down inside the tomb to appear, but she worried that the others might return from their search and inadvertently give them away, so she decided that as she kept an eye on the tomb it would be best to send Laurie to find the others and warn them about the unknown intruders.

Before Jennsen could crawl in close and whisper instructions to Laurie, the young woman abruptly started crawling forward. Apparently, she’d decided that it might be her husband down in the tomb. Jennsen lunged, snatching at the young woman’s ankle, but it was out of reach.

“Laurie!” Jennsen whispered. “Stop!”

Laurie ignored the command, instead skittering off through the dry grass. Jennsen immediately crawled after her, wending her way among ancient grave markers scattered about on the uneven ground. The dry grass made far too much noise for Jennsen’s liking. Laurie wasn’t being especially careful, or quiet. Jennsen had been schooled in evasion and escape by her mother. Laurie didn’t know much about such things.

Some distance ahead in the darkness, Laurie gasped in fright.

Jennsen lifted her head just enough to try to see if anyone was nearby, but in the darkness it was hard to see much of anything. For all Jennsen knew there could be a dozen men spread out around them. If they remained still it would be difficult, if not impossible, to see them.

Laurie suddenly rose up on her knees as she let out a wail of horror that sent a ripple of goose bumps up the nape of Jennsen’s neck. The scream shattered the quiet of the night. The mockingbirds fell silent.

In the dead of night, such a scream would carry great distances. No longer having to worry about giving herself away, Jennsen scrambled to her feet and raced to cover the remaining distance to the woman. Overcome with abject misery, Laurie held her hair in her fists as she threw her head back and cried in desolation.

The body of a man lay sprawled in the grass before her. Even though it was too dark for Jennsen to make out the face, it was only too obvious who it had to be.

Jennsen pulled the silver-handled knife from the sheath at her waist.

Just as she did so, the dark shape of a big man, sword in hand, loomed up out of the darkness. He had probably been the one who had killed Laurie’s husband. After that he’d likely crouched somewhere nearby to be on watch for anyone else who might approach the open tomb.

Just as Jennsen reached Laurie, but before she could knock the young woman out of harm’s way, the man swung the sword. The dark blur of the blade slashed across Laurie’s throat, nearly decapitating her. Splatters of warm blood splashed across the side of Jennsen’s face.

Her horror was instantly banished by a flash of anger. She might have expected dread, fear, or even panic, but it was a rush of hot rage that erupted through her. It was an anger first ignited by others who had so long ago come out of nowhere and brutally murdered her mother.

Before the sword had even finished the murderous slash, Jennsen was already leaping toward the man.

She leaped out of the darkness, hitting him square in the chest with her knife. Before he could even flinch back in surprise, she pulled the knife back and, gripping it tightly in her fist, stabbed it into his neck three times in rapid succession. Atop him, she rode him to the ground, still furiously stabbing him. Only when his breath gurgled to a halt did she stop.

In the sudden stillness, she panted, catching her breath. She struggled to not allow herself to become paralyzed by the shock of what had just happened. If there was one guard, there would likely be others. She knew for certain that there was someone down in the tomb. She had to get away from the place where Laurie had screamed.

Jennsen told herself to move. Moving was her best defense, now. Moving was life.

Crouching low, she started slipping away to the side, the whole time keeping an eye on the shaft of light rising up from the tomb, watching for anyone who might emerge to investigate the noise and discover the bodies.

A second man seemed suddenly to materialize out of the black night, rising up out of the grass right in front of her.

Jennsen flipped the knife in her hand, getting a fighting grip on it, rather than the stabbing grip she’d had when she’d taken the other man down. Her heart pounded wildly as she looked around for other threats.

She ignored the man’s command to stop and instead quickly feinted left. As he lunged in that direction, grabbing for her, Jennsen instead rolled to the right.

Another man appeared out of the darkness, responding to the yells of the first man, blocking any escape to that side. The light coming from the tomb glinted softly off links of the chain mail covering the man’s broad chest and the axe gripped in a meaty fist. Long greasy strings of hair hung down over his shoulders.

She reminded herself to remember his chain mail in case she had to fight him off. Her knife would be largely ineffective against such armor. She would need to find vulnerable spots. She realized that she had been lucky that the man she’d fought, the man who had killed Laurie, hadn’t been wearing chain mail.

Jennsen’s frantic urge was to turn and run in blind panic but she knew that running would be a mistake. Running aroused the instinct to chase. Once in a chase, that instinct took over and men like this wouldn’t stop until they had a kill.

Both men expected her to run in the direction that seemed open to her—away to her left. Instead, she bolted for them, intending to slip right between them and out of their snare before they could close in. The closest man, the one she knew to be wearing mail, had his axe at the ready. Before he could raise it and strike, she slashed the exposed inside of his arm. Her razor-sharp knife sliced across the meat of the underside of his forearm, just up from the wrist. She could hear the soft snap of tendons under tension parting as they were cut.

The man cried out. Unable to hold his axe, he dropped it to the ground. Jennsen snatched it up as she ducked under the second man diving for her. She spun and slammed the weapon into his back as he flew past.

Jennsen scrambled away as one of the men held his useless right arm and the other wheeled toward her with an axe handle jutting up at an angle from his back. He staggered a few steps, still coming for her, before he dropped to a knee gasping for breath. By the gurgling sound of his breathing, she knew that she had punctured his lung at the least. It was clear that he was in no condition to fight, so she turned her attention elsewhere.

If she was going to escape, this was her chance. Without hesitation, she took it.

Almost immediately a wall of men loomed up before her. Jennsen skidded to a stop. Men appeared all around her. From the corner of her eye she saw shadows twisting through the shaft of light as figures raced up from within the tomb.

“If you want,” the man in front of her said in a gruff voice, “we’d be happy to cut you down. Otherwise, I’d suggest you just hand me that knife.”

Jennsen stood frozen, considering her options. Her mind didn’t seem to want to work.

In the distance she could see figures, silhouetted by the light, rushing toward her from the tomb.

The man held out a hand. “The knife,” he said with menace.

Jennsen wheeled her arm and stabbed him through the palm of his hand. As he flinched back at the same time Jennsen pulled, the blade parted his hand between his two middle fingers. The night air rang with a rage of profanity. Jennsen took the chance to dart through the biggest opening in the wall of men and into the darkness beyond.

Before she had run three steps an arm hooked her around the middle. He yanked her back so violently that it drove the air from her in a whoosh. The soldier slammed her back against his leather armor. Jennsen gasped for breath.

Before he was able to corral her flailing arms, she drove her knife into his thigh. The tip hit bone and stuck. Cursing, he finally collected her arms, pinning them to her sides.

Tears of terror and frustration stung at her eyes. She was going to die here in the middle of a graveyard without ever seeing Tom again. At that moment, he was all that seemed important, all she wanted. He would never know what had happened to her. She would never be able to tell him one last time how much she loved him.

The soldier jerked the knife from his leg. She gasped back a sob at all that was lost to her, all that was lost to these people.

Before the men could tear her apart as she expected them to do, someone appeared with a lantern. It was a woman. She had something else in the same hand as the lantern. She came to a halt before Jennsen, scowling as she took charge of the situation.

“Be quiet,” the woman said to the man holding his bloody hand and still cursing.

“The bitch stabbed my hand!”

“And my leg!” the man holding her added.

The woman glanced to the bodies lying nearby. “Looks like you got off lucky.”

“I guess,” the man holding Jennsen finally grumbled, clearly uncomfortable under her implacable scrutiny. He handed the woman Jennsen’s knife.

“’She cut my hand nearly in two!” the other interrupted, not yet content to submit to the woman’s indifference to their pain. “She must be made to pay!”

The woman turned a withering glare on him. “Your only purpose is to serve the ends of the Order. What good do you think you will be in that service if you are a cripple? Now, shut your mouth or I won’t even consider healing you.”

When he hung his head in mute agreement, the woman finally withdrew her glare and turned her attention to Jennsen. Holding the lantern up, she leaned in to get a better look at Jennsen’s face. Jennsen saw then that it was a book she was holding in the hand along with the lantern. She had probably stolen the book from the underground stash.

“Amazing,” she said, as if speaking to herself as she studied Jennsen’s eyes. “You’re right there in front of me, and yet my gift says you are not.”

Jennsen realized that the woman had to be a sorceress, probably one of Jagang’s Sisters. Jennsen could not be directly harmed by the powers of such a woman, or anyone with magic, but under the circumstances, that hardly meant that she wasn’t a threat. After all, she didn’t need magic to order the soldiers to put Jennsen to death.

The woman held out the knife, peering at what was on the handle. Her brow drew down as she grasped the significance of the ornate letter “R,” the symbol standing for the House of Rahl, engraved on the silver handle.

Her eyes turned up to Jennsen, this time filled with a kind of grim recognition. Unexpectedly, she dropped the knife. It stuck in the ground at her feet as she put the fingers of one hand to her forehead, wincing as if in pain. The silent soldiers shared troubled looks.

When she looked up again, the woman’s face had gone blank. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Jennsen Rahl.” Her voice sounded different. It was deeper, and carried a threatening, masculine tone.

It was Jennsen’s turn to frown. “You know me?”

“Oh yes, darlin, I know you,” the woman said in a voice that had turned deep and husky. “Seems I recall you swearing to me that you would kill Richard Rahl.”

Jennsen understood, then. It was Emperor Jagang, seeing her through the eyes of this woman. Jagang was a dream walker. He could do such seemingly impossible things.

“And what of your promise?” the woman asked in a voice that wasn’t entirely her own. Her movements were puppetlike and appeared to be painful.

Jennsen didn’t know if she was talking to the woman or to Jagang. “I failed.”

The woman’s lip curled derisively. “You failed.”

“That’s right. I failed.”

“And what of Sebastian?”

Jennsen swallowed. “He died.”

“He died,” she said in a mocking tone. She took a step closer and cocked her head, peering with one angry eye. “And how did he die, darlin?”

“By his own hand.”

“And why would a man like Sebastian take his own life?”

Jennsen would have taken a step back had she not already been pressed up against the chest of the hulking soldier. “I guess it was his way of saying that he no longer wanted to be a strategist to the emperor of the Imperial Order. Maybe he realized that his life had been wasted, that it had been for nothing.”

The woman glared but said nothing.

Jennsen saw then a soft gold glint off the book the woman was holding in the same hand as the lantern. Jennsen could just make out the title in faded, worn gold lettering.

It said The Book of Counted Shadows.

Everyone turned at the sound of a commotion. Yet more men were dragging other captives closer. When they reached the light Jennsen’s heart sank. The big soldiers had Anson, Owen, and Owen’s wife, Marilee. All three were disheveled and bloody.

The woman bent and retrieved Jennsen’s knife at her feet.

“His Excellency has decided that he may have a use for these people,” the woman said as she straightened. She gestured with Jennsen’s knife. “Bring them along.”