Faith of the Fallen

Chapter 53

The dead-still air was sweltering and reeked of stagnant sewage.

Richard wiped sweat from his brow. At least as long as his sturdy wagon was rolling through the streets he could enjoy a little breeze.

Distracted out of his concern over knowing Kahlan and Cara had to have long since left the safety of their mountain home, he noticed an unusual amount of activity for the middle of the night. Shadowy figures hurried down the dark streets to dart into dim buildings. Slashes of light briefly fell to the street until doors could be pulled shut. The moon was out, and in the darker alleys he thought he saw people watching him, waiting until he passed before they went on their way. Over the rumble of his wagon’s wheels he couldn’t hear anything they might be saying.

As he turned onto the road that would take him out to the charcoal maker, he had to pull his team up short as men with long pole weapons stepped out and blocked his way. A guard seized the horses’ bits. Other of the city guard swept out of the side street to point lances up at him.

“What are you doing out here?” one of the voices asked from the side of the wagon.

Richard calmly yanked up on the lever to set the brake.

“I have a special pass to move goods at night. It’s for the emperor’s palace.”

The words “emperor’s palace” were usually enough to have him on his way.

The guard waggled his fingers. “If you have a special pass, then let’s see it.”

This night, the guards wanted more. Richard pulled a folded piece of paper from a protective leather sleeve inside his shirt and held it down to the guard. Metal squeaked as the guard slid open a tiny door on his shielded lantern, letting a narrow slit of light fall across the paper. Several heads bent in to read the words and inspect the official seals. They were all genuine. They should be—they had cost Richard a small fortune.

“Here you go.” The guard handed the paper back to Richard. “Have you seen anything unusual as you have gone through the city?”

“Unusual? What do you mean?”

The guard grunted. “If you had seen anything, you wouldn’t have to ask.” He waved his hand. “On your way.”

Richard made no effort to leave. “Should I be worried?” He made a show of looking around. “Are there highwaymen about? Am I in danger? Is it safe for a citizen to be out? I’ll take the wagon back if it’s dangerous.”

The man chuckled derisively. “You’ve got nothing to be afraid of. It’s just some foolish people making trouble because they’ve nothing better to do.”

“That’s all it is? Are you sure?”

“You have work to do for the palace. Get to it.”

“Yes, sir.” Richard clicked his tongue and flicked the reins. The heavy wagon lurched ahead.

He didn’t know what was going on, but suspected the guards were out to catch some more insurgents for questioning. They probably wanted to get back to their post, so anyone they got their hands on was likely to end up being an insurgent. A man from Ishaq’s place had been arrested several days before. He had been drunk on homemade liquor and left a meeting early. He never made it home. A few days later, Ishaq had received word that the man had confessed to crimes against the Order. The man’s wife and daughter were arrested. The wife was released after receiving a specified number of lashes for confessing to speaking ill of the Order and having hateful thoughts about her neighbors. The daughter had not yet been released. No one even knew where she was being held.

Eventually he reached the edge of the city where it gave way to open fields. Richard took a deep breath of the agreeable aroma of freshly turned earth. Lights from occasional farms glimmered like lonely stars. In the moonlight Richard could finally see the rough skyline of forest. As he rolled into the charcoal maker’s place, the charcoal maker, a nervous man named Faval, scurried up to the side of the wagon.

“Richard Cypher! There you are. I was worried about you coming.”

“Why?”

The man let out a high-pitched titter. Faval frequently giggled at things that weren’t funny. Richard understood that it was just his way. He was a jumpy fellow and his laugh was not meant as disrespect, but was rather something he couldn’t help. A lot of people, though, avoided Faval because of his strange laugh, fearing he might be crazy—a punishment, they believed, imposed on sinners by the Creator. Others got angry at him because they thought he was laughing at them. That only made Faval more nervous, which made him laugh all the more. Faval was missing his front teeth and his nose was crooked from being broken a number of times. Richard knew the man couldn’t really help it, and so never gave him trouble about it. Faval had taken a liking to him.

“I don’t know, I just thought you might not come.”

Faval’s big eyes blinked in the moonlight. Richard’s face wrinkled in a puzzlement.

“Faval, I said I was coming. Why would you think I might not?”

Faval’s fingers worried at his earlobe. “No reason.”

Richard climbed down. “The city guards stopped me—”

“No!” Faval’s titter rippled out through the darkness. “What did they want? Did they ask you anything?”

“They wanted to know if I’d seen anything unusual.”

“But you didn’t.” He giggled. “They let you go. You saw nothing.”

“Well,” Richard drawled, “I did see that fellow with the two heads.”

Crickets chirped in the silence. Faval blinked in astonishment. In the moonlight, Richard could see his mouth hanging open.

“You saw a man with two heads?”

This time, it was Richard who laughed. “No, Faval, I didn’t. It was just a joke.”

“It was? But it wasn’t funny.”

Richard sighed. “I suppose not. Have you got the load of charcoal ready? I’ve got a long night ahead of me. Victor needs a load of steel, and Priska needs charcoal or he said he would have to close down. He said you didn’t send your last order.”

Faval giggled. “I couldn’t! I wanted to, Richard Cypher. I need the money. I owe the loggers for the trees I made into this charcoal. They told me they were going to quit bringing me wood if I didn’t pay them.”

Faval lived at the edge of a forest, so his source of wood was handy, but he wasn’t allowed to cut the wood. All resources belonged to the Order.

Trees were cut when the loggers, who had permits, needed work, not when someone needed wood. Most of the wood lay on the ground and rotted. Anyone caught picking up wood was liable to be arrested for stealing from the Order.

Faval held his hands up as if to implore Richard’s understanding. “I tried to get the charcoal transported to Priska, but the committee denied me permission to transport it. They said I don’t need the money. Don’t need the money! Can you imagine?” He laughed painfully. “They told me that I was a rich man, because I had a business, and that I had to wait while they saw to the needs of the common people, first. I am only trying to live.”

“I know, Faval. I told Priska that it wasn’t your fault. He understands—he has troubles like that of his own. He’s just desperate because he needs the charcoal. You know Priska; he gets hot at those who have nothing to do with the problem. I told him I would bring a load of charcoal tonight, and another two tomorrow night. Can I count on you for two more loads tomorrow?”

Richard held out the silver coins for the load of charcoal.

Faval clapped his hands together prayerfully. “Oh, thank you, Richard Cypher. You are a savior. Those loggers are a nasty lot. Yes, yes, and two tomorrow. I have them cooling now. You are as good as a son to me, Richard Cypher.” He motioned off into the darkness as he tittered. “They are there, cooking. You will have them.”

Richard could see the dozens and dozens of mounds, like little haystacks, that were the earthen ovens. Small pieces of split wood were tightly stacked around in a circle, with tinder stuffed in the center, building them up into a rounded pile which was then covered over with fern leaves and broom and then plastered over with firm earth. Fire was put in at the bottom, then that opening was closed over. Moisture and smoke escaped from small vents in the top for six to eight days. When the smoke ceased, the vents were sealed to kill the fire. After it cooled, the earthen ovens could be opened and the charcoal removed. It was a labor-intensive occupation, but rather simple work.

“Let me help you load your wagon,” Faval said.

Richard caught the man’s shirt at his shoulder as he started away.

“Faval, what’s going on?”

Faval put a finger to his lower lip as he laughed. It almost sounded like it was painful for him to laugh. He hesitated, but finally whispered his answer.

“The revolt. It has started.”

Richard had suspected as much. “What do you know about it, Faval?”

“Nothing! I know nothing!”

“Faval, it’s me, Richard. I’m not going to turn you in.”

Faval laughed. This time it sounded more like relief. “Of course not. Of course not. Forgive me, Richard Cypher. I get so nervous, I wasn’t thinking.”

“So, what about this revolt?”

Faval turned up his hands in a helpless gesture. “The Order, they strangle people. We can’t live. If not for you, Richard Cypher, I would be . . . well, I don’t want to think about it. But others, they are not so fortunate. They starve. The Order takes the food they grow. People have loved ones who have been arrested. They confess to things they did not do.

“Did you know that, Richard Cypher? That they confess to things they did not do? I never believed it myself I thought that if they confessed, then they were guilty. Why confess if you are innocent?” He giggled. “Why? I thought they were terrible people wanting to hurt the Order. I thought it served them right, and I was glad they were arrested and punished.”

“So what changed your mind?”

“My brother.” Faval’s chuckles suddenly were sobs. “He helped me make charcoal. We made it together. We supported our families making charcoal. We worked from sunup until sundown. We slept in the same house, there. That one there. One room. We were together all the time.

“Last year, at a meeting where we all had to stand up and tell how the Order made our lives better, as we were leaving, they arrested him. Someone gave his name as maybe an insurgent. I was not worried. My brother was not guilty of anything. He makes charcoal.”

Richard waited in the darkness, sweat trickling down his neck, as Faval stared off into the dark visions.

“For a week, I went every day to the barracks to tell them that he would not do anything against the Order. We loved the Order. The Order wishes all people to be fed and cared for.

“The guards said my brother finally confessed. High crimes, they called it—plotting to overthrow the Order. They said he confessed it to them.

“The next day, I was going to go to see more people, the officials at the barracks—I was so angry—to tell them that they were cruel animals. My wife, she cried and begged me not to go back to the barracks yet again, for fear they would arrest me, too. For her sake, and the children, I did not go. It would do no good, anyway. They had my brother’s confession. No one who confesses is innocent. Everyone knows that.

“They put my brother to death. His wife and children live with us, still. We can hardly . . .” Faval giggled as he bit down on his knuckle.

Richard put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I understand, Faval. There was nothing you could have done.”

Faval wiped at his eyes. “Now I am guilty of thinking hateful thoughts. That is a crime, you know. I am guilty of it. I think about life without the Order. I dream of having a cart of my own—just a cart—and my sons and nephew could deliver the charcoal we make. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Richard Cypher? I could buy . . .” His voice trailed off.

He looked up in confusion. “But the Order says such thoughts are a crime because I am putting my wants before the needs of others. Why are their needs more important than mine? Why?

“I went to ask for a permit to buy a cart. They say I cannot have one because it would put the cart drivers out of work. They said I was greedy for wanting to put people out of work. They called me selfish for having such thoughts.”

“That’s wrong,” Richard said in quiet assurance. “Your thoughts are not a crime, nor are they evil. It’s your life, Faval—you should be able to live it as you see fit. You should be able to buy your cart and work hard and make the best of your life for you and your family.”

Faval chortled. “You sound like a revolutionary, Richard Cypher.”

Richard sighed, thinking about how useless the whole thing was. “No, Faval.”

Faval appraised him in the moonlight for a time. “It has already started, Richard Cypher. The revolt. It has begun.”

“I have charcoal to deliver.” Richard went around the back of the wagon and hoisted a basket up onto the wagon bed.

Faval helped with the next basket. “You should join them, Richard Cypher. You are a smart man. They could use your help.”

“Why?” Richard wondered if he dared get his hopes up. “What do they have planned? What are they going to do with this revolt?”

Faval giggled. “Why, they are marching in the streets, tomorrow. They are going to demand changes.”

“What changes?”

“Well, I think they want to be able to work. They are going to demand they be allowed to do what they want.” He giggled. “Maybe, I can get a cart? Do you think, Richard Cypher? Do you think that when they have this revolt I can get a cart and deliver my charcoal? I could make more charcoal, then.”

“But what do they plan to do? How are they going to change anything if the Order says no?—Which they will.”

“Do? Why, I think they will be very angry if the Order tells them no. They may not go back to their jobs. Some say they will break into the stores and take the bread.”

Richard’s hopes faded back into the shadows.

The man clutched at Richard’s sleeve. “What should I do, Richard Cypher? Should I join the revolt? Tell me.”

“Faval, you should not ask anyone else what you should do about something like this. How can you endanger your life, the lives of your family, on what a man with a wagon says?”

“But you are a smart man, Richard Cypher. I am not so smart as you.”

Richard tapped his finger against the man’s forehead. “Faval, in here, in your head, you are smart enough to know what you must do. You have already told me why the Order can never help people have better lives by telling them how they must live. You figured that out all on your own. You, Faval the charcoal maker, are smarter than the Order.”

Faval beamed. “You think so, Richard Cypher? No one ever told me before that I was smart.”

“You’re smart enough to decide for yourself how much it means to you and what you want to do about it.”

“I fear for my wife, and my brother’s wife, and all our children. I don’t want the Order, but I’m afraid for them if I am arrested. How would they live?”

Richard heaved another basket into the wagon. “Faval, listen to me. Revolt is the kind of thing you must be sure of. It’s dangerous business. If you are going to join a revolt, you have to be sure enough of what you want to do to be ready to lay down your life for your freedom.”

“Really? You think so, Richard Cypher?”

The spark of hope was gone.

“Faval, you stay here and make charcoal. Priska needs charcoal. The Order will arrest those people, and then that will be the end of it. You’re a good man. I don’t want to see you arrested.”

Faval grinned. “All right, Richard Cypher. If you say so, I will stay here and make charcoal.”

“Good. I’ll be back tomorrow night. But Faval, if there is still trouble, I may not make it tomorrow night. If there is still marching going on and the streets and roads are blocked, I may not be able to make it out here.”

“I understand. You will be back as soon as you can. I trust you, Richard Cypher. You never let me down.”

Richard smiled. “Look, if they are having a revolt tomorrow, and I can’t make it out here right away, here’s the money for the next load.” He handed the man another silver mark. “I don’t want those loggers to stop getting wood for you. The foundries need charcoal.”

Faval giggled in genuine delight. He kissed the silver mark and slipped it down his boot. “The charcoal will be ready. Now, let me help you load your wagon.”

Faval was only one of the charcoal makers with whom Richard dealt. He had a whole string of them he kept going so the foundries could have charcoal. They were all humble people just trying to get along in life. They did the best they could under the yoke of the Order.

Richard made a little profit selling the charcoal to the foundries, but he made more selling iron and steel he bought from them. Charcoal was just a small sideline to help fill his nights, as long as he was out with his wagon. What he made from the charcoal covered the bribes, mostly. He made a good bit more hauling the odd load of ore, clay, lead, quicksilver, antimony, salt, molding powders, and a variety of other things the foundries needed but couldn’t get permits for or get transported when they needed them. There was as much of that business as Richard could want. It paid for the care of his team with some profit left over. The iron and steel was pure profit.

By the time he made it to the foundry with the load of charcoal, Priska, the hulking foundry master, was pacing. His powerful hands grabbed the side of the wagon. He peered in.

“About time.”

“I had to wait for an hour after I came from Faval’s while the city guards inspected the load.”

Priska waved his beefy arms. “Those bastards!”

“It’s all right—calm down. They didn’t take any. I have it all.”

The man sighed. “I tell you, Richard, it’s a wonder I’ve kept my furnaces going.”

Richard ventured a dangerous question. “You’re not involved with the . . . trouble, in the city, are you?”

In the light coming from his office window—really no more than a hut—Priska appraised Richard for a time. “Richard, change is coming. Change for the better.”

“What change?”

“A revolt has begun.”

Richard felt the spark of hope grow anew, but stronger this time—not so much for himself, his chains held him too tenaciously, but for the people who yearned to be free. Faval was a kind man, a hardworking man, but he was not the clever man, the resourceful man, that Priska was. Priska was a man who knew more than it would seem possible for him to know. Priska had given Richard the names of all the officials who could be bribed for papers, and advised him how much to offer.

“A revolt?” Richard asked. “A revolt for what?”

“For us—for the people who want to be able to live our lives as we wish. The new beginning is starting. Tonight. In fact, it has already begun.” He turned to his building and pulled open the doors. “When you get to Victor’s, you must wait for him, Richard. He must speak with you.”

“About what?”

Priska waved dismissively. “Come, give me my charcoal and then load your steel. Victor will bite my head off if I keep you.”

Richard pulled the first basket out of the wagon and carried it to the side, where Priska added another.

“What have these people who starting the revolt done? What are their plans?”

Priska leaned close as Richard dragged another basket to the rear of the wagon. “They have captured a number of officials of the Order. High officials.”

“Have they killed them, yet?”

“Killed them! Are you crazy? They aren’t going to harm them. They will be held until they agree to loosen the rules, satisfy the demands of the people.”

Richard gaped at the man. “Loosen the rules? What are they demanding?”

“Things must change. People want to be allowed more say in their businesses, their lives, their work.” He lifted a basket of charcoal. “Less meetings. They are demanding to have their needs taken more into consideration.”

This time, the spark of Richard’s hopes didn’t dim, rather, it plunged into icy waters.

He didn’t much pay attention to Priska as they unloaded the wagon and then loaded the steel. He didn’t really want to listen to the plans for the revolt. He couldn’t help getting the gist of it, anyway.

The revolutionaries had it all figured out. They wanted public trials for those people the Order arrested. They wanted to be allowed to see prisoners. They wanted to have the Order give them a list of what had happened to a number of people who had been arrested, but never heard from.

There were other details and demands but Richard’s mind wandered to other things.

As Richard was climbing up into his wagon to leave, Priska seized his arm in a iron grip. “The time has come, Richard, for men who care to join the revolt.”

The two of them shared a long look. “Victor is waiting.”

Priska released Richard’s arm and grinned. “So he is. I’ll see you later, Richard. Perhaps the next trip you make here will be after the Order meets the demands, and you will be able to come in the day, without papers.”

“That would be grand, Priska.”

By the time he arrived at Victor’s, Richard had a headache. He felt sick over what he’d heard, and what he feared yet to hear.

Victor was there, waiting for him. It was a little early, yet, for the man to be there; usually, he didn’t arrive until closer to dawn. The blacksmith threw open the doors to his outer stockroom. He set a lantern on a shelf so Richard could see to back his wagon close.

Victor was wearing a wolfish grin as Richard climbed down.

“Come, Richard, unload your wagon, then we will have some lardo, and talk.”

Richard went methodically about his task, not really wanting to talk.

He had a good idea what Victor wanted to talk about. Victor, as was his way, left Richard to unload. He was the man buying the steel, and enjoyed the service of having it delivered where he wanted it. It was a service he could rarely get from a transport company, despite the higher price.

Richard didn’t mind being left alone. Summer this far south in the Old World was miserable. The humidity was oppressive, with the nights rarely better than the days.

As he worked, he thought about the sparkling bright days spent with Kahlan beside the brook at their mountain home. It seemed a lifetime ago.

His hopes of ever seeing her again were difficult to keep alive, but his worry for her, now that summer was here, never ceased. Sometimes, it hurt so much to think about her, to miss her, to worry, that he had to put her from his mind. At other times, thoughts of her were all that kept him going.

By the time he had finished, the sky was tuning lighter. He found Victor in the far room, the doors open wide so that dawn’s light lit Victor’s marble monolith. The blacksmith was gazing at the beauty in his stone, at the statue still inside that only he saw.

It was a long moment before he noticed Richard standing not far away.

“Richard, come have lardo with me.”

They sat on the threshold looking out over the site of the Retreat, watching the miles of stone walls tun pink in the hazy dawn. Even from the distance, Richard could see along the top of one wall the vile figures representing the evil of mankind.

Victor handed Richard a pure white slice of lardo. “Richard, the revolt I told you about has started. But you probably already know that.”

“No it hasn’t,” Richard said.

Victor stared, dumbfounded. “But it has.”

“A lot of trouble has started. It is not the revolt you and I spoke of.”

“It will be. You will see. Many men will be marching today.” Victor gestured expansively. “Richard, we want you to lead us.”

Richard had been expecting the question. “No.”

“I know, I know, you think the men don’t know you, and they won’t follow you, but you are wrong, Richard. Many do know you. More than you think. I have told many of them about you. Priska and others have spoken of you. You can do it, Richard.”

Richard stared out at the walls, at the carvings of cowering men.

“No.”

Victor was taken aback, this time. “But why not?”

“Because a lot of men are going to die.”

Victor chuckled. “No, Richard, no. You misunderstand. This will not be that kind of revolt. This will be a revolt of men of goodwill. This is a revolt for the betterment of mankind. That is what the Order always preaches. We are the people. They say they are for the people, and now, when we put the demands of the people to them, they will have to listen and give in.”

Richard shook his head sadly to himself.

“You want me to lead you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I want you to do something for me, Victor.”

“Of course, Richard. Name it.”

“You stay far away from anything to do with this uprising. Those are my orders to you as your leader. You stay here and work today. You stay out of it.”

Victor looked as if he thought Richard might be making a joke. After a moment, he saw that Richard was not joking.

“But why? Don’t you want things to get better? Do you wish to live like this all your life? Don’t you want things to improve?”

“Are you willing to kill those men of the Order that have been captured?”

“Kill them? Richard, why do you want to talk about killing? This is about life. About things being better.”

“Victor, listen to me. These men you go up against are not going to play by your rules.”

“But they will want—”

“You stay here and work, or you will die along with a lot of other men. The Order will crush this uprising within a day or two, and then they will go after everyone they even suspect had a hand in it. A lot of people are going to die.”

“But if you were to lead us, you could present our demands. That is why we want you to lead us—to prevent that kind of trouble. You know how to convince people. You know how to get things done—just look at how you help all the people in Altur’Rang: Faval, Priska, me, and all the others. We need you, Richard. We need you to give people a reason to follow the revolt.”

“If they don’t know what they stand for and what they want, then no one can give them a reason. They will only succeed when they burn for freedom, and are not only willing to kill for it, but to die for it.” Richard stood and brushed the dirt from his pants. “Stay out of it, Victor, or you will die with them.”

Victor followed him to his wagon. In the distance, men were arriving to work on the emperor’s palace. The blacksmith picked at the wood on the wagon’s side, apparently wanting to say more.

“Richard, I know how you feel. I really do. I, too, think these men are not burning with the kind of hunger for freedom that I have, but they are not from Cavatura, as I am, so perhaps they do not know what true freedom is, but for now, this is all we can do. Won’t you give it a try, Richard?

“Richard Rahl, of the D’Haran Empire to the north, understands our passion for freedom, and would try.”

Richard climbed up into his wagon seat. He wondered where people heard such things, and marveled at how the spark of such ideas could travel so far. After he took up the reins and whip, Richard shared a long look with the sober blacksmith, a man intoxicated with the whiff of freedom in the air.

“Victor, would you try to hammer cold steel into a tool?”

“Of course not. The steel must be white-hot before it can become something.”

“So must men, Victor. These men are cold steel. Spare your hammer. I’m sure this Richard Rahl would tell you the same thing.”