Soul of the Fire

Chapter 32

Richard felt as if his thoughts were going to war in his head. At the same time that he groped for solutions to the spectral threat, he was assailed by the image of endless enemy soldiers pouring up from the Old World.

“All right,” he said, holding his hand out to stop everyone from talking at once. “All right. Slow down. Let’s just reason this out.”

“The whole world might be dead from the chimes before Jagang can conquer the Midlands,” Kahlan said. “We need to address the chimes above all else—you’re the one who convinced me of that. It’s not just that the world of life might very well need magic to survive, but we need magic to counter Jagang. He would like nothing better than for us to have to battle him by sword alone.

“We must get to Aydindril. As you yourself said, what if Zedd was telling the truth about what we need to do at the Wizard’s Keep—with that bottle? If we fail to carry out our charge, we may aid the chimes in taking over the world of life. If we don’t act soon enough, it may forever be too late.”

“And I need my Agiel to work again,” Cara said with painful impatience, “or I can’t protect you both as I need to. I say we must go to Aydindril and stop the chimes.”

Richard looked from one woman to the other. “Fine. But how are we going to stop the chimes if Zedd’s task is only a fool’s journey to keep us out of his way? What if he’s just worried and wants us out of harm’s way while he tries to deal with the problem himself?

“You know, like a father, when he sees a suspicious stranger approaching, might tell his children to run into the house because he needs them to count the sticks of firewood in the bin.”

Richard watched both their faces sour with frustration. “I mean, it’s a good piece of information that Joseph Ander was the one sent to stop the chimes, and he’s the same one who founded this land of Anderith. Maybe it means something, and maybe Zedd wasn’t aware of it.

“I’m not saying we should go to Anderith. The spirits know I want to get to Aydindril, too. I just want not to overlook something important.” Richard pressed his fingers to his temples. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Then we should go to Aydindril,” Kahlan said. “We know that at least has a chance.”

Richard reasoned it through aloud. “That might be best. After all, what if the Mountain, Joseph Ander, stopped the chimes way in the opposite direction—at the other end of the Midlands—and afterwards, later in life, after the war or something, went on to help establish this land now called Anderith?”

“Right. Then we must get to Aydindril as soon as possible,” Kahlan insisted. “And hope it will stop the chimes.”

“Look,” Richard said, holding up a finger to ask for patience, “I agree, but what are we going to do to stop the chimes if it’s all for naught? If it’s part of Zedd’s trick? Then we have done nothing to stop either threat. We must consider that, too.”

“Lord Rahl,” Cara weighed in, “going to Aydindril would still be of value. Not only could you get your sword and try what Zedd asked of you, but you would also have Kolo’s journal.

“Berdine is there. She can help you with translating it. She would be working on it while we have been gone; she may have already translated more about the chimes. She may have answers sitting there waiting for you to see them. If not, you will have the book and you know what to search for.”

“That’s true,” Richard said. “There are other books at the Keep, too. Kolo said the chimes turned out to be much simpler to counter than they all thought.”

“But they all had Subtractive Magic,” Kahlan pointed out.

Richard did, too, but he knew precious little about using it. The sword was the only thing he really understood.

“Perhaps one of the books in the Wizard’s Keep has the solution to dealing with the chimes,” Cara said, “and maybe it isn’t complicated. Maybe it doesn’t take Subtractive Magic.”

The Mord-Sith folded her arms with obvious distaste at the thought of magic. “Maybe you can stir your finger in the air and proclaim them gone.”

“Yes, you are a magic man,” Du Chaillu offered, not realizing Cara had been exercising her sarcastic wit. “You could do that.”

“You give me more credit than I deserve,” he said to Du Chaillu.

“It still sounds like our only real option is to go to Aydindril,” Kahlan said.

Unsure, Richard shook his head. He wished it weren’t so hard to decide the right thing to do. He was balanced on a divide, leaning first one way, and then the other. He wished he had some other bit of information that would tip the balance.

Sometimes he just wished he could scream that he was only a woods guide, and didn’t know what to do, and have someone who did step in and make everything look simple. Sometimes he felt like an impostor in his role as Lord Rahl, and felt like simply giving up and going home to Westand. Now was one of those times.

He wished Zedd hadn’t lied to him. Lives now hung in the balance because they didn’t know the truth. And because Richard had not used Zedd’s wisdom when he had the chance. If only he had used his head and remembered Du Chaillu.

“Why are you against going to Aydindril?” Kahlan asked.

“I wish I knew,” Richard said. “But we do know where Jagang is going. We need to do something about it. If he conquers the Midlands, we’ll be dead, beyond doing anything about the chimes.”

He started pacing. “What if the chimes aren’t as big a threat as we fear? I mean, in the long run, yes, of course, but what if they take years to bring about the erosion of magic that would cause any real harm? Irreversible harm? For all we know, it could take centuries.”

“Richard, what’s wrong with you? They’re killing people now.” Kahlan gestured back across the grasslands toward the Mud People’s village. “They killed Juni. They killed some of the Baka Tau Mana. We have to do whatever we can to stop them. You’re the one who convinced me of this.”

“Lord Rahl,” Cara said, “I agree with the Mother Confessor. We must go to Aydindril.”

Du Chaillu stood. “May I speak, Caharin?

Richard looked up from his thoughts. “Yes, of course.”

She was about to do so when she paused with her mouth open. A puzzled expression came over her face. “This man who leads them, this Jagang, he is a magic man?”

“Yes. Well, in a way. He has the ability to enter the minds of people and in that way control them. He’s called a dream walker. He has no other magic, though.”

Du Chaillu considered his words a moment. “An army cannot long persevere without the support of the people of their land. He controls all the people of his land, then, in this way—everyone on his side?”

“No. He can’t do this with everyone at once. He must pick who he will take. Much like a blade master, in a battle, would first pick the most important targets. He picks those with magic and controls them in order to use their magic to his advantage.”

“So, the witches, then, are forced to do his evil. With their magic, they hold his people by their throat?”

“No,” Kahlan said from behind Richard. “The people submit willingly.”

Du Chaillu looked dubious. “You believe people would choose to allow such a man to be their leader?”

“Tyrants can only rule by the consent of their people.”

“Then they are bad people, too, not just him?”

“They are people like any other,” Kahlan said. “Like hounds at a feast, people gather round the table of tyranny, eager for tasty scraps tossed on the floor. Not everyone will wag their tail for a tyrant, but most will, if he first makes them salivate with hate and gives license to their covetous impulses by making them feel it is only their due. Many would rather take than earn.

“Tyrants make the envious comfortable with their greed.”

“Jackals,” Du Chaillu said.

“Jackals,” Kahlan agreed.

Disturbed at hearing such a thing, Du Chaillu’s eyes turned down. “That makes it more horrible, then. I would rather think these people possessed by this man’s magic, or the Keeper himself, than to think they would follow such a beast of their own will.”

“You were going to say something?” Richard asked. “You said you wanted to say something. I’d like to hear it.”

Du Chaillu clasped her hands before herself. Her look of dismay was overcome by a yet graver expression.

“On our way here, we shadowed the army to see where they went. We also captured some of their men to be sure. This army travels very slowly.

“Their leader, each night, has his tents put up for him and his women. The tents are big enough to hold many people, and have many accommodations for his comfort. They also put up other tents for other important men. Each night is a feast. Their leader, Jagang, is like a great and wealthy king on a journey.

“They have wagons of women, some willing, some not. At night, all are passed around among the soldiers. This army is driven by lust for pleasure as well as conquest. They tend well to their pleasures as they go in search of conquest.

“They have much equipment. They have many extra horses. They have herds of meat on the hoof. Long trains of wagons carry food and other supplies of every kind. They have wagons with everything from flower mills to blacksmith forges. They bring tables and chairs, carpets, fine plates and glassware they pack in shavings in wooden boxes. Each night they unpack it all and make Jagang’s tents like a palace, surrounded by the houses of his important men.

“With their big tents and all the comforts they carry with them, it is almost like a city that travels.”

Du Chaillu glided the flat of her hand through the air. “This army moves like a slow river. It takes its time, but nothing stops it. It keeps coming. Every day a little more. A city, sliding across the land. They are many, and they are slow, but they come.

“I knew I must warn the Caharin, so we did not want to shadow these men any longer.” She turned the hand in the air, like dust stirring before a high wind. “We returned to our swift travel. The Baka Tau Mana can travel as swiftly on foot as men on running horses.”

Richard had traveled with her. It was a false boast, but not by much. He had once made her ride a horse; she thought it an evil beast.

“As we made swift journey northwest across this vast and open land, to come here, we arrived unexpectedly at a great city with high walls.”

“That would be Renwold,” Kahlan said. “It’s the only big city in the wilds anywhere near your route here. It has the walls you describe.”

Du Chaillu nodded. “Renwold. We did not know its name.” Her intense gaze, like that of a queen with grave news, moved from Kahlan to Richard. “They had been visited by the army of this man, Jagang.”

Du Chaillu stared off, as if seeing it again. “I have never thought people could be that cruel to others. The Majendie, as much as we hated them, would not do such things as these men did to the people there.”

Tears welled in Du Chaillu’s eyes, finally overflowing to run down her cheeks. “They butchered the people there. The old, the young, the babies. But not before they spent days—”

Du Chaillu’s sob broke loose. Kahlan put an understanding arm around the woman’s shoulder. Du Chaillu seemed suddenly a child in Kahlan’s embrace. A child who had seen too much.

“I know,” Kahlan soothed, near tears along with Du Chaillu. “I know. I, too, have been to a great walled city where men who follow Jagang had been. I know the things you’ve seen.

“I have walked among the dead inside the walls of Ebinissia. I have seen the slaughter at the hands of the Order. I have seen what these beasts first did to the living.”

Du Chaillu, the woman who led her people with grit and guts, who had faced with defiance and courage months of capture and the prospect of her imminent sacrifice, who watched her husbands die to fulfill the laws she kept, who willingly confronted death to help Richard destroy the Towers of Perdition in the hope of returning her people to their land, buried her face in Kahlan’s shoulder and wept like a child at recalling what she had seen in Renwold.

The blade masters turned away rather than see their spirit woman so heartsick. Chandalen and his hunters, waiting not far off for everyone to finish with their deliberations, also turned away.

Richard wouldn’t have thought anything could bring Du Chaillu to tears in front of others.

“There was a man there,” Du Chaillu said between sobs. “The only one we could find still alive.”

“How did he survive?” It sounded pretty far-fetched to Richard. “Did he say?”

“He was crazy. He wailed to the good spirits for his family. He cried endlessly for what he said was his folly, and asked the spirits to forgive him and return his loved ones.

“He carried the rotting head of a child. He talked to it, as if it were alive, begging its forgiveness.”

Kahlan’s face took on a saddened aspect. Slowly, with apparent reluctance, she said, “Did he have long white hair? A red coat, with gold braiding at the shoulders?”

“You know him?” Du Chaillu asked.

“Ambassador Seldon. He didn’t live through the attack—he wasn’t there when it came. He was in Aydindril.”

Kahlan looked up at Richard. “I asked him to join us. He refused, saying he believed the same as the assembly of seven, that his land of Mardovia would be vulnerable if they joined with one side or the other. He refused to join us or the Order, saying they believed neutrality was their safety.”

“What did you tell him?” Richard asked.

“Your words—your decree that there are no bystanders in this war. I told him that as Mother Confessor, I have decreed no mercy against the Order. I told Ambassador Seldon we were of one mind in this, you and I, and that his land was either with us, or stood against us, and that the Imperial Order would view it the same way.

“I tried to tell him what would happen. He wouldn’t listen. I begged him to consider the lives of his family. He said they were safe behind the walls of Renwold.”

“I wouldn’t wish that lesson on anyone,” Richard whispered.

Du Chaillu sobbed anew. “I pray the head was not his own child. I wish I did not see it in my dreams.”

Richard’s touch was gentle on Du Chaillu’s arm. “We understand, Du Chaillu. The Order’s terror is a calculated means of demoralizing future victims, of intimidating them into surrender. This is why we fight these people.”

Du Chaillu looked up at him, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand as she sniffed back the tears.

“Then I ask you to go to this place the Order goes to. Or at least send someone to warn them. Have the people there flee before they are tortured and butchered like those we saw in this place, Renwold. These Ander people must be warned. They must flee.”

Her tears returned, accompanied by racking sobs. Richard watched as she wandered off into the grass to weep in private.

Richard felt Kahlan’s hand settle on his shoulder, and turned back. “This land, Anderith, hasn’t surrendered to us yet. They had representatives in Aydindril to hear our side of it, didn’t they? They know our position?”

“Yes,” Kahlan said. “Their representatives were warned the same as those of other lands. They were told of the threat and that we mean to stand against it.

“Anderith knows the alliance of the Midlands is a thing of the past, and we expect the surrender of their sovereignty to the D’Haran Empire.”

“D’Haran Empire.” The words seemed so harsh, so cold. Here he was, a woods guide, feeling like an impostor on some throne he wasn’t even sure existed except in title, responsible for an empire. “Not that long ago I was terrified of D’Hara. I feared they would have all the lands. Now that’s our only hope.”

Kahlan smiled at the irony. “Its name, D’Hara, is the only thing the same, Richard. Most people know you fight for people’s freedom, not their enslavement. Tyranny now wears the iron cloak of the Imperial Order.

“Anderith knows the terms, the same as we’ve given every land, that if they join us willingly they will be one people with us, entitled to the same equal and honest treatment as everyone and governed by fair and just laws we all obey. They know there are no exceptions. And they know the sanctions and consequences should they fail to join us.”

“Renwold was told the same,” he reminded her. “They didn’t believe us.”

“Not all are willing to face the truth. We can’t expect it, and must concern ourselves with those who share our conviction to fight for freedom. You can’t sacrifice good people, Richard, and risk a just cause, for those who will not see. To do that would be a betrayal to those with brave hearts who have joined us, and to whom you are responsible.”

“You’re right.” Richard released a pent-up sigh. He felt the same, but it was a comfort to hear it from her. “Does Anderith have a large army?”

“Well . . . yes,” Kahlan said. “But the real defense for Anderith is not their army. It’s a weapon called the Dominie Dirtch.”

While he thought the name sounded like High D’Haran, with everything else on his mind the translation didn’t immediately spring to mind. “Is it something we can use to stop the Order?”

Staring off, deep in thought as she considered his question, Kahlan plucked the tops of the grass.

“It’s an ancient weapon of magic. With the Dominie Dirtch, Anderith has always been virtually immune to attack. They are part of the Midlands because they need us as trading partners, need a market for the vast quantities of food they grow. But with the Dominie Dirtch they’re nearly autonomous, almost outside the alliance of the Midlands.

“It’s always been a tenuous relationship. As Mother Confessors before me, I forced them to accept my authority and abide by the rulings of the Council if they were to sell their goods. Still, the Anders are a proud people, and always thought of themselves as separate, better than others.”

“That’s what they may think, but not what I think—and not what Jagang will think. So what about this weapon? Could it stop the Imperial Order, do you think?”

“Well, it hasn’t had to be used on a big scale for centuries.” Kahlan brushed the head of a stalk of grass across her chin as she thought it over. “But I can’t imagine why not. Its effectiveness discourages any attack. At least in ordinary times. Since the last large conflict, it’s only been used in relatively minor troubles.”

“What is this protection?” Cara asked. “How does it work?”

“The Dominie Dirtch is a string of defense not far in from their borders with the wilds. It’s a line of huge bells, spaced far apart, but within sight of one another. They stand guard across the entire Anderith frontier.”

“Bells,” Richard said. “How do these bells protect them? You mean they’re used to warn people? To call their troops?”

Kahlan waved her stalk of grass the way an instructor might wave a switch to dissuade a student from getting the wrong idea. Zedd used to wave his finger in much the same way, adding that impish smile so as not to give Richard a harsh impression as he was being corrected. Kahlan, though, was not correcting, but schooling, and as far as the Midlands were concerned, Richard was still very much a student.

The word “schooling” stuck in his head as soon as it crossed his mind.

“Not that kind of bell,” Kahlan said. “They don’t really look much like bells, other than their shape. They’re carved from stone that over the ages has become encrusted with lichen and such. They are like ancient monuments. Terrible monuments.

“Jutting up as they do from the soil of the plains, marching off in a line to the horizon, they almost look like the vertebra of some huge, dead, endlessly long monster.”

Richard scratched his jaw in wonder. “How big are they?”

“They stand up above the grass and wheat on these fat stone pedestals, maybe eight or ten feet across.” She passed her hand over her head. “The pedestals are about as tall as we are. Steps going up the bell itself are cut into each base. The bells are, I don’t know, eight, nine feet tall, including the carriage.

“The back of each bell, carved as part of the same stone, is round . . . like a shield. Or a little like a wall lamp might have a reflector behind it. The Anderith army mans each bell at all times. When an enemy approaches, the soldier, when given the order, stands behind the shield, and the Dominie Dirtch—these bells—are then struck with a long wooden striker.

“They emit a very deep knell. At least behind the Dominie Dirtch it’s said to be a deep knell. No one attacking has ever lived to say what it sounds like from that side, from the death zone.”

Richard had gone from simple wonder to astonishment. “What do the bells do to the attackers? What does this sound do?”

Kahlan rolled the heads of the grass in her fingers, crumbling them.

“It sloughs the flesh right off the bones.”

Richard couldn’t even imagine such a horrific thing. “Is this a legend, do you think, or do you know it to be a fact?”

“I once saw the results—some primitive people from the wilds intent on a raid as retribution for harm to one of their women by an Anderith soldier.”

She shook her head despondently. “It was a grisly sight, Richard. A pile of bloody bones in the middle of a, a . . . gory heap. You could see hair in it—parts of scalp. And the clothes. I saw some fingernails, and the whorled flesh from a fingertip, but I could recognize little else. Except for those few bits, and the bones, you wouldn’t even know it had been human.”

“That would leave no doubt; the bells use magic,” Richard said. “How far out does it kill? And how quickly?”

“As I understand it, the Dominie Dirtch kill every person in front of them for about as far as the eye can see. Once they’re rung, an invader takes only a step or two before their skin undergoes catastrophic ruptures. Muscle and flesh begin coming away from bone. Their insides—heart, lungs, everything—drops from under the rib cage as their intestines all give way. There is no defense. Once begun, all before the Dominie Dirtch die.”

“Can an invader sneak up at night?” Richard asked.

Kahlan shook her head. “The land is flat so the defenders are able to see for miles. At night torches can be lit. Additionally, a trench extends in front of the entire line so no one can crawl up unseen through the grass or wheat. As long as the line of Dominie Dirtch is manned, there’s no way to get past it. At least, it has been thousands of years since anyone has gotten past.”

“Does the number of invaders matter?”

“From what I know of it, the Dominie Dirtch could kill any number gathered together and marched toward Anderith, toward those stone bells, as long as the defending soldiers kept ringing them.”

“Like an army . . .” Richard whispered to himself.

“Richard, I know what you’re thinking, but with the chimes loose, magic is failing. It would be a foolhardy risk to depend on the Dominie Dirtch to stop Jagang’s army.”

Richard watched Du Chaillu off in the grass, her head in her hands as she wept.

“But you said Anderith also has a large army.”

Kahlan sighed impatiently. “Richard, you promised Zedd we would go to Aydindril.”

“I did. But I didn’t promise him when.”

“You implied it.”

He turned back to face her. “It wouldn’t break the promise to go somewhere else first.”

“Richard—”

“Kahlan, maybe with magic failing, Jagang sees this as his chance to successfully invade Anderith and capture its stores of food.”

“That would be bad for us, but the Midlands has other sources of food.”

“And what if food isn’t the only reason Jagang is going to Anderith?” He cocked an eyebrow. “He has people with the gift. They would know as well as Zedd and Ann that magic was failing. What if they could figure out it was the chimes? What if Jagang saw this as his chance to take a formerly invincible land, and then, if things change, if the chimes are banished . . . ?”

“He would have no way of knowing it was the chimes, but even if he did, how could he know what to do to banish them?”

“He has some gifted people with him. Gifted from the Palace of the Prophets. Those men and women have studied the books in the vaults there. For hundreds of years they’ve studied those books. I can’t imagine how much they know. Can you?”

The emerging possibilities and implications etched alarm into Kahlan’s face. “You think they may have a way to banish the chimes?”

“I have no idea. But if they did—or went to Anderith and there uncovered the solution—think about what it would mean. Jagang’s army, en masse, would be in the Midlands, behind the Dominie Dirtch, and there wouldn’t be anything we could do to rout them.

“At their will, they could, where and when they wish, charge into the Midlands. Anderith is a big land. With the Dominie Dirtch in his control, we would be unable to scout beyond the border and so would have no idea where his troops were massing. We couldn’t possibly begin to guard the entire border, yet his spies would be able to sneak out to detect where our armies waited, and then slip back in to report to Jagang.

“He could then race out through holes in a net spread too thin and drive his attack into the Midlands. If need be, they could strike a blow and then withdraw back behind the Dominie Dirtch. If he used just a little planning and patience, he could wait until he found a weak place, with our troops too distant to respond in time, and then his entire army could roar through gaps in our lines and into the Midlands. Once past our forces, they could rampage virtually unchecked, with us only able to nip at their heels as we chased after them.

“Once ensconced behind the stone curtain of the Dominie Dirtch, time would be on his side. He could wait a week, a month, a year. He could wait ten years, until we became dull and weak from bearing the weight of constant vigilance. Then, he could suddenly burst out upon us.”

“Dear spirits,” Kahlan whispered. She gave him a sharp look. “This is all just speculation. What if they don’t really have a way to banish the chimes?”

“I don’t know, Kahlan. I’m just saying ‘What if?’ We have to decide what to do. If we decide wrong, we could lose it all.”

Kahlan let out a breath. “You’re right about that.” Richard turned and watched Du Chaillu kneel down. Her hands were folded, her head bowed, in what looked to be earnest prayer.

“Does Anderith have any books, any libraries?”

“Well, yes,” Kahlan said. “They have a huge Library of Culture, as they call it.”

Richard lifted an eyebrow. “If there is an answer, why does it have to be in Aydindril? In Kolo’s journal? What if the answer, if there is one, is in their library?”

“If there really is an answer in some book.” Wearily, Kahlan gripped a handful of her long hair hanging down over her shoulder. “Richard, I agree that all of this is worrisome, but we have a duty to others to act responsibly. Lives, nations are at stake. If it came down to a sacrifice of one land to save the rest, I would reluctantly, and with great sorrow, leave that land to their fate while I did my duty to the greater number.

“Zedd told us we had to get to Aydindril in order to reverse the problem. He may have called it by another name, but the problem is much the same. If doing as he asked will stop the chimes, then we must do it. We have a duty to act in our best judgment to the benefit of all.”

“I know.” The millstone of responsibility could be unnerving. They needed to go both places. “There’s just something about this whole thing that’s bothering me, and I can’t figure it out. Worse, I fear the lives it will cost if we make the wrong choice.”

Her fingers closed around his arm. “I know, Richard.”

He threw up his hands and turned away. “I really need to take a look at that book, Mountain’s Twin.”

“But didn’t Ann say she wrote in her journey book to Verna, and Verna said it had been destroyed?”

“Yes, so there’s no way—” Richard spun back to her. “Journey book.” A flash of realization ignited. “Kahlan, the journey books are how the Sisters communicate when one goes on a long journey away from the others.”

“Yes, I know.”

“The journey books were made for them by the wizards of old—back in the time of the great war.”

Her face twisted with a puzzled frown. “And?”

Richard made himself blink. “The books are paired. You can only communicate with the twin of the one you have.”

“Richard, I don’t see—”

“What if the wizards used to do the same thing? The Wizard’s Keep in Aydindril was always sending wizards off on missions. What if that’s how they knew what was going on everywhere? How they coordinated everything? What if they used them just like the Sisters of the Light used them? After all, wizards of that time created the spell around the Palace of the Prophets and created the journey books for the Sisters to use.”

She was frowning. “I’m still not sure I understand—”

Richard gripped her shoulders. “What if the book that was destroyed, Mountain’s Twin, is a journey book? The twin to Joseph Ander’s journey book?”