Soul of the Fire

Chapter 4

Thunder rumbled in from the grassland, echoing through the narrow passageways as Richard, Cara, and Kahlan left the building where Juni’s body had been laid out to be prepared for burial.

The building was no different from the other buildings in the Mud People’s village: thick walls of mud brick plastered over with clay, and a roof of grass thatch. Only the spirit house had a tile roof. All the windows in the village were glassless, some covered with heavy coarse cloth to keep out the weather.

With the buildings being all the same drab color, it wasn’t hard to imagine the village as lifeless ruins. Tall herbs, raised as offerings for evil spirits, grew in three pots on a short wall but lent little life to the passageway frequented mostly by the amorphous wind.

As two chickens scattered out of their way, Kahlan gathered her hair in one hand to keep the gusts from whipping it against her face. People, some in tears, rushed past, going to see the fallen hunter. It somehow made Kahlan feel worse to have to leave Juni in a place smelling of sour, wet, rotting hay.

The three of them had waited until Nissel, the old healer, had shuffled in and inspected the body. She said she didn’t think the neck was broken, nor did she see any other kind of injury from a fall. She had pronounced that Juni had drowned.

When Richard asked how that could have happened, she seemed surprised by the question, apparently believing it to be obvious.

She had declared it a death caused by evil spirits.

The Mud People believed that in addition to the ancestors’ spirits they called in a gathering, evil spirits also came from time to time to claim a life in recompense for a wrong. Death might be inflicted through sickness, an accident, or in some otherworldly manner. An uninjured man drowning in six inches of water seemed a self-evident otherworldly cause of death as far as Nissel was concerned. Chandalen and his hunters believed Nissel.

Nissel hadn’t had the time to speculate on what transgression might have angered the evil spirits. She had to rush off to a more gratifying job; her help was needed in delivering a baby.

In her official capacity as a Confessor, Kahlan had visited the Mud People a number of times, as she had visited other peoples of the Midlands. Though some lands closed their borders to everyone else, no land of the Midlands, regardless of how insular, secluded, distrustful, or powerful, dared close its borders to a Confessor. Among other things, Confessors kept justice honest—whether or not rulers wished it so.

The Confessors were advocates before the council for all those who had no other voice. Some, like the Mud People, were distrustful of outsiders and sought no voice; they simply wanted to be left alone. Kahlan saw that their wishes were respected. The Mother Confessor’s word before the council was law, and final.

Of course, that had all changed.

As with other peoples of the Midlands, Kahlan had studied not only the Mud People’s language, but their beliefs.

In the Wizard’s Keep in Aydindril, there were books on the languages, governance, faiths, foods, arts, and habits of every people of the Midlands.

She knew that the Mud People often left offerings of rice cakes and nosegays of fragrant herbs before small clay figures in several of the empty buildings at the north end of the village. The buildings were left for the exclusive use of the evil spirits, which the clay figures represented.

The Mud People believed that when the evil spirits occasionally became angered and took a life, the soul of the slain went to the underworld to join the good spirits who watched over the Mud People, and thus helped keep the malevolent spirits in check. Balance between worlds was thus only enhanced, and so they believed that evil was self-limiting.

Though it was early afternoon, it felt like dusk as Kahlan, Richard, and Cara made their way across the village. Low dark clouds seemed to boil just above the roofs. Lightning struck closer, the flash illuminating the high walls of buildings. A painfully sharp crack of thunder followed almost immediately, jarring the ground.

Gusty wind smacked fat drops of rain against the back of Kahlan’s head. In a way she was glad for the rain. It would douse the fires. It wasn’t right to have celebration fires burning when a man had died. The rain would spare someone the disconcerting task of having to put out what was left of the joyful fires.

Out of respect, Richard had carried Juni the entire way back. The hunters understood; Juni had died while on guard protecting Richard and Kahlan.

Cara, however, had quickly come to a different conclusion: Juni had turned from protector to threat. The how or why wasn’t important—just that he had. She intended to be prepared the next time one of them suddenly transformed into a menace.

Richard had had a brief argument with her about it. The hunters hadn’t understood their words, but recognized the heat in them and hadn’t asked for a translation.

In the end, Richard let the issue drop. Cara was probably just feeling guilty about letting Juni get past her. Kahlan took Richard’s hand as they walked behind, letting Cara have her way and walk point, checking for danger in a village of friends, as she turned them down first one passageway and then another, leading the way to Zedd and Ann.

Despite her conviction that Cara was wrong, Kahlan did feel inexplicably uneasy. She saw Richard glance over his shoulder with that searching look that told her he was feeling anxious, too.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

Richard’s gaze swept the empty passageway. He shook his head in frustration. “The hair at the back of my neck is prickling like someone is watching me, but no one is there.”

While she did feel unsettled, she didn’t know if she really felt malevolent eyes watching, or it was just his suggestion that kept her glancing over her shoulder. Hurrying along the gloomy alleys between hulking buildings, she rubbed the icy gooseflesh nettling up her arms.

The rain was just starting to come down in earnest as Cara reached the place she was seeking. Agiel at the ready, she checked to each side of the narrow passageway before opening the simple wooden door and slipping inside first.

Wind whipped Kahlan’s hair across her face. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. One of the chickens roaming the passageway, frightened by the thunder and lightning, darted between her legs and ran in ahead of them.

A low fire burned in the small hearth in the corner of the humble room. Several fat tallow candles sat on a wooden shelf plastered into the wall beside the domed hearth. Small pieces of firewood and bundled grass were stored beneath the shelf. A buckskin hide on the dirt floor before the hearth provided the only formal seating. A cloth hanging over a glassless window flapped open in the stronger gusts, fluttering the candle flames.

Richard shouldered the door shut and latched it against the weather. The room smelled of the candles, the sweet aroma of the bundled grass burning in the hearth, and pungent smoke that failed to escape through the vent in the roof above the hearth.

“They must be in the back rooms,” Cara said, indicating with her Agiel a heavy hide hanging over a doorway.

The chicken, its head twitching from side to side as it clucked contentedly, strutted around the room, circling the symbol drawn with a finger or maybe stick in the dirt floor.

From a young age, Kahlan had seen wizards and sorceresses draw the ancient emblem representing the Creator, life, death, the gift, and the underworld. They drew it in idle daydreaming, and in times of anxiety. They drew it merely to comfort themselves—to remind themselves of their connection to everyone and everything.

And they drew it to conjure magic.

To Kahlan, it was a comforting talisman of her childhood, of a time when the wizards played games with her, or tickled her and chased her through the halls of the Wizard’s Keep as she squealed with laughter. Sometimes they told her stories that made her gasp in wonder as she sat in their laps, protected and safe.

There was a time, before the discipline began, when she was allowed to be a child.

Those wizards were all dead, now. All but one had given their lives to help her in her struggle to cross the boundary and find help to stop Darken Rahl. The one had betrayed her. But there was a time when they were her friends, her playmates, her uncles, her teachers, the objects of her reverence and love.

“I’ve seen this before,” Cara said, briefly considering the drawing on the floor. “Darken Rahl would sometimes draw it.”

“It’s called a Grace,” Kahlan said.

Wind lifted the square of coarse cloth covering the window, allowing the harsh glare of lightning to cascade across the Grace drawn on the floor.

Richard’s mouth opened, but he hesitated, his question unasked. He was eyeing the chicken pecking at the floor near the hide curtain to the back rooms.

He gestured. “Cara, open the door, please.”

As she pulled it open, Richard waved his arms to coax the chicken out. The chicken, feathers flying as it flapped its wings in fright, darted this way and that, trying to avoid him. It wouldn’t cross the room to the open door and safety.

Richard paused, hands on hips, puzzling down at the chicken. Black markings in the white and brown feathers gave it a striated, dizzying effect. The chicken squawked in complaint as Richard began moving forward, using his legs to shepherd the confused bird across the room.

Before it reached the drawing on the floor, it let out a squall, flapped its wings in renewed panic, and broke to the side, sprinting around the wall of the room and finally out the door. It was an astonishing display of an animal so terrified it was unable to flee in a straight line to a wide-open door and safety.

Cara shut the door behind it. “If there is an animal dumber than a chicken,” she griped, “I’ve yet to see it.”

“What’s all the racket?” came a familiar voice.

It was Zedd, coming through the doorway to the back rooms. He was taller than Kahlan but not as tall as Richard: about Cara’s height, although his mass of wavy white hair sticking out in disarray lent an illusion of more height than was there. Heavy maroon robes with black sleeves and cowled shoulders fostered the impression that his sticklike frame was bulkier than it really was. Three rows of silver brocade circled the cuffs of his sleeves. Thicker gold brocade ran around the neck and down the front. A red satin belt set with a gold buckle gathered the outfit at his waist.

Zedd had always worn unassuming robes. For a wizard of his rank and authority, the fancy outfit was bizarre in the extreme. Flamboyant clothes marked one with the gift as an initiate. For one without the gift, such clothes befit nobility in some places, or a wealthy merchant just about anywhere, so although Zedd disliked the flashy accoutrements, they had been a valuable disguise.

Richard and his grandfather embraced joyously, both chortling with the pleasure of being together. It had been a long time.

“Zedd,” Richard said, holding the other at arm’s length, apparently even more disoriented by his grandfather’s outfit than was Kahlan, “where did you ever get such clothes?”

With a thumb, Zedd tilted the gold buckle up to his scrutiny. His hazel eyes sparkled. “It’s the gold buckle, isn’t it. A bit too much?”

Ann lifted aside the heavy hide hanging over the doorway as she ducked under it. Short and broad, she wore an unadorned dark wool dress that marked her authority as the leader of the Sisters of the Light—sorceresses from the Old World, although she had created the illusion among them that she had been killed so as to have the freedom to pursue important matters. She looked as old as Zedd, though Kahlan knew her to be a great deal older.

“Zedd, quit preening,” Ann said. “We have business.”

Zedd shot her a scowl. Having seen such a scowl going in both directions, Kahlan wondered how the two of them had managed to travel together without more than verbal sparks. Kahlan had met Ann only the day before, but Richard held her in great regard, despite the circumstances under which he had come to know her.

Zedd took in Richard’s outfit. “I must say, my boy, you’re quite the sight, yourself.”

Richard had been a woods guide, and had always worn simple clothes, so Zedd had never seen him in his new attire. He’d found most of his distant predecessor’s outfit in the Wizard’s Keep. Apparently, some wizards once wore more than simple robes, perhaps in forewarning.

The tops of Richard’s black boots were wrapped with leather thongs pinned with silver emblems embossed with geometric designs, and covered black wool trousers. Over a black shirt was a black, open-sided tunic, decorated with symbols twisting along a wide gold band running all the way around its squared edges. His wide, multilayered leather belt cinched the magnificent tunic at his waist. The belt bore more of the silver emblems and carried a gold-worked pouch to each side. Hooked on the belt was a small, leather purse. At each wrist he wore a wide, leather-padded silver band bearing linked rings encompassing more of the strange symbols. His broad shoulders held the resplendent cape that appeared like nothing so much as spun gold.

Even without his sword, he looked at once noble and sinister. Regal, and deadly. He looked like a commander of kings. And like the embodiment of what the prophecies had named him: the bringer of death.

Under all that, Kahlan knew him to still possess the kind and generous heart he had as a woods guide. Rather than diminish all the rest, his simple sincerity only reinforced the veracity of it.

His sinister appearance was both warranted and in many ways an illusion. While single-minded and fierce in opposition to their foes, Kahlan knew him to be profoundly gentle, understanding, and kind. She had never known a man more fair, or patient. She thought him the most rare person she had ever met.

Ann smiled broadly at Kahlan, touching her face much as a kindly grandmother might do with a beloved child. Kahlan felt heartwarming honesty in the gesture. Her eyes sparkling, Ann did the same to Richard.

Fingering gray hair into the loose bun at the back of her head, she turned to feed a small stick of bundled grass into the fire. “I hope your first day married is going well?”

Kahlan briefly met Richard’s gaze. “A little earlier today we went to the warm springs for a bath.” Kahlan’s smile, along with Richard’s, faded. “One of the hunters guarding us died.”

Her words brought the full attention of both Zedd and Ann.

“How?” Ann asked.

“Drowned.” Richard held out a hand in invitation for everyone to sit. “The stream was shallow, but near as we can tell, he didn’t stumble or fall.” He waggled a thumb over his shoulder as the four of them settled around the Grace drawn in the dirt in the center of the room. “We took him to a building back there.”

Zedd glanced over Richard’s shoulder, almost as if he might be able to see through the wall and view Juni’s body. “I’ll have a look.” He peered up at Cara, standing guard with her back against the door. “What do you think happened?”

Without hesitation, Cara said, “I think Juni became a danger. While looking for Lord Rahl in order to harm him, Juni fell and drowned.”

Zedd’s eyebrows arched. He turned to Richard. “A danger! Why would the man turn belligerent toward you?”

Richard scowled over his shoulder at the Mord-Sith. “Cara’s wrong. He wasn’t trying to harm us.” Satisfied when she didn’t argue, he returned his attention to his grandfather. “When we found him—dead—he had an odd look in his eyes. He saw something before he died that left a mask of . . . I don’t know . . . longing, or something, on his face.

“Nissel, the healer, came and inspected his body. She said he had no injuries, but that he drowned.”

Richard braced a forearm on his knee as he leaned in. “Drowned, Zedd, in six inches of water. Nissel said evil spirits killed him.”

Zedd’s eyebrows rose even higher. “Evil spirits?”

“The Mud People believe evil spirits sometimes come and take the life of a villager,” Kahlan explained. “The villagers leave offerings before clay figures in a couple of the buildings over there.” She lifted her chin toward the north. “Apparently, they believe that leaving rice cakes will appease these evil spirits. As if ‘evil spirits’ could eat, or could be easily bribed.”

Outside, the rain lashed at the buildings. Water ran in a dark stain below the window and dripped here and there through the grass roof. Thunder rumbled almost constantly, taking the place of the now silent drums.

“Ah, I see,” Ann said. She looked up with a smile Kahlan found curious. “So, you think the Mud People gave you a paltry wedding, compared to the grand affair you would have had back in Aydindril. Hmm?”

Perplexed, Kahlan’s brow tightened. “Of course not. It was the most beautiful wedding we could have wished for.”

“Really?” Ann swept her arm out, indicating the surrounding village. “People in gaudy dress and animal skins? Their hair slicked down with mud? Naked children running about, laughing, playing, during such a solemn ceremony? Men painted in frightening mud masks dancing and telling stories of animals, hunts, and wars? This is what makes a good wedding to your mind?”

“No . . . those things aren’t what I meant, or material,” Kahlan stammered. “It’s what was in their hearts that made it so special. It was that they sincerely shared our joy that made it meaningful to us. And what does that have to do with offering rice cakes to imagined evil spirits?”

With the side of a finger, Ann ordered one of the lines on the Grace—the line representing the underworld. “When you say, ‘Dear spirits, watch over my departed mother’s soul,’ do you expect the dear spirits to rush all of a sudden to do so because you’ve put words to the wish?”

Kahlan could feel her face flush. She often asked the dear spirits to watch over her mother’s soul. She was beginning to see why Zedd found the woman so vexing.

Richard came to Kahlan’s rescue. “The prayers are not actually meant as a direct request, since we know the spirits don’t work in such simple ways, but are meant to convey heartfelt feelings of love and hope for her mother’s peace in the next world.” He stroked his finger along the opposite side of the same line Ann had ordered. “The same as my prayers for my mother,” he added in a whisper.

Ann’s cheeks plumped as she smiled. “So they are, Richard. The Mud People must know better than to try to bribe with rice cakes the powerful forces they believe in and fear, don’t you suppose?”

“It’s the act of making the offering that’s important,” Richard said. By his unruffled attitude toward the woman it was apparent to Kahlan that Richard had learned to pick the berries out of the nettles.

Too, Kahlan understood what he meant. “It’s the supplication to forces they fear that is really meant to appease the unknown.”

Ann’s finger rose along with her brow. “Yes. The nature of the offering is really only symbolic, meant to show homage, and by such an obeisance to this power they hope to placate it.” Ann’s finger wilted. “Sometimes, the act of courteous yielding is enough to stay an angry foe, yes?”

Kahlan and Richard both agreed it was.

“Better to kill the foe and be done with it,” Cara sniped from back at the door.

Ann chuckled, leaning back to look over at Cara. “Well, sometimes, my dear, there is merit to such an alternative.”

“And how would you ‘kill’ evil spirits,” Zedd asked in a thin voice that cut through the drumming of the rain.

Cara didn’t have an answer and so she glared instead.

Richard wasn’t listening to them. He seemed to be transfixed by the Grace as he spoke. “By the same token, evil spirits . . . and such could be angered by a gesture of disrespect.”

Kahlan was just opening her mouth to ask Richard why he was suddenly taking the Mud People’s evil spirits so seriously when Zedd’s fingers touched the side of her leg. His sidelong glance told her that he wanted her to be quiet.

“Some think it so, Richard,” Zedd offered quietly.

“Why did you draw this symbol, this Grace?” Richard asked.

“Ann and I were using it to evaluate a few matters. At times, a Grace can be invaluable.

“A Grace is a simple thing, and yet it is infinitely complex. Learning about the Grace is a lifetime’s journey, but like a child learning to walk, it begins with a first step. Since you were born with the gift, we also thought this would be a good time to introduce you to it.”

Richard’s gift was largely an enigma to him. Now that they were back with his grandfather, Richard needed to delve the mysteries of that birthright and at last begin to chart the foreign landscape of his power. Kahlan wished they had the time Richard needed, but they didn’t.

“Zedd, I’d really like you take a look at Juni’s body.”

“The rain will let up in a while,” Zedd soothed, “and then we will go have a look.”

Richard dragged a finger down the end of a line representing the gift—representing magic. “If it’s a first step, and so important,” Richard pointedly asked Ann, “then why didn’t the Sisters of the Light try to teach me about the Grace when they took me to the Palace of the Prophets in the Old World? When they had the chance?”

Kahlan knew how quickly Richard become wary and distrustful when he thought he felt the tickling of a halter being slipped over his ears, no matter how kindly done, or how innocent its intent. Ann’s Sisters had once put a collar around his throat.

Ann stole a glance at Zedd. “The Sisters of the Light had never before attempted to instruct one such as yourself—one born with the gift for Subtractive Magic in addition to the usual Additive.” She chose her words carefully. “Prudence was required.”

Richard’s voice had made the subtle shift from questioned to questioner.

“Yet now you think I should be taught this Grace business?”

“Ignorance, too, is dangerous,” Ann said in a cryptic murmur.