Soul of the Fire

Chapter 69

It was as forbidding a place as Richard had heard, the highlands above the Nareef Valley: a bleak wasteland. The wind howled in dirty gusts.

He would expect Joseph Ander to pick such a place.

The mountains surrounding the dead lake were just as dead. They were rocky, brown, and barren of life, their peaks all crowned with snow. The thousands of runnels coming down the slopes sparkled in the sunlight, like fangs.

Juxtaposed with the bleak wasteland was the green of the paka plants, which looked almost like water lilies in the vast waters stretching across the wide lap of the surrounding mountains.

Richard had left the horses down lower and climbed the narrow foot trail he found that led up to the lake. He had tied the horses on loose tethers and removed their tack, so that if he failed to return, they could eventually escape.

Only one thing drove him on, and that was his love for Kahlan. He had to banish the chimes so that he could heal her. It was his sole purpose in life. He stood now on the sterile soil beside the poison waters, knowing what he had to do.

He had to outthink, outcreate Joseph Ander.

There was no key to the riddle of the chimes; there was no answer. There was no solution waiting to be found. Joseph Ander left no seam in his tapestry of magic.

His only chance was to do what Joseph Ander never would have expected. Richard had studied the man enough to understand the way he thought. He knew what Ander believed, and what he expected people would try. Richard could do none of those things and expect to succeed. Richard would do that which Joseph Ander chided the wizards to do, but which they couldn’t see.

He only hoped he had the strength to see it through to the end. He had ridden hard in the day, switching horses so they would make it and yet be able to take him back. At night he had walked them until he could walk no more.

He was exhausted, and hoped only that he could hold out long enough. Long enough for Kahlan.

From the gold-worked leather pouch on his belt he pulled white sorcerer’s sand. With the sand, Richard carefully began drawing a Grace. Starting with the rays representing the gift, he drew it exactly opposite from the way Zedd told him it must be drawn. He stood in the center, laying the lines of the gift inward, toward himself.

He drew the star, representing the Creator, next, and then the circle of life, and the square for the veil, and lastly, the outer circle for the beginning of the underworld.

Imagination, Joseph Ander had said, was what made a great wizard, for only a wizard with imagination was able to transcend the limitations of tradition.

A Grace might rise in obedience to an inventive spell.

Richard intended to raise more than that.

From his place inside the Grace, Richard lifted his fists to the sky.

“Reechani! Sentrosi! Vasi! I call you forth!”

He knew what they needed. Joseph Ander had told him.

“Reechani! Sentrosi! Vasi! I call you forth and offer you my soul!”

The water rippled as the wind rose. The water moved with deliberate intent. The wind coming across the water ignited into roiling flame.

They were coming.

Richard, charged with need and with anger, lowered his arms, pointing his fists off toward the edge of the lake, where it flowed at last over the rocky lip and on down into the Nareef Valley. His entire being focused there.

Through his need and his anger, he called the Subtractive side of his power, the side from the darkest things, the side from the underworld, from the shadows in the dark forever of the netherworld.

Black lightning exploded, the bolts from his fists twisting together in a rope of howling annihilation focused by his need, powered by his wrath.

The edge of the mountain lake erupted in violence. The rock beyond disintegrated in a shower of steam and rubble from the touch of the black lightning. In an instant, the lower lake shore at the edge was no more. The destructive force of the Subtractive Magic vaporized it out of existence.

With a thundering roar, the lake began to empty.

The water churned as it pulled itself over the side. The edge foamed and frothed. The paka plants swirled with the water, tearing from the lake bottom. The vast lake of poisonous water plummeted over the brink.

The fire coming across the lake, the wind on the water, and the churning water itself slowed as they approached. These were the essence of the chimes, the distillation that spoke for them.

“Come to me,” Richard commanded. “I offer you my soul.”

As the chimes began to circle ever closer, Richard drew something else from the pouch at his belt.

And then, out in the lake, as it emptied, leaving a muddy bottom where poisonous water receded, there came a shimmering to the air just above the falling water. Something began to coalesce. To take form in the world of life.

Wavering in the air above the surface of the water, a figure began to appear. A robed figure. An old man made of smoke and glimmering light. A figure in pain.

Richard threw his fists up again. “Reechani! Sentrosi! Vasi! Come to me!”

And they did. Around him swept the substance of death. It was almost more than Richard could take, standing there in the center of a maelstrom of death. It was as abhorrent a feeling as he had ever felt.

The chimes called to him with seductive sounds from another world. Richard let them. He smiled at their summons.

He let them come, these thieves of souls.

And then he lifted his arm to point.

“Your master.”

The chimes howled around him with rage. They recognized the one rising up before them.

“There he is, slaves. Your master.”

“Who calls me!” came a cry from across the water.

“Richard Rahl, descendant of Alric. I am the one who has come to be your master, Joseph Ander.”

“You have found me in my sanctuary. You are the first. I commend you.”

“And I condemn you, Joseph Ander, to your place in the afterlife, where all must go when their time here is done.”

Chimes of laughter rang out over the lake.

“Finding me is one thing, disturbing me another. But to dictate to me is altogether different. You have not the power to begin to do such a thing. You cannot even envision what I can create.”

“Ah, but I have,” Richard called out over the falling water. “Water, hear me. Air, see what I show you. Fire, feel the truth of it.”

Around him, the three chimes turned and spun, wary of what he had to offer them.

Again, Richard thrust out his hand. “This is your master, the one who appropriated you to his bidding, instead of yours. There is his soul stripped bare for you.”

Concern darkened the face of Joseph Ander’s form. “What are you doing? What do you think you can accomplish with this?”

“Truth, Joseph Ander. I strip you of the lie of your existence.”

Richard lifted a hand, opening it toward Joseph Ander, opening the hand that held the balance—the black sorcerer’s sand. Richard let a trickle of black lightning crackle between him and the spirit of Joseph Ander.

“There he is, Reechani. Hear him. There he is, Vasi. See him. There he is, Sentrosi, feel him through my touch.”

Joseph Ander tried to throw back magic of his own, but he had consigned himself to another world, one of his own making. He could not bridge that void. But Richard had called him, and could reach through.

“Now, my chimes, this is your choice. My soul, or his. The man who would not surrender his soul to the afterlife. The man who would not go to your master in the underworld, but became your master in this world, where he enslaved you for all this time.

“Or my soul, standing here, in the center of this Grace, where I will pull you to me, and you will serve me in this world as you have served him.

“Choose, then: taking vengeance; or going back to slavery.”

“He lies!” Ander’s spirit cried out.

The storm of chimes around Richard made their choice. They saw the truth Richard had presented them. They crackled across the bridge Richard had created, the void in the world of life.

The world shook with the ferocity of it.

Across that bridge, with a howl of rage that could come only from the world of the dead, they seized Joseph Ander’s soul and took him with them back to that world, whence they had come. They took him home.

In an instant that stretched for an eternity, the veil between those worlds was open. In that instant, death and life touched.

In the sudden silence that followed, Richard held his hands out in front of himself. He seemed to be whole. He found that remarkable.

The realization of what he had just done came over him. He had created magic. He had righted what Joseph Ander had wrongly corrupted.

Now he had to get back to Kahlan, if she was still alive. He made himself banish that thought. She had to be alive.

With a gasp, Zedd opened his eyes. It was dark. He groped and found walls of rock. He stumbled forward, toward light. Toward sound.

He realized he was back in his body. He was no longer in the raven. He didn’t understand how that could be. It was real, though. He looked at his hands. Not feathers, hands.

He had his soul back.

He fell to his knees, weeping with relief. To lose his soul was beyond what he expected. And he had expected the worst.

Without his soul, he had been able to inhabit the raven. He brightened a bit. That was an experience he had never had. No wizard had ever succeeded in projecting himself into an animal. And to think, it had only required surrendering his soul.

He decided that once was enough.

He walked on toward the light, toward the roar of water. He remembered where he was. Reaching the edge, he dove into the lake and swam to the far shore.

Zedd dragged himself out on the far bank. Without thinking, he swept a hand down his robes to dry himself.

And then he realized his power was back. His strength, his gift was back.

At a sound he looked up. Spider nuzzled him.

Grinning, Zedd rubbed the friendly, soft nose. “Spider, girl. Good to see you, my friend. Good to see you.”

Spider snorted her pleasure, too.

Zedd found the saddle and the rest of the tack where he had left it. Just for the delight of it, he floated the blanket and saddle onto Spider’s back. Spider thought it interesting. Spider was a good sport, and a good horse.

Zedd turned at a sound from above. Something was coming down the mountain. Water. The lake, for some reason, had given way. It was all coming down.

Zedd sprang up onto Spider. “Time to get out of here, girl.”

Spider obliged him.

Dalton had just come back into his office when he heard someone come in behind him. It was Stein. When the man turned to close the door, Dalton glanced to the bottom of Stein’s cape, and saw the scalp he had added.

Dalton went to the side table and poured himself a glass of water. He was feeling warm and a little dizzy.

Well, that was to be expected.

“What do you want, Stein?”

“Just a social visit.”

“Ah,” Dalton said. He took a drink.

“Nice new office you got yourself.”

It was nice. Everything was the best. The only thing from his old office was the silver-scroll stand beside the desk. He liked the sword stand, and brought it along. As if reminded, he fingered the hilt of his sword in the stand.

“Well,” Stein added, “you’ve earned it. No doubt about that. You’ve done good for yourself, though. Good for yourself and your wife.”

Dalton gestured. “New sword, Stein? A little too fancy for your taste, I would think.”

The man seemed pleased that Dalton had noticed the weapon.

“This here,” he said, lifting it with a thumb by the down swept cross guard a few inches out of its scabbard, “is the Sword of Truth. The real sword carried by the Seeker.”

Dalton found it unsettling that a man like Stein would have it. “And what are you doing with it?”

“One of my men brought it to me. Quite a lot of trouble, too.”

“Really?” Dalton asked, feigning interest.

“They captured a Mord-Sith in the process of bringing it to me. The real Sword of Truth, and a real Mord-Sith. Imagine that.”

“Quite the achievement. The emperor will be pleased.”

“He will be when I present him with the sword. He is pleased with the news you sent, too. To have defeated Lord Rahl so resoundingly is an achievement. It won’t be long until our forces are here, and we catch him. And the Mother Confessor, have you found her, yet?”

“No.” Dalton took another drink of water. “But with the spell Sister Penthea contributed, I don’t see how she has a chance. From the look of the knuckles of my men, they did their job.” He paused, looked down. “Up until they got caught and killed, anyway.

“No, this is one encounter the Mother Confessor is not going to live through. If she is still alive, I will hear about it soon enough. If she is dead,”—he shrugged—“then we may never find her body.”

Dalton leaned against his desk. “When will Jagang be here?”

“Not long. Week, maybe. The advance guard maybe sooner. He is looking forward to setting up residence in your fine city.”

Dalton scratched his forehead. He had things to do. Not that any of it really mattered.

“Well, I’ll be around, if you need me,” Stein said.

He turned back from the door. “Oh, and Dalton, Bertrand told me that you were more than understanding about your wife and him.”

Dalton shrugged. “Why not? She is just a woman. I can snap my fingers and have a dozen. Hardly anything to get possessive about.”

Stein seemed genuinely pleased. “I’m glad to see you’ve come around. The Order will suit you. We don’t hold to notions of possessive attitudes toward women.”

Dalton was trying to think of places the Mother Confessor could have gone to ground.

“Well, I’ll love the Order, then. I don’t hold with those notions myself.”

Stein scratched his stubble. “I’m happy to know you feel that way, Dalton. Since you do, I’d like to compliment you on your choice of a whore for a wife.”

Dalton, turning to look over papers, stiffened. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Oh, Bertrand, he loans her to me now and then. He was bragging on her, and wanted me to have some myself. He told her the Creator wanted her to please me. I just had to tell you, she’s quite the hot one.”

Stein turned toward the door.

“There’s one more thing,” Dalton said.

“What’s that?” he asked, turning back.

Dalton brought the tip of his sword whistling around and sliced Stein’s belly open just below his weapons belt. He made the cut shallow, so as not to slice through everything, just deep enough so that the man’s bowels would spill out at his feet in front of him.

Stein gasped in shock, his jaw dropping, his eyes showing the whites all around as he stared down. He looked up at Dalton as he was falling to his knees. The gasp turned to panting grunts.

“You know,” Dalton said, “as it turns out, I really am the possessive type. Thank the good spirits your end was quick.”

Stein collapsed on his side. Dalton stepped over him, around behind him.

“But just because it’s quick, I don’t want you to feel you’re missing out on anything, or that I’m neglecting what you have coming.”

Dalton grabbed Stein’s greasy hair in a fist. He sliced his sword around the top of Stein’s forehead, put a boot to the man’s back, and ripped his scalp off.

He came around and showed it to the shrieking man. “That was for Franca, by the way. Just so you know.”

As Stein lay on the floor, his viscera spilled out, his head bleeding profusely, Dalton casually walked to the door and opened it, pleased the new man hadn’t opened the door without permission despite all the screaming.

“Phil, you and Gregory get in here.”

“Yes, Minister Campbell?”

“Phil, Stein here is making a mess in my office. Please help him out.”

“Yes, Minister Campbell.”

“And I don’t want him ruining the carpets.” Dalton, as he picked up some papers from his desk, glanced down at the screaming man. “Take him over there and throw him out the window.”