Stone of Tears

Chapter 24

Richard’s eyes opened. “I think someone is coming.”

Sister Verna was sitting on the other side of the small fire, writing in the little book she kept tucked behind her belt. She looked up from under her eyebrows. “You have touched your Han, yes?”

“No,” he admitted. His legs ached. He must have been sitting without moving for at least an hour. “But I’m telling you, I think someone is coming.”

They did this every night, and it was no different this time. He would sit and picture the sword, on a blank background, and try to reach that place within himself that she said was there, but he could not find, while she watched him, or wrote in her little book, or touched her own Han. He had not visualized the sword on a black square with a white border since the first night. He had no desire to chance revisiting that nightmare.

“I am beginning to think I’m not able to touch my Han. I’m trying my best, but it just isn’t working.”

She drew the book close to her face in the moonlight and resumed writing. “I have told you before, Richard, it is something that takes time. You have not yet begun to have had enough practice. Do not be discouraged. It comes when it comes.”

“Sister Verna, I’m telling you, someone is coming.”

She kept writing. “And if you are not able to touch your Han, Richard, how would you know this? Hmm?”

“I don’t know.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve spent a lot of time alone in the woods. Sometimes I can just feel when someone is near. Don’t you ever know when someone is near? Haven’t you ever felt someone’s eyes on you?”

“Only with the aid of my Han,” she said as she wrote.

He watched as firelight flickered across her dispassionate face. “Sister Verna, you said we were in dangerous lands. I’m telling you, someone is coming.”

She leafed back through the book, squinting as she read in the dim light. “And how long have you known this, Richard?”

“I told you as soon as I had the feeling, just a moment ago.”

She lowered the book to her lap and looked up. “But you say you did not touch your Han? You felt nothing within yourself? You felt no power? Saw no light? Did not sense the Creator?” Her eyes narrowed. “You had better not be lying to me, Richard. You had better never lie to me about touching your Han.”

“Sister Verna, you’re not listening! Someone is coming!”

She closed the book. “Richard, I have known since you began your practice that someone approaches.”

He stared at her in surprise. “Then why are we just sitting here?”

“We are not just sitting here. You are practicing reaching your Han, and I’m tending to my business.”

“Why haven’t you said anything? You told me this land is dangerous.”

Sister Verna sighed and began tucking her book back behind her wide belt. “Because they were still some distance off. There was nothing else for us to do but to continue. You need the practice. You must keep trying until you are able to touch your Han.” She shook her head with resignation. “But I suppose you are too agitated now to continue. They are still ten or fifteen minutes away; we may as well begin packing our things.”

“Why now? Why didn’t we leave as soon as you sensed them?”

“Because we had been spotted. Once we have been discovered, there is no way to escape these people. This is their land; we would not be able to outrun them. It’s probably a sentinel who has found us.”

“Then why do you want to pack to leave now?”

She regarded him as if he were hopelessly thick. “Because we can’t spend the night here after we kill them.”

Richard leapt to his feet. “Kill them! You don’t even know who is coming, and already you plan to kill them?”

Sister Verna stood, drawing herself up straight, and peered into his eyes. “Richard, I have done my best to prevent this. Have we seen anyone else before now? No. Even though these people cover this land like a swarm of angry ants, we have seen no one. I have led us between anyone I could sense with my Han, in an effort to avoid contact. I have done my best to avoid trouble. Sometimes, even when you do your best, trouble cannot be avoided. I do not want to kill these people, but they are intent on killing us.”

That certainly explained why they had been traveling such a peculiar route. Although they had been heading steadily southeast for weeks, they had done so in an odd fashion. Without ever explaining, she had directed them first one way, then another, occasionally backtracking, but always, relentlessly, southeast.

The barren land had become progressively rockier and more desolate. He had not bothered asking about their route because he didn’t think she would tell him, and because he didn’t care. Wherever they went, he was still a prisoner.

Richard scratched his new beard as he started kicking dirt over the fire. It was a warm night, as most had been lately. He wondered what had happened to winter. “We don’t even know who they are yet. You can’t just go killing anyone that shows up.”

“Richard.” She clasped her hands together. “Not all the Sisters who try to return are successful. Many are killed trying to cross these lands. In every case, there were three Sisters. I am but one. Not good odds.”

The horses nickered and began moving about, tossing their heads and pawing their hooves. Richard strapped the baldric over his shoulder. He checked that the sword was clear in its scabbard.

“You were wrong, Sister, not to try to get away as soon as you knew. If you have to fight, it should be because there is no other way. You didn’t even try.”

Hands still clasped together, she watched him. Her voice was soft but firm. “These people are intent upon killing us, Richard. Both of us. If we had tried to run, this one would have alerted the others, and brought hundreds, thousands, to bring us down. I have not run so as to embolden this one into trying to take us himself, so we can end the threat.”

“I’m not killing people for you, Sister Verna.”

As they glared at each other, he heard a scream: a woman’s scream. He stared out into the night, trying to see into the shadows of the rocky spires, trying to see where the scream came from. He couldn’t see anyone, but the screams and cries were coming closer.

Richard kicked dirt over the last of the flames and sprinted to the horses, calming them with reassuring words and gentle strokes. He didn’t care what she said, he wasn’t killing people on her word. The woman was crazy not to want to try to escape.

She probably wanted a fight, just to see what he would do. She was always watching him as if he were a bug in a box. She questioned him every time he practiced trying to touch his Han. Whatever the Han was, he hadn’t been able to sense it, much less touch it or call it forth. Just as well, as far as he was concerned.

Richard was starting toward the saddlebags, to gather the rest of their things, when a woman came running out of the night. Cloak flying behind, and crying in terror, she ran headlong into their camp. She let out a wail and dashed desperately for him.

“Please!” she cried out. “Please help me! Please don’t let them get me!”

Her loose hair streamed behind as she ran. The naked fear on her face ran a shiver up Richard’s spine. She stumbled as she reached him. Richard caught her frail form in his arms. Her dirty face was streaked with sweat and tears.

“Please, sir,” she sobbed, looking up at him with dark eyes, “please don’t let them get me. You don’t know what those men will do to me.”

Richard’s mind filled with the fright of remembering Kahlan being pursued by the quads. He remembered how terrified she had been of those men, and how she had spoken almost the same words: You don’t know what those men will do to me.

“No one is going to get you. You are safe now.”

The woman’s arms came out from under her cloak, slipping around him. Her dark eyes stayed on his as he held her weight.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead gave a little grunt and jerked. Light seemed to flash from within her eyes. She went slack and heavy in his arms.

Richard looked up into Sister Verna’s unwavering gaze as she yanked the silver knife from the woman’s back. Richard felt himself letting the dead weight slip to the ground. The woman slumped fluidly and rolled onto her back.

The night air rang with the sound of steel as Richard drew the sword.

“What’s the matter with you?” he hissed. “You have just murdered this woman.”

Sister Verna returned his glare in kind. “I thought you said you held no foolish prohibitions against killing women.”

The wrath of the sword’s magic pounded through him, raging to be set free. “You are mad.” He was rushing toward a lethal precipice. The sword’s point rose in anger.

“Before you would think to kill me,” Sister Verna said in a measured tone, “you had better make sure you are not making a mistake.” Richard didn’t answer. He was incapable of speaking through the fury. “Look in her hand, Richard.”

He looked down at the lifeless body. Her hands were covered by her heavy woolen cloak. Using the sword, he flicked the cloak back off her arm to reveal a knife still gripped in her dead fist. The point had a dark stain on it.

“Did she scratch you with the knife?”

Richard’s chest still heaved with anger. “No. Why?”

“Her knife is coated with poison. All it would take is a scratch.”

“What makes you think it was meant for me! She was probably hoping to defend herself from the men who are chasing her!”

“There are no men chasing her. She is a sentry. You are always telling me to stop treating you like a child, Richard. Stop acting like one. I know about these people, how they do things. She meant to kill us.”

He could feel the muscles in his jaw flex as he gritted his teeth. “We could have tried to get away when she first spotted us.”

She nodded. “Yes, and we would have died. I am telling you, Richard, I know these people. The wilds are layered like an onion with different peoples, all of whom, will kill us if they find us. Had we let her reach her kind, they would have caught us and killed us.

“Don’t let the anger of your sword close your eyes. She has a poison knife in her hand, she had it to your back, and she fell into your arms to be able to get close enough to use it. You foolishly let her do so.” She turned a little and swept an arm behind. “Where are the ones chasing her?” She let the arm drop to her side. “There is no one else. I could sense them with my Han if there were. She was alone. I have just saved your life.”

He drove the Sword of Truth back into its scabbard. “You have done me no great favor, Sister Verna.”

He didn’t know what to believe. He knew only that he was sick of magic, and weary of death. “What is that knife you keep up your sleeve? What’s the light in their eyes when you kill with it?”

“It’s called a dacra. I guess it could be compared to the poison blade she was carrying. With the dacra it’s not the wound itself that kills; the dacra extinguishes the spark of life.” Her eyes lowered. “It’s a painful thing to steal a life. Sometimes, it is the only way. This, tonight, was the only way to save our lives, whether you choose to believe it or not.”

“All I know, Sister Verna, is that you use it without hesitation, and that you didn’t even try anything else.” He started to turn away. “I’m going to bury her.”

“Richard.” She smoothed her skirt. “I hope you understand, and that you don’t misinterpret our actions, but when we reach the palace, we may have to take the Sword of Truth from you. For your own good.”

“Why? How could that be for my own good?”

She clasped her hands together again. “The prophecy that you have invoked, the one that says ‘He is the bringer of death, and he shall so name himself,’ is a very dangerous prophecy. It goes on to say that the holder of the sword is able to call the dead forth, call the past into the present.”

“What does that mean?”

“We don’t know.”

“Prophecies,” he muttered. “Prophecies are just stupid riddles, Sister. You invest too much concern in them. You admit that you don’t understand them, yet try to follow them. Only a fool follows blindly what he doesn’t understand. If it were true, I would call the dead forth and give this woman’s life back to her.”

“We know a lot more about them than you think. I believe it would be for the best if we took the sword, just for safekeeping, until we understand the prophecy better.”

“Sister Verna, if someone took the dacra from you, would you still be a Sister?”

“Of course. The dacra is simply a tool to help us in our job. It doesn’t make us who we are.”

He smiled a cold smile. “It’s the same with the sword. With or without it, I am still the Seeker. I would be no less a danger to you. Taking it away from me will not save you.”

Her fists tightened. “It is not the same.”

“You are not taking the sword,” he said flatly. “You could never understand how much I hate this sword, hate its magic, and how much I wish to be rid of it, but it was given to me when I was named Seeker. It was given to me to be mine for as long as I wish to hold it. I am the Seeker, and I, not you, or anyone else, will decide when I am to give it up.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Named Seeker? You did not find the sword? Or purchase it? It was given by a wizard? You were named Seeker? A real Seeker? By a wizard?”

“I was.”

“Who was this wizard?”

“The one I told you of before: Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander.”

“You met him just this once, when he gave you the sword?”

“No. I have spent my whole life with him. He practically raised me. He is my grandfather.”

There was a long moment of dead silence. “And he named you Seeker, because he refused to teach you to control the gift? To be a wizard?”

“Refused! When he realized I had the gift, he practically begged to teach me to be a wizard.”

“He offered?” she whispered.

“That’s right. I told him I didn’t want to be a wizard.” Something was wrong. She seemed disturbed by this news. “He said the offer still stands. Why?”

She rubbed her hands absently. “It is just . . . unusual, that’s all. Many things about you are unusual.”

Richard didn’t know if he believed her. He wondered if maybe he didn’t need the collar, if Zedd could have helped him without it.

But Kahlan had wanted it on him. She had wanted him taken away. His insides twisted with that pain.

The sword was the only thing he had of Zedd. It was given to him when he was still back in Westland, when he was home. He missed his home, his woods. The sword was the only thing left of Zedd, and home.

“Sister, I was named Seeker, and given this sword, for as long as I wish to keep it and be Seeker. I will be the one to decide when the time has come to give it up. If you wish to take it away from me, then try to do it now.

“If you try, one of us is going to die in the attempt. At the moment, I don’t much care which one of us it is. But I intend to fight to the death. It’s mine by right, and you are not taking it as long as there is a breath of life in me.”

He listened to the distant howl of an animal dying a sudden, violent death, and then to the long, empty silence that followed.

“Since you were given the sword, and did not simply find it, or purchase it, you may keep it. I will not take it from you. I cannot speak for the others, but I will try to see to your wishes. It is the gift we must tend to. It is that magic we must teach you to control.”

She drew herself up and regarded him with an expression of such cold danger it made him have to fight the urge to shrink back. “But if you ever again draw it against me, I will make you rue the day the Creator let you take your first breath.” Her jaw muscles tightened. “Do we understand each other?”

“What’s so important about me that you would kill to capture me?”

Her cold composure was more frightening than if she had yelled at him. “Our job is to help those with the gift, because the gift is given by the Creator. We serve the Creator. It is for him we die. I’ve lost two of my oldest friends because of you. I’ve wept myself to sleep with grief for them. I’ve had to kill this woman tonight, and I may have to kill others before we reach the palace.”

Richard had the feeling it would be best to keep quiet, but he couldn’t. She had a way of stirring the coals of his anger to flame. “Don’t try to assuage your guilt over what you’ve done at my expense, Sister.”

Her face heated with color that he could see, even in the moonlight. “I’ve tried to be patient with you, Richard. I’ve given you leeway because you’ve been pulled from the only life you have known, and been thrust into a situation you fear and don’t understand, but my patience is near its end.

“I’ve tried my best not to see the lifeless bodies of my friends when I look into your eyes. Or when you tell me I’m heartless. I’ve tried not to think about you being the one standing at their burial, not me, and about the things I would have said over their fresh graves. There are things going on that are beyond my understanding, beyond my expectations, beyond what I was led to believe. Were it up to me, I’m of a mind to grant you your wish and remove your Rada’Han, and let you die in madness and pain.

“But it’s not up to me. It is the Creator’s work I do.”

Although the hot coals of his temper hadn’t been doused, they had cooled. “Sister Verna, I’m sorry.” He wished she would scream at him. That would be better than her calm anger, her quiet displeasure.

“You are angered because you think I treat you as a child, and not as a man, and yet you have given me no reason to do otherwise. I know where you stand, in your abilities, and where you have yet to travel. In that journey you are no more than a babe who bawls to be turned loose in the world, yet cannot even walk.

“The collar you wear is capable of controlling you. It is also capable of giving you pain. Great pain. Up until now, I have avoided using it, and have tried instead to encourage you in other ways to accept what must be done. But if I have to, I will use it. The Creator knows I’ve tried everything else.

“We will soon be in a land much more dangerous than this. We will have to deal with the people there to get through. The Sisters have arrangements with them, to be allowed to pass. You will do as I tell you, as they tell you. You will do the things you are told, or there will be a great deal of trouble.”

Richard’s suspicion flared anew. “What things?”

She glared at him. “Do not test me further tonight, Richard.”

“As long as you understand you’re not getting my sword without a fight.”

“We are only trying to help you, Richard, but if you draw a weapon on me again, I will see to it you greatly regret it.” She glanced to the Agiel hanging at his neck. “Mord-Sith hold no monopoly in giving pain.”

Cold confirmation of his suspicions spread through his gut. They intended to train him the way a Mord-Sith trained him. That was the real reason for the collar. That was how they intended to teach him: with pain. For the first time, he felt as if she had inadvertently let him see the bones of her intentions.

She pulled the little book from her belt. “I have some work to do before we leave. Go bury her. And hide her body well; if it’s found, it will tell them what happened, and they will be after us, and then I will have killed for nothing.”

She sat in front of the cold jumble of firewood. With a smooth sweep of her hand over the dark coals, it burst into flame. “After you’ve buried her, I want you to go for a walk and let your temper cool. Do not return until it has done so. If you try to wander away, or if you don’t bring some reason into that thick head of yours by the time I’m ready to leave, I will bring you back by the collar.” She gave him a menacing look from under her eyebrows. “You will not like it if I have to do that. I promise you, you will not like it one bit.”

The dead woman was slight, and little burden to carry. He hardly noticed the weight as he walked away from the camp into the low, rocky hills. The moon was up and the way easy to see. His mind swirled with his brooding thoughts as he trudged along, kicking an occasional stone.

Richard was surprised at his pang of pain for Sister Verna. She had never before revealed how heartsick she was over the deaths of Sisters Grace and Elizabeth. He had thought that because she hadn’t said anything, she was callous. He felt sorry for her now, sorry for her anguish. He wished she hadn’t let him know. It was easier to rail against his situation when he thought she was heartless.

He found himself a long way from their camp, at the crest of a hump of ground, with rocky walls and spires rising around him. His mind came out of his twisting thoughts and returned to the body he carried on his back. Though the stab wound from the dacra might not have been what had killed her, blood had nonetheless seeped down her back, matting her hair and soaking his shoulder. He felt sudden revulsion at carrying a dead woman around on his back.

He laid the body gently on the rocky ground and looked about, searching for a place to lay her to rest. He had a small shovel hooked to his belt, but there didn’t look to be easy digging anywhere. Maybe he could wall her up in one of the rocky crags.

While he peered into the shadowed gullies, he absently rubbed the still sore burn on his chest. Nissel, the healer, had given him a poultice, and every day he spread it on before covering the wound once more with a bandage. He didn’t like looking at it. He didn’t like seeing the scar of a handprint burned into his flesh.

Sister Verna had said it could have been that he had burned himself in the fireplace in the spirit house, or that they might have indeed called forth the dark minions of the Nameless One. It obviously wasn’t a burn from the fire; it was the mark of the underworld. Of Darken Rahl.

He was somehow ashamed of it, and never let Sister Verna see it. The scar was a constant reminder of his father’s true identity. It seemed an affront to George Cypher, the man he thought of as his father, the man who had raised him, trusted and taught him, given him his love, and whom he had loved in return.

The mark was also a constant reminder of the monster he really was—the monster Kahlan had wanted collared and sent away.

Richard swatted at a bug buzzing around his face. He looked down. They were buzzing around the dead woman, too. He went cold with a jolt of fright even before he felt the sting of a bite on his neck.

Blood flies.

He drew his sword in a rush as the huge, dark shape lunged from behind the rock. The ringing sound of steel was drowned out by a roar. Wings spread wide, the gar dove for him. For an instant, he thought he saw a second, hunched in the shadows behind the first, but his attention was immediately seized by the immense thing descending on him, by the fierce, glowing, green eyes locked on him.

It was too big to be a long-tailed gar, and by the way it anticipated and avoided his first stab, too smart. It would have to be a short-tailed gar, he cursed silently. It was thinner than short-tailed gars he had seen before, probably the result of poor hunting in this desolate land, but thin or not, it was still huge, towering half again as tall as he.

Richard stumbled and fell over the dead woman as he lurched back to escape the swipe of a massive claw. He came up swinging the sword in fury, letting the anger of the sword’s magic surge through him. The tip of the sword sliced a gash across the smooth, taut, pink stomach. The gar howled in rage as it rushed him again, unexpectedly batting him to the ground with a leathery wing.

Richard rolled to his feet, whirling the sword as he came up. The blade flashed in the moonlight, taking off a wingtip in a spray of blood. That only enraged the gar into lunging toward him. Long, wet fangs ripped at the night air. Its eyes were ablaze with a furious green glow. The howling roar hurt his ears. Claws swept in to each side of him.

The magic pounded through him, demanding blood. Instead of dodging the advance, Richard ducked. He sprang up, driving the sword through the chest of the great, fur-covered beast. He yanked the blade back with a twisting cut to the sound of a scream of mortal pain.

Richard pulled the sword behind, prepared to take the hideous head off with a powerful stroke, but the gar didn’t come at him. Claws clutched to the gushing wound at its chest, it teetered a moment, and then toppled heavily onto its back, bones in its wings snapping as it fell on them.

A keening wail came from the shadows. Richard retreated a few paces. A small, dark form darted across the ground, to the vanquished monster, falling on top of it. Little wings wrapped around the heaving chest.

Richard stared in disbelief. It was a baby gar.

The wounded beast lifted a shaking claw to clutch weakly at the whimpering form. It drew a gurgling breath that lifted the little gar sprawled atop its chest. The arm dropped to the side. Faintly glowing green eyes drank in its little one, and then looked up at Richard with pleading pain. A froth of blood bubbled as it expelled its last, rattling breath. The glow in its eyes waned, and then it was still. With plaintive cries, the little creature seized small fistfuls of fur.

Little or not, Richard thought, it is still a gar. He stepped close. He had to kill it. The rage pounded through him. He lifted the sword over his head.

The little gar drew a trembling wing over its head as it shrank back. As frightened as it was, it would not leave its mother. It whimpered in anguish and fear.

A terrified little face peered over the trembling wing. Wide, wet, green eyes blinked up at him. Tears ran down the deep creases in its cheeks as it sobbed in distress with a purling wail.

“Dear spirits,” Richard whispered, as he stood paralyzed, “I can’t do this.”

The little gar quivered as it watched the sword’s point sink to the ground. Richard turned his back and closed his eyes. He felt sick, both from the sword’s magic, which inflicted upon him the pain of his vanquished foe, and from the dreadful prospect of what he had been ready to do.

As he replaced the sword, he drew a deep breath to steady himself, then lifted the dead woman over his shoulder and started off. He could hear the choking sobs of the little gar as it clung to its still mother. He couldn’t kill it. He just couldn’t. Besides, he told himself, the sword wouldn’t allow it. The magic only worked against threat. It wouldn’t allow him to kill the little gar. He knew it wouldn’t.

Of course, it would work if he turned the blade white, but he couldn’t bear that pain. He would not subject himself to that agony, not for no more purpose than to kill a defenseless pup. He carried the dead woman’s body toward the next rise as he listened to the whimpers grow faint. Laying the body down again, he sat to catch his breath. He could just see the great beast in the moonlight, a dark blotch against the light-colored rock, and the small form atop it. He could hear the slow sounds of anguish and confusion. Richard sat a long time, watching, listening.

“Dear spirits, what have I done?”

The spirits, as usual, had nothing to say.

Out of the corner of his eye, movement caught his attention. Two distant silhouettes passed in front of the big, bright moon. They banked into a slow turn, and began to descend. Two gars.

Richard came to his feet. Maybe they would see the baby and help it. He found himself cheering them on, and then realized how absurd it was to hope a gar would live. But he was beginning to feel an odd sympathy for monsters.

Richard ducked down. The two gars overhead came close to him as they swept in a wide circle around the scene on the next hill. Their spiral tightened.

The little gar fell silent.

The dark shapes dove down, landing a ways apart with a flutter of wings. They moved cautiously around the dead gar and its offspring. Wings held open, they suddenly leapt toward the silent baby gar. It broke its silence with a scream. There was a flurry of wings, vicious roars, and frightened shrieks.

Richard stood. Many animals ate the young of another of their own kind. Especially males, and especially if food was scarce. They weren’t going to save it; they intended to eat it.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Richard was racing down the hill. He ran heedless of the foolishness he intended. He pulled the sword free as he charged up the hill to the little gar. Its terrified wails urged him on. The savage snarls of its attackers ignited the wrath of the sword’s magic.

Steel first, he rushed into the fur and claws and wings. The two gars were bigger than the one he had killed, confirming his suspicion that they were males. His blade caught only air as they leapt back, but one of them dropped the little gar. It skittered across the ground and clutched its mother’s fur. The other two circled him, charging and darting and swiping with their claws. Richard swung and stabbed with the sword. One of them snatched at the baby. Richard scooped it away with his free arm and quickly retreated a dozen paces.

They fell on the dead gar. With a cry, the baby stretched its arms toward its mother, its wings flapping against his face in an effort to free itself. In a frenzy, the two gars tore at the carcass.

Richard made a calculated decision. As long as the dead gar was there, the pup wouldn’t leave it; the pup would have a better chance at survival if it had nothing to hold it to this place. It squirmed mightily in his arm. Though fully half his size, at least it was lighter than he would have thought.

He feigned a charge to hurry the two along. They snapped at him, too hungry to be frightened off without a meal. They fought each other. Claws slashed and pulled, ripping the body asunder. Richard charged again as the little gar tore free, running ahead of him with a shriek. The two leapt into the air, each with half a prize. In a moment they were gone.

The little gar stood where its mother had been, keening as it watched the two disappear into the dark sky.

Panting and weary, Richard returned his sword to its scabbard and then slumped down on a short ledge, trying to catch his breath. His head sunk into his hands as tears welled up. He must be losing his mind. What in the world was he doing? He was risking his life for nothing. No, not for nothing.

He raised his head. The little gar was standing in the blood where its mother had been, its trembling wings held out limply, its shoulders slumped, and its tufted ears wilted. Big green eyes watched him. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“I’m sorry, little one,” he whispered.

It took a tentative step toward him. Tears ran down the gar’s face. Tears ran down his. It took another small, shaky step.

Richard held his arms out. It watched, and then with a miserable wail, fell into them.

It clutched its long, skinny arms to him. Warm wings wrapped around his shoulders. Richard hugged it tightly to himself.

Gently stroking its coarse fur, he hushed it with comforting whispers. Richard rarely had seen a creature in such misery, a creature so in need of comfort that it would even accept it from the one who had caused its pain. Maybe, he thought, it was only recognizing him as the one who had saved it from being eaten by two huge monsters. Maybe, given the terrible choice, it chose to see him as a savior. Maybe the last impression, of saving it from being eaten, was simply the strongest.

The little gar felt like nothing more than a furry sack of bones. It was half starved. He could hear its stomach grumbling. Its faint musky odor, while not pleasant, was not repulsive either. He cooed succor as the thing’s whimpering slowed.

When it had at last quieted with a heavy, tired sigh, Richard stood. Sharp little claws tugged at his pant leg as it looked up to his face. He wished he had some food to leave with the pup, but he hadn’t brought his pack and had nothing to offer.

He pulled the claw from his pants. “I have to go. Those two won’t come back now. Try to find yourself a rabbit or something. You’ll have to do the best you can on your own now. Go on.”

It blinked up at him, its wings and one leg slowly stretching as it yawned. Richard turned and started off. He looked over his shoulder. The little gar followed after.

Richard stamped to a halt. “You can’t come with me.” He held his arms out and shooed it away. “Go on. Be off with you.” He started walking backward. The gar followed. He stopped again and shooed it more firmly. “Go! You can’t come with me! Go on!”

The wings wilted again. It took a few shaking steps back as Richard started off again. This time it stayed put as he went on his way.

Richard had the woman’s body to bury, and he needed to get back to camp before Sister Verna decided to use the collar to bring him back. He had no desire to give her an excuse; he knew she would find one soon enough. He glanced behind to make sure the gar hadn’t followed. He was alone.

He found the body, laid on its back, where he had left it. He noted with relief that there were no blood flies about. He had to find either a patch of ground soft enough to dig a hole, or else a deep crevice of some sort to hide her body in. Sister Verna had been explicit about hiding it well.

As he was surveying the scene, there was a soft flutter of wings and the little gar thumped to the ground nearby. He muttered a quiet lament as the creature folded its wings and squatted comfortably before him, peering up with big green eyes.

Richard tried to shoo it away again. It didn’t move. He put his hands on his hips.

“You can’t come with me. Go away!”

It tottered to him and clutched his legs. What was he going to do? He couldn’t have a gar tagging after him.

“Where are your flies? You don’t even have any blood flies of your own. How can you expect to catch your dinner without your own blood flies?” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “Well, it’s not my concern.”

The small, wrinkled face peeked around his legs. A low growl came from its throat as its lips pulled back to reveal sharp little fangs. Richard looked around. It was growling at the dead woman. He closed his eyes with a groan. The pup was hungry. If he buried the body, the gar would dig it up.

Richard watched as the gar hopped over to the body, pawing at it as its growls grew louder. Richard tried to swallow back the dryness in his throat, or maybe the things he was thinking.

Sister Verna had said to get rid of the body. They mustn’t know how the woman had died, she had said. He couldn’t stand the thought of the remains being eaten. But even if he buried it, it would be eaten anyway—by worms. Why were worms better than a gar? Another ghastly thought came to him: who was he to judge—he had eaten human flesh. Why was that any different? Was he any better?

And besides, if the pup was busy eating, he could be off, and they would be gone before it had time to follow. It would be on its own then. He would be rid of it.

Richard watched as the little gar cautiously inspected the body. It experimentally tugged at an arm with its teeth. The pup wasn’t experienced enough to know what to do with a kill. It growled louder. The sight made Richard sick.

The teeth dropped the arm and the gar looked at him, as if to ask for help. The wings fluttered with excitement. It was hungry.

Two problems at once.

What difference did it make? She was dead. Her spirit had departed her body and wouldn’t miss it. It would solve two problems at once. Gritting his teeth at the task in mind, he drew the sword.

Pushing back the hungry gar with a leg, Richard took a mighty swing, slashing open a great rent. The little gar pounced.

Richard walked quickly away without looking back. The sounds turned his stomach. Who was he to judge? Lightheaded, he broke into a trot back to the camp. Sweat soaked his shirt. The sword had never felt so heavy at his hip. He tried to put the whole incident out of his head. He thought about the Hartland Woods and wished he were home. He wished he could still be who he had once been.

Sister Verna had just finished currying Jessup and was lifting on his saddle. She eyed him with a sidelong glance before moving to her horse’s head, speaking softly and privately to him as she scratched his chin. Richard took up the curry comb and brushed quickly at Geraldine’s back, cautioning her sharply to stand still and quit turning about. He wanted to be away quickly.

“Did you make sure they wouldn’t find the body?”

His hand with the comb froze on Geraldine’s flanks. “If they find what’s left, they won’t know what happened. I was attacked by gars. They got the body.”

She thought this over silently for a moment. “I thought I heard gars. Well, I guess that will do.” He went back to brushing as she spoke again. “Did you kill them?”

“I killed one.” He considered not telling her, but decided it didn’t matter. “There was a baby gar. I didn’t kill it.”

“Gars are murderous beasts. You should have killed it. Perhaps you should go back and finish it.”

“I can’t. It . . . won’t let me get close enough.”

With a little grunt she pulled the girth strap tight. “You have a bow.”

“What difference does it make? Let’s just be off. All by itself, it will probably die anyway.”

She bent, checking that the strap wasn’t pinching her horse. “Perhaps you’re right. It would be best if we were away from here.”

“Sister? Why haven’t the gars bothered us before?”

“Because I shield against them with my Han. You were too far away, beyond my shields, and so they came for you.”

“So this shield will keep all gars away from us?”

“Yes.”

Well, at least there was one thing the Han was good for.

“Doesn’t that take a lot of power? Gars are big beasts. Isn’t it hard?”

The question brought a small smile to her lips. “Yes, gars are big, and there are other beasts I must shield against, too. All this would take much power. You must always search for the way to accomplish the task using the least amount of Han.”

She stroked her horse’s neck as she went on. “I keep the gars away not by repelling the beasts themselves, but by shielding against their blood flies. It’s much easier. If the flies can’t get through the shield, the gars won’t think there is anything worthwhile and so won’t come to us either. It uses little of my strength this way, yet achieves my aim.”

“Why didn’t you use this shield against the people here? Against the woman tonight?”

“Some of the people in the wilds have charms against our power. That’s why many Sisters die trying to cross. If we knew how these charms or spells worked, we might be able to counter them, but we don’t. It’s a mystery to us.”

Richard finished saddling Geraldine and Bonnie in silence. The Sister waited patiently. He thought she had more to say, about their argument before he had gone to bury the woman, but she remained silent. He decided to speak first, and get it over with.

“Sister Verna, I’m sorry about Sisters Grace and Elizabeth.” He idly stroked Bonnie’s shoulder as he studied the ground. “I said a prayer over their graves. I just wanted you to know that. A prayer to the good spirits to watch over them and treat them well. I didn’t want them to die. You may think otherwise, but I don’t want anyone to die. I’m sick of death. I can’t even eat meat anymore because I can’t stand the thought of anything having to die just to feed me.”

“Thank you for the prayer, Richard, but you must learn that it is only the Creator we must pray to. It is His light that guides. Praying to spirits is heathenish.” She seemed to think better of her harsh tone, and softened it. “But you are unschooled, and would not know that. I can’t fault you for doing the best you could. I’m sure the Creator heard your prayer, and understood its benevolent intent.”

Richard didn’t like her narrow-minded attitude. He thought that perhaps he knew more about spirits than she did. He didn’t know much about this Creator of hers, but he had seen spirits before, both good and bad. He knew you ignored them at your own peril.

Her dogmas seemed as foolish to him as the superstitions of the country people he knew when he had been a guide. They had been full of stories of how people came to be. Each remote area he had visited had its own version of man created from this or that animal or plant. Richard had liked listening to the stories. They were filled with wonder and magic. But they were just stories, rooted in a need to understand how the teller fit into the world. He was not going to accept on faith the things the Sisters said.

He did not think that the Creator was like some king, sitting upon a throne, listening to every petty prayer to come his way. Spirits had been alive once, and they understood the needs of mortals, understood the exigencies of living flesh and blood.

Zedd had taught him that the Creator was simply another name for the force of balance in all things, and not some wise man sitting in judgment.

But what did it matter? He knew people held tightly to their doctrines and were closed-minded about it. Sister Verna believed what she did and he wasn’t going to change it. He had never faulted people for the beliefs they held; he was not about to start now. Such beliefs, true or not, could be a balm.

He pulled the baldric off over his head and held the sword out to her. “I’ve thought about the things you said before. I’ve decided I don’t want the sword anymore.”

Her hands came up and he laid the weight of the sword, scabbard, and baldric in them.

She showed no emotion. “Do you really mean this?”

He nodded. “I do. I am finished with it. The sword is yours now.”

He turned to check his saddle. Even without the sword at his hip, he could still feel the tingle of its magic. He could give up the sword, but the magic was still within him; he was the true Seeker, and could not be rid of that. At least he could be rid of the blade, and thereby the things he did with it.

“You are a very dangerous man, Richard,” she whispered.

He looked back over his shoulder. “That’s why I’m giving you the sword. I don’t want it any longer, and you do, so it’s yours. We’ll see now how you like killing with it.”

He tucked the end of the girth strap through the buckle and drew it tight. He gave Bonnie a gentle pat before turning around. Sister Verna was still holding out the sword.

“Until now I had no idea just how dangerous you are.”

“Not anymore. You have the sword now.”

“I cannot accept it,” she whispered. “It was my duty to take the sword from you when you came back—to test you. There was only one thing you could have done to prevent losing it. And you have done it.” She lifted the sword to him. “There is no man more dangerous than one who is unpredictable. There is no way to forecast what you will do when pushed. It is going to be great trouble. For you. For us.”

Richard didn’t know what she was talking about. “There’s nothing unpredictable about it. You wanted the sword, and I’m weary of the things I do with it, so I gave it to you.”

“You understand, because it is the way you think. Others don’t think that way. You’re an enigma. Worse, your inexplicable behavior comes at the times you need it most. That is the gift at work. You’re using your Han without understanding what you are doing. That is dangerous.”

“One reason for the collar is to open my mind to the gift. That’s what you said. If I’m using the gift, which is what you want me to do, and if it is what I need, then I don’t see how that is dangerous.”

“What you need and what’s right are not necessarily the same. Just because you want something, that does not make it right.” She nodded to the sword. “Take it back. I cannot accept it now. You must keep it.”

“I told you, I don’t want it.”

“Then throw it in the fire. I cannot take it. It’s tainted.”

Richard snatched it out of her hands. “I’m not throwing it in the fire.” He put his head through the baldric and straightened the scabbard at his hip. “I think you’re too superstitious, Sister. It’s just a sword. It is not tainted.”

She was wrong. It was the magic that was tainted, and he had not offered that to her. Even if he wanted to be rid of its magic, all magic, he could not. It was part of him. Kahlan had seen that, and she had rid herself of it. Of him.

She turned from him and mounted Jessup. Her voice was cold and distant. “We must be on our way.”

Richard settled into his saddle and followed after. He hoped the little gar would have a chance at life, after the meal it had needed. He said a silent good-bye to it as he rode into the night behind Sister Verna.

Though he had meant what he said about giving her the sword, he felt strangely relieved to have it back. It belonged with him, and somehow made him whole. Zedd had given it to him; it was what had changed him, but it was also all he had to remind him of his friend and home.