Stone of Tears

Chapter 31

Richard watched the horses eating grass that wasn’t there, and scratched his itchy beard. The surface of the valley was baked and barren, but the horses seemed contented in their grazing, as if there were lush green grass beneath their feet. Illusion, it seemed, deluded and enticed even the horses. He wondered what wasn’t there that he was going to see.

Sister Verna at last moved, pulling up on Jessup’s lead line, pulling him away from his browsing. “This way.”

Ominous, dark clouds hugged the ground ahead, boiling as if alive and eagerly awaiting them. Richard pulled the other two horses on, following after the Sister. She had told them that they must walk because the horses could be suddenly spooked by things unseen and could carry them, helpless, into a spell.

Sister Verna abruptly altered her course across the featureless ground, taking them a little to the right. The dark cloud of dust and dirt lifted and tumbled, driven by the gusts that, as of yet, didn’t touch them. Sister Verna looked over her shoulder, her expression as dark as the cloud.

“Whatever you see, you ignore it. Whatever it is, it isn’t real. You just ignore it. Do you understand?”

“What am I going to see?”

She redirected her attention to the way ahead. Her white blouse was damp with sweat, as was his shirt. “I can’t tell you. The spells seek those things in your own mind you fear or long for, so everyone sees different things. Yet some visions are the same. Some fears are the same in all of us. Some of the magic we will see is not visions, but real. Like those clouds of dust.”

“And what did you see the last time that you’re so afraid of?”

She walked in silence for a time. “One I loved.”

“If she was a loved one, why would you be afraid to see her?”

“Because he tried to kill me.”

Richard blinked at the stinging sweat in his eyes. “He? Do you have a man you love, Sister?”

She watched the ground as she walked. “Not anymore.” Her voice was soft with sorrow. She glanced up at him a moment, before seeking the ground once more with her eyes. “When I was young, I had a love. Jedidiah.”

She was silent, so he asked. “He is not your love anymore?” She shook her head. “Why not?”

Pausing only a moment, she wiped her brow with a finger before moving on. “I was young, perhaps younger than you, when I left the Palace of the Prophets. Left to find you. We didn’t know if you had been born yet. We knew that if you had not been, you would be, but we didn’t know when, so three Sisters were sent.

“But that was many years ago. I’ve spent better than half my life away from the palace. From Jedidiah.” She stopped again, peering first right, then left, before starting ahead once more. “He will have long ago forgotten me, and found another.”

“If he really loved you, Sister, he won’t have forgotten you and found another. You haven’t forgotten him.”

She tugged on her horse’s line, pulling him away from something he wanted to investigate. “Too many years have passed. We’ve grown older apart. I have grown old. We are not the same people we were. He is one with the gift, and has his own life. It would not include me.”

“You’re not old, Sister. If you really love each other, time shouldn’t matter.” He wondered if he was talking about her, or himself.

Sister Verna gave a soft, private laugh. “Youth. Youth holds much hope, but not much wisdom. I know the ways of people. Of men. He has been too long from my skirts. He will long ago have sought another.”

Richard felt himself blushing in the heat. “Love has more to it than that.”

“Ah, so you know so much of love, yes? You, too, will soon be searching the charms of a new pair of pretty legs.”

Richard was about to vent a rush of sudden anger when Sister Verna stopped. She looked up. The dark cloud swirled in, closing in on them.

From somewhere, Richard heard the faint sound of someone screaming his name.

“Something is wrong,” Sister Verna whispered to herself.

“What is it?”

She ignored him, pulling Jessup to the left. “This way.”

Lightning lit the air about them. A blinding bolt struck the ground ahead, sending a shower of the chalky earth skyward. The ground shook with the impact. Every muscle flinched from the nearness of the strike.

When the lightning tore the dark wall open for an instant, Richard saw Kahlan. She was standing, watching him. And then she was gone.

“Kahlan?”

Sister Verna reversed course. “This way. Now! Richard, I told you, it is not real. Whatever you saw, you must ignore it.”

He knew it was an illusion, but the sight ran a sharp pang of longing through him. He groaned inwardly. Why did the magic have to attract him with visions of her? His own mind, Sister Verna had said, would bring forth the things he feared, or those for which he longed. Which was this, he wondered, fear or longing?

“Is the lightning real?”

“Real enough to kill us. But it’s not lightning in the sense of what you know. This is a storm of spells that are battling each other. The lightning is a discharge of their power as they fight each other. At the same time, it also seeks to destroy any intruder. Our way is among the gaps in their battle.”

Again, he heard the distant scream of his name, but it wasn’t Kahlan’s voice. It was a man’s voice.

Another lightning bolt struck directly in front of them. He and the Sister both protectively threw an arm up before their faces. The horses didn’t start. It must be as the Sister said; horses would have panicked had it been real lightning.

As the dirt thrown up by the lightning rained down around them, Sister Verna turned and snatched him by his shirtsleeve.

“Richard, listen to me. Something is wrong. The way is shifting too fast. I’m not able to feel it as I should be able to.”

“Why would that be? You’ve been through here before. You were able to do it before.”

“I don’t know. We don’t know a great deal about this place. It’s tainted with magic we don’t entirely understand. It could be that the magic has learned to recognize me, from when I was here before. Going through more than twice is not possible. Going through the second time is said to be more difficult than the first. It could just be that. But it might be something else.”

“What something else? You mean me?”

Her eyes glanced past him to things she was seeing, but he knew weren’t there. She refocused her gaze on him. “No, not you. If it were you, I would still be able to feel the pass as I did before, but I can’t. I can only feel it some of the time. I think it’s because of what happened with Sisters Elizabeth and Grace.”

“What do they have to do with it?”

The dark storm was all about them now, swirling and howling. Their clothes flapped in the gusts. He had to squint against the dust.

“In their death, they passed on their gift. That is the reason they gave their lives when you refused the offer, to pass their gift to the next, to make her stronger so she might succeed at the next try.”

That was why he had felt the pull to accept the collar more strongly each time the offer had been made. Kahlan had said that that might have been the reason they killed themselves when he refused—to add to their power, make them stronger.

“You mean you have the power, the Han, of the other Sisters?”

She nodded as her eyes darted about. “It gives me the power of all three.” Her eyes came back to his. “It could be that I have too much power to make it through.” She clutched his shirt tighter and pulled him closer to her face. “If I don’t make it, you must go on alone, try to make it on your own.”

“What! I don’t know how to make it through. I don’t feel anything of the spells about us.”

“Don’t argue with me! You felt the lightning. You felt that much of it. One without the gift would not feel it until it was too late. You must try.”

“Sister, you will be all right. You will sense the way.”

“But if I don’t, you must try. Ignore anything you see that tempts you. Richard, if I die, you must try to make it through, to the Palace of the Prophets.”

“If anything happens to you, I’ll try to make it back to the Midlands. It’s closer.”

She gave a sharp tug on his shirt. “No! Must you always challenge what I tell you?” She scowled at him a moment before letting her expression cool. “Richard, if you don’t have a Sister to teach you to control the gift, you will die. The collar alone will not save you. You must have a sister for the Rada’Han to be of use. Without a Sister, it would be like having lungs, but no air to fill them. We are the air. Some of us have already given our lives to help you. Don’t let them die in vain.”

He took her hand from his shirt and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re going to make it. I promise you, you’ll make it. If there is anything I can do to help, I’ll try. Don’t be afraid. Ignore what you’re seeing. Isn’t that what you said?”

She released an exasperated breath and then took her hand back, turning away. “You don’t know the things I see.” She looked over her shoulder, squinting at him. “Don’t test me, Richard, I’m not in the mood. You do as you’re told.”

Richard heard the thunder of horse’s hooves as Sister Verna quickly led them ahead. The darkness swirled around them as lightning crackled through it. He found it difficult to accept the calmness of the horses. Could it be that he really was using the gift to feel it?

To his left, the wall of dust lifted. Light beyond shone through. Richard stared at the sight. It was the Hartland Woods, the woods he knew, longed to return to. They were here before him. He had only to step through. The peace of the place he stared at made him ache with longing, as if stepping through to them would be his salvation.

But he knew it was an illusion, a spell of longing meant to trap him, and let him wander for all time in ensorcellment. He wondered what would be so bad about that, even if it wasn’t real. If it was a place he loved, and he would be happy there, what would be so bad about that?

He heard his name called again, again in a scream. Horses’ hooves were almost upon him. He spun around, realizing it was Chase’s voice screaming his name.

“Ignore it, Richard,” came the Sister’s growl. “Keep moving.”

Richard longed for his friend as much as he longed for the Hartland Woods. He walked backward, watching.

Chase was riding at a full gallop, his black cloak flying behind, his weapons glinting in the light of the merciless sun. The horse was covered with lather. Someone else was with him, in his lap. Richard squinted, trying to see better, and realized it was Rachel. That was natural; Rachel would be with Chase. Rachel was screaming his name, too. Richard watched the illusion as it bore down upon him.

Something about Rachel riveted his attention. Something about her gave Richard the strong sense of Zedd’s presence. His eyes were lured to an amber stone hanging by a gold chain about her neck. The sight of the stone drew Richard’s interest as if it were Zedd himself calling to him.

“Richard!” Chase was screaming. “Don’t go in there! Don’t go in there! Zedd needs you! The veil is torn! Richard!”

Chase suddenly drew the horse to a skidding stop. Richard took slow, backward steps as he watched the illusion. Chase had gone calm, and was no longer screaming. With Rachel in his arms he dismounted, looking about in wonder. The dust was passing between them again, and Richard was having difficulty seeing his old friend. Chase set Rachel down and took her hand as they both turned about, staring off at nothing. Richard thought that an odd thing for a vision to do, but then decided it must just be a way of trying to entice him to go see what they were looking at.

Richard turned to the Sister as she called his name. “Come on, or I’ll make you wish I had left you here! You mustn’t stop!” She surveyed each side as she moved ahead. “This opening is closing around us. Hurry, before we’re trapped.”

Richard glanced behind. The vision was disappearing beyond the swirling darkness. Chase and Rachel appeared to be walking off toward something. The roiling clouds passed between Richard and the vision of his friends, and they were gone.

Richard trotted to catch up with Sister Verna. He wondered at the reason for such an odd vision. Why would the magic pick those two from his mind to tempt him? They had seemed so real. It had felt as if he could have reached out and touched the two of them. Perhaps the magic was trying to seduce him in to following someone he trusted with his life. But it had seemed so real; Chase had looked so desperate.

He cautioned himself to pay attention. Of course it seemed real to him. That was the whole purpose of the magic: to appear real in order to fool you, to draw you in. It wouldn’t be very effective magic if it didn’t seem real.

Richard put a hand to Jessup’s flanks as he came up behind him, to let him know he was there and keep from startling him. He ran the hand along the length of the muscular horse as he trotted by, pulling Bonnie and Geraldine along by their lines in his other hand.

Richard gave Jessup a pat on the neck as he went past. Jessup dropped his head and once again browsed at grass that wasn’t there, his lead line dragging the ground. Richard froze in his tracks.

Sister Verna was gone.

Lightning exploded in every direction with deafening noise. A bolt blasted the ground at his feet. He leapt to the side to avoid the next strike. His hair seemed to stand on end as the lightning hit. He could feel the searing heat. His vision was laced with blue-white afterimages of the jagged flashes.

Richard screamed out the Sister’s name as he gathered up the lead lines, pulling the horses on as he frantically scanned about. The lightning seemed to follow him, striking the ground repeatedly where seconds ago he had been.

Balls of flame ignited in the air, shrieking as they came apart. It seemed as if the very air burned. The wail of the fire was everywhere. Richard ran toward the gaps left after each dissipated, dodging the lightning and the flames, covering his head with a hand, even though he knew that if the magic hit him, that hand wouldn’t save him. The cacophony seemed enough to drive a person mad. The dark dust clouds prevented him from seeing anything, if indeed there was anything to see. He ran on, heedless of direction, just trying to avoid the blue bolts and yellow flames.

Abruptly, the corner of white, polished marble walls loomed up before him. Lurching to a panting halt, he looked up, but couldn’t see the top; it disappeared into the dark cloud above. A strike that was too close for comfort started him running again, pulling the three horses behind. The middle of the wall had an arched opening in it. Rounding the corner, he found that that wall, too, held an arched opening.

As he ran, he counted. Each of the five sides of the structure was about thirty strides. In the center of each wall was an arched opening six strides wide, and about as tall. He stopped, catching his breath, outside one of the openings. It was empty inside, and through the opening he could see each arch in the other walls.

Lightning hammered the ground, flinging dirt into the air. He threw his arms up in front of his face. The strikes marched toward him, their sound thundering in his ears. He had nowhere to go. He let go of the horses and dove through the arch, rolling across the sandy ground inside.

Silence echoed in his ears as he sat up, leaning back on his hands. Inside the structure was barren, empty. The air wasn’t sweltering, as it had been outside, but felt almost cool in comparison, and smelled sweet, like a grassy meadow.

Through the arched openings he could see the boiling black clouds that hugged the ground. The lightning arced violently, but its sound was only a dim rumble. The horses wandered slowly, grazing on the grass that wasn’t there.

This must be one of the Towers of Perdition Sister Verna had told him about. The interior of the walls soared up into the darkness high above, and were black with the results of Wizard’s Life Fire. Richard ran a finger through the black grit and tasted it. He winced at the bitter tang it left on his tongue. The wizard who had died to give his life to this fire had not done so willingly; he had done it to save himself the torture of what they had intended to do to him, or perhaps what they were doing to him.

The ground was covered with white sand that sparkled with prismatic light. It was drifted into the corners, like snow. Richard remembered seeing sand like this before. It was in the People’s Palace, in the Garden of Life, in a circle in the center of the room. Darken Rahl had drawn spells in that sparkling white sand when he had been trying to open the boxes of Orden.

Richard paced around the inside of the tower, trying to decide what to do. It seemed safe in this place, but for how long? Surely, sooner or later, the magic would find him.

Maybe the seeming safety of this place was simply an enchantment meant to trap him, keep him here for all time, afraid to venture out.

He couldn’t stay. He had to find the Sister. She needed his help. She was afraid. He had told her she would make it through.

But why should he want to help her? She kept him prisoner. If he left her here, he would be free. But free to do what? If she didn’t help him learn to control the gift, he would die. Or so she said.

Richard turned at a sound from behind. Kahlan stepped out of the darkness of an archway. Her long hair didn’t flow over her shoulders, but was tied back in a single braid. Instead of her white Confessor’s dress, she wore the red leather of a Mord-Sith.

Richard stood stiffly, his chest heaving. “Kahlan, I refuse to think of you in this way, even in an illusion drawn from my own mind.”

She arched an eyebrow. “But isn’t this what you fear most?”

“Change it, or be gone.”

The red leather shimmered and became the white Confessor’s dress he knew so well. The braid came undone.

“Better, my love? I’m afraid it still won’t save you. I have come to kill you. Die with honor. Defend yourself.”

Richard drew the Sword of Truth. The unique ring of its steel echoed throughout the tower. Wrath surged through him as the magic was loosed. He endured with detached misery the sensation of murderous need while looking upon the face of the only person who made his life worth living.

His knuckles tightened on the braided, wire hilt, on the bumps of the word Truth. His jaw muscles flexed as he gritted his teeth. He felt a rush of understanding at how the wizards could have made Life Fire, and have given themselves into it, rather than endure what was to be done to them. Some things were worse than death.

Richard tossed the sword to the ground at Kahlan’s feet.

“Not even in an illusion, Kahlan. I would rather die.”

Her green eyes shone with a sad, timeless, knowing look. “Better you had died, my love, that you wouldn’t see what I have come to show you. It will bring you more pain than death.”

Her eyes closed as she sank to her knees, leaning forward, bending into a deep bow. The whole of the time she was slumping forward, her hair shortened. By the time her head touched the sparkling white sand, her hair looked as if it had been chopped short, close to the nape of her neck.

“This must be, or the Keeper will escape. Stopping it will aid him, and he will have us all. Speak if you must these words, but not of this vision.” Without looking up, she spoke in a detached rote.

“Of all there were, but a single one born of the magic to bring forth truth will remain alive when the shadow’s threat is lifted. Therefore comes the greater darkness of the dead. For there to be a chance at life’s bond, this one in white must be offered to her people, to bring their joy and good cheer.”

As Richard stood staring at the illusion, at the back of her head, a ring of blood blossomed around her neck. Richard’s breath halted. As if it had been cleaved off, Kahlan’s head tumbled away. Her body fell to its side, blood gushing, spreading in a pool beneath it, turning the white sand and white dress to red.

Richard drew a gasp of a breath.

“Noooo!”

His chest heaved. He felt his fingernails cutting into his palms. His toes curled in his boots.

It’s an illusion, he told himself as he shook. An illusion. Nothing more. An illusion meant to terrorize him.

Kahlan stared up at him with flat, dead green eyes. Though he knew it had to be an illusion, it nonetheless was working. Panic paralyzed his legs; fright raced recklessly through his mind.

The image of Kahlan wavered and then vanished suddenly as Sister Verna stormed through an archway to the side.

“Richard!” she shrieked in fury. “What are you doing in here! I told you to stay with me! Can’t you follow the simplest instructions? Must you always act like a child!”

She took two strides forward, her face red with rage.

His heart thumped violently with the pain of what he had just seen. He blinked at Sister Verna. He was in an ill humor to tolerate the surly side of her disposition. “You were gone. I couldn’t find you. I looked but . . .”

“Don’t talk back to me!” Her curls sprang up and down as she yelled. “I’ve had all the talk from you I can stomach. I told you I was in no mood for it. My patience is at an end, Richard.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but the collar yanked him backward, his feet leaving the ground. It felt as if he had been jerked by a rope around his neck. With a grunt he slammed into the wall. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs and the sense from his head. He hung, his feet clear of the ground, pinned to the wall by the Rada’Han. The collar was choking him. He tried to focus his eyes, but his vision only blurred uselessly.

“It’s time you had a lesson I should have given long ago,” the Sister said in a growl as she stalked toward him. “I have suffered enough of your disobedience. I will suffer it no longer.”

Richard struggled to breathe. Each breath burned as he drew it through the constriction at his neck. His vision cleared and finally focused on Sister Verna’s face. His anger heated.

“Sister . . . don’t . . .”

Pain took his words. It ignited in his chest with such intense burning force it made his fingers tingle. He couldn’t draw a breath to scream.

“I’ve had enough of your words. I will hear no more. No more of your excuses, your arguments, your harsh judgments. From now on, you will do as you are told, when you are told, and you will offer me no more of your insolence.”

She took another step toward him. Her expression twisted with menace. “Do we understand each other!”

She somehow made the pain worse. He shook with the crushing hurt in his chest. Stinging tears flooded from his wide eyes.

“I asked you a question! Do we understand each other!”

Air rushed into his lungs. “Sister Verna . . . I’m warning you . . . don’t do this or . . .”

“You are warning me! You are warning me!”

White-hot pain knifed through his chest, twisting tighter with each breath. A scream ripped from his lungs. His worst fears were coming to life. This was what wearing a collar had brought him to, again. This was what the Sisters had in mind for him. This was his fate, if he allowed it.

Richard called the sword’s magic.

Summoned by its master, the power swept into him, hot with promise, hot with wrath, hot with need. Richard welcomed it, embraced it, letting his own rage join with the rage of the sword and spiral through him. His fury consumed the pain, using it to draw power.

“Don’t you dare fight me, or I will make you rue the day you were born!”

Fiery flames of agony bloomed anew. Richard drew them into the wrath. Though he wasn’t touching the sword, he didn’t need to. He was one with the magic, and he called forth all its force now.

“Stop this,” he managed through gritted teeth. “Or I will.”

Sister Verna, with her fists at her side, stepped closer.

“Now you threaten me? I warned you before about threatening me. You have made your last mistake, Richard.”

Though he was nearly blinded by the pain she suddenly unleashed into him, he was able to see one thing. The Sword of Truth. It lay in the sand, near the Sister.

The Seeker focused the sword’s magic into the power that bound him to the wall. With a loud crack, the bond broke and he tumbled away from the wall, rolling through the sand.

His hands found the sword.

Sister Verna charged toward him. He came up swinging the sword in an arc. The need for her blood seared through his soul, beyond retrieval. Nothing else mattered.

Bringer of death.

He didn’t try to direct the track of the blade, but simply focused his need to kill into the power of its swing.

The sword’s tip whistled through the air.

Bringer of death.

The blade exploded through the Sister at shoulder level. The cool air erupted with a spray of hot blood, the smell of it filling his nostrils as the sight of it filled his vision. Her head and part of her shoulders tumbled up into the air as the blade severed her in two. Blood and bone hit the walls. The lower half of her body collapsed fluidly to the ground. Blood soaked into the white sand, spreading beneath her. What was left of her shoulders and head hit the ground a good ten feet away, sending up a spray of white sand. The gore of her insides glistened in a line away from the body.

Richard collapsed to his knees, panting, the pain finally gone. He had told himself he would not allow this to be done to him again. He had meant it.

Like a distant memory, his insides ached with the pain of what he had done. It had all happened so fast, before he had had time to think. He had used the sword’s magic to take a life, and the magic would want its due.

He didn’t care. It was nothing to compare to the pain of what she had been doing to him, what she would have done to him. As he focused on the rage, the pain evaporated and was gone.

But what was he going to do now? He needed the Sisters to teach him how to keep the gift from killing him. He would die without Sister Verna’s help. How could he go to the other Sisters and ask for their help, now? Had he just sentenced himself to death, too?

But he would not allow them to hurt him any more. He would not.

He knelt, recovering, resting on his heels, trying to think. In front of him, near the side of Sister Verna’s body, lay the little book she had kept tucked behind her belt. It was the little book in which she was always writing.

Richard picked it up and thumbed through the pages. It was blank. No, not entirely. Near the back, there were two pages with writing.

Richard reflected on the fact that Sister Verna had been temperamental even in her writing. He looked to the next page. It was in a different hand.

Well, it looked as if Sister Verna had managed to raise the ire of someone besides himself. He tossed the book back on the ground next to her. He sat staring at her body, at what he had done. What was he going to do now?

He heard a sigh, and lifted his head to see Kahlan, in her white Confessor’s dress, standing again in an archway. With a sad expression, she slowly shook her head.

“And you wonder why I would send you away.”

“Kahlan, you don’t understand. You don’t know what she was going to . . .”

A quiet laugh drew his attention to the other side of the room. Darken Rahl stood in another archway, his white robes aglow.

Richard felt the scar of his father’s handprint on his chest tingle and burn with heat.

“The Keeper welcomes you, Richard.” Darken Rahl’s grim smile widened. “You make me proud, my son.”

With a scream, Richard tore across the sand, the rage ignited anew. Sword first, he launched himself at Darken Rahl.

The glowing form evaporated as Richard flew through the archway. Laughter echoed and then faded.

Outside the tower, the lightning went wild. Three hot bolts traced through the darkness toward him. Instinctively, he lifted the sword as a shield. The lightning struck the sword, flashing and twisting like a snake in a snare. Thunder jarred the ground beneath his feet.

Richard squinted against the blinding light. He gritted his teeth with the strain of forcing the sword downward, taking the flaring, liquid lines of fire with it. They dulled and diminished as they were dragged to the ground, where they writhed, hissing as if in death, until at last they faded and were gone.

“Enough of these visions.”

Richard angrily sheathed his sword and collected the horses from their grazing. He didn’t know where he was going to go, but he was getting away from this tower, away from the dead Sister. Away from what he had done.