Warheart

CHAPTER 52

At the bottom of the wedge-shaped, circular stairs, the proximity spheres around the excavated, dead-still room beneath the Garden of Life began to glow. The ancient room made of simple stone blocks had been discovered only when its roof collapsed. It was simple and without any decorations, and they had at first thought it was an abandoned storage room of some kind. There were no doors, and there was no way in except down the narrow shaft of spiral stone stairs.

The first time he had seen the room, it reminded Richard of a crypt of some sort that had been sealed and forgotten. In some ways that was exactly what it was, but it was actually much more than that.

Sitting in the center of the plain room was the imposing, square omen machine. The shielded, heavy metal that housed the power of Regula was decoration enough. Each side of the machine had an emblem in the language of Creation, identifying it, almost as a ward to keep everyone away. Around the edges of the room in neat stacks against the walls were thousands of blank metal strips that when fed through the omen machine allowed it to give prophecy directly.

At one time, the machine must have been used for that purpose. By the supply of blank metal strips, it must have once been in heavy use. Richard wondered how many of the books of prophecy, especially those in the People’s Palace, originated with Regula.

Even if books of prophecy were not directly transcribed from the machine, and even if prophecy was not given directly by the machine, Regula was the conduit bringing prophecy into the world of life. Even if it was buried and no longer used to give prophecy directly, it was still in the world of life generating prophecy through the gifted. Even if it had been sent from the underworld to protect it, its presence still constituted a breach between worlds that, much like the poison of death in him, was slowly working toward the extinction of life.

Richard checked the output tray to see if the omen machine had issued any prophecies in his absence. The slot was empty.

Richard leaned over, placing both hands on the cool metal of the machine’s flat top. At his touch, the ground shook with a hard thud as the machine came to life.

He now knew that the apparatus itself was not really Regula. Regula was an underworld power and there was no such mechanical mechanism in the world of the dead. The machine itself was something that had been built by ancient wizards called makers.

Makers were gifted with the ability to create things that had never been before. Richard’s sword was one such item, an ancillary object, created as a worldly means necessary to interact with the power of Orden. In much the same way, the omen machine was merely a worldly mechanism created by makers to house and protect the actual power of Regula. It was a container, something like the boxes that held the power of Orden, as well as a way for the power of Regula to communicate directly with those in the world of life.

With a dull thud that shook the ground more sharply, light shot up from the center of the machine, like lightning in the near darkness, projecting a symbol in the language of Creation up onto the ceiling. The design, drawn in lines of light, slowly rotated as the gears within turned. It was the same symbol for “Regula” that was etched into the sides of the machine.

Nathan scratched his scalp. “That makes my skin crawl. I’ve been down here countless times since you’ve been gone, Richard. The machine never once stirred. Why would it suddenly start up when you touch it? With that poison in you, your magic doesn’t even work.”

Richard smoothed his hand along the rounded edge, caressing the cool metal, feeling the machine vibrate under his touch as all the gears, levers, and wheels inside went about their work of recording something on a metal strip in the language of Creation.

“Regula is from the underworld,” Richard said. “I am fuer grissa ost drauka. Death recognizes me.”

“Oh great,” Nathan muttered. “I didn’t know that they had big metal boxes full of gears in the world of the dead.”

“They don’t,” Richard said, ignoring the old wizard’s sarcasm. “The machine was built to house the power and give it a way to communicate.”

“By who?” Nathan asked.

Richard looked up. “I suspect by the same people who ended up burying it when they didn’t like what it had to say.”

A metal strip dropped into the output tray. The metal strips were hardly bigger than his finger, and soft enough to bend easily. Richard let it sit there for a moment to cool, in case it was hot. Finally he picked it up gingerly and tossed it on the top of the machine to continue cooling, but it had never been hot when it came out of the machine. He knew what that meant, and wasn’t sure if he was glad about it or not.

He flicked it with a finger, turning it around so he could read it. Nathan, Nicci, and Kahlan all leaned in to look at the row of complex symbols burned into the surface of the metal.

“What does it say?” Kahlan asked.

“It says ‘I have been in darkness. I have missed our talks.’”

Nathan scowled. “It recognizes you?”

“I told you. I’m fuer grissa ost drauka. It’s from the world of the dead. Now I have death in me so I am different than anyone else. I probably seem recognizable to it.”

Richard idly rubbed the top of the machine, not quite knowing what to say. He finally said, “I’ve learned a lot about you since I was last here,” directing his words to the machine.

The ground jolted as the machine again started up. The symbol made of light rotated on the ceiling as the internal gears went about their task of pulling out a blank strip to be engraved by the focused beam of light inside. The metal finally dropped into the tray with a clink. This one hadn’t taken as long, and it, too, came out cool.

Richard tossed it on top and then leaned in on his elbows as he translated it. He frowned as he read the message silently to himself.

I know that you are not here for prophecy.

The irony was not lost on him, and in spite of everything, it made him smile. It was almost as if the machine was being flippant–a fault he had and sometimes couldn’t control.

Regula was right, though. Richard hadn’t come for prophecy. He wanted answers. Without telling them what it said, he looked up at the people on both sides of him. “I know this sounds a little … odd, but I think Regula would respond to my questions better–focus on what I’m asking–if we had some privacy.”

Kahlan shot him an irritated look.

“You want us to give you two some time alone?” Nathan asked as he put his fists on his hips.

“It would probably help make it go a lot quicker,” Richard said.

Nicci grasped Kahlan by the upper arm and leaned close to whisper. “After reading the scrolls, I think that maybe Richard knows what he is talking about. I think we should do as he asks.”

Kahlan relented with a sigh. “All right. But hurry, will you, please? We need to get to the containment field.”

Richard showed her a smile with his nod. “Of course.”

When they had all gone back through the doorway to the small landing at the bottom of the spiral stairs, he leaned over again and put both hands on the machine. It immediately sprang to life, drawing another metal strip out of the stack of blanks on the other side and pulling it into the internal gearworks.

When it finally dropped into the tray, Richard picked it up by the edges between thumb and first finger, holding it up to read it.

Written in the symbols of the language of Creation, the machine had asked, Am I going to die?

The question unexpectedly touched Richard’s heart. He had never felt anything for the machine before, but now, after all he had learned and knowing that Regula had been banished from the world of the dead where it belonged, he was seeing it in a different light. It had been sent to the world of life, an alien world, imprisoned in a metal box likely created by makers, and had taken on sentient qualities in order to function in a world where it didn’t belong.

Richard smiled a little as he put a hand on the machine. “In this world, everyone must die. None of us has any choice in that. Our choice is how we wish to live.”

The machine immediately began rumbling as another metal strip was plucked from the stack of blanks. When it was finished being inscribed in the focused beam of light and dropped in the tray, Richard picked it up and set it on the top of the machine to translate the symbols.

A Wizard’s Rule. A very wise one, I believe.

Richard smiled again as he placed his hand on the machine. “Yes, it is.”

The machine again started its gears and levers into motion. The stone floor rumbled as the metal strip made its way through the inner workings to have Regula inscribe it and finally dropped into the tray. Richard glanced back over his shoulder at the others. They were huddled close together, speaking in hushed tones to one another, engaged in what looked like a heated discussion. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they weren’t paying attention to him anymore, and that was what mattered.

He picked up the metal strip and was stunned by what he read.

What is it like to be surprised? Not to know what will happen? Not to know all the possibilities?

This was Regula, the underworld power that regulated the eternal now, speaking directly to him about the nature of his world. Regula knew everything that would happen, everything that could happen. Regula was the grand cosmic knot, a jumble of the eternal now consisting of all possibilities.

Or, at least, it knew almost everything. Free will was beyond its scope.

“That,” Richard said as he placed his hand back on the cold metallic top of the machine, “is the meaning of that Wizard’s Rule. To not know what will happen is to be filled with the possibilities, much the same as you are. For us, it’s sometimes hard to choose from those possibilities. Sometimes we must choose things that are hard and even frightening. Sometimes making those choices is the joyous core of what it means to be alive, to be human.”

A metal plate immediately started through Regula. When it came out, Richard laid it on top with the others to read it.

The dead talk to me. Even here, I can hear the dead talking. Even if they didn’t want to say things when they were alive, they tell me when they are dead.

“That must be … difficult.”

Another strip was drawn through Regula. Richard saw that it had four symbols inscribed on it. He quickly worked out the translation.

This is a cold world. I used to have constellations of souls all around me, all talking to me. But I was sent away. Here, I have no one. I am alone.

Richard put a hand back on the machine, feeling empathy for it for having been buried and forgotten.

“I understand. I’m so sorry.” He said it in a whisper.

Some of the internal gears spun at idle, not producing a metal strip. It gave the machine a quiet humming noise that reminded him of the way a cat might purr.

“Why did they bury you?” he asked when Regula had remained silent, its gears spinning softly, for a time.

He didn’t know who had done it, but it was obvious that someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to bury the Regula device and insure that it was not found.

Finally the gears slowly, almost reluctantly, spun up to speed. Levers clacked into the stops, rods rotated, and steel arms turned as the device began using light to inscribe another message on a metal plate.

Richard pulled out the cool metal strip and tossed it on the top, leaning on his forearm as he translated it.

Because I knew too much.

Richard couldn’t help but to chuckle. “I guess they didn’t know you. You can’t help it. You are only behaving according to your nature.”

Another metal strip immediately started through and a message burned into it.

You understand. No one before has ever understood. You understand because you are the Warheart.

The last symbol Richard had seen only once before. He had only just learned its meaning from the Cerulean scrolls.

He smiled sadly. “You have just done something against your nature. You have acted of free will and told me something that you did not need to say.”

When the answer came through, Richard puzzled over it.

It was not against my nature. It is prophecy, one of them that has been true.

Richard nodded. “I guess that maybe you’re right.”

Another metal strip ran through and finally dropped out. Richard bent down and picked it up.

Why do I exist?

He sighed. “You are a part of the underworld. You are meant to regulate certain things there–things the dead tell you. You are the keeper of the eternal now.”

Immediately another metal strip came through.

That is my purpose in that world. Prophecy says that I was sent here to fulfill my purpose, but not what that purpose is. What is my purpose here, in this world?

Richard stared at the metal box that now somehow seemed alive to him. “You are the keeper of the eternal now. How can you not know your purpose?”

The machine hardly paused before inscribing its answer.

Because you act on free will. You determine my purpose.

It felt like the machine was feeling him out, prodding him to say the right thing.

“I believe you have answered your own question about what is it like not to know what will happen. Not to know all the possibilities. You only have to ask yourself what it is like to be surprised. Maybe you are coming to understand the Wizard’s Rule?”

As Regula waited, Richard leaned over and rested both hands on the machine. “My choice is to help you get back to the world where you belong before your presence here destroys the world of life. That will help you be where you belong. Your purpose is to help me.”

The machine sat still and quiet, as if considering, or maybe testing his words against some kind of original constraints. The ground suddenly thumped as Regula started up again, snatching a metal strip out of the stack in the bin. Richard peered down through the thick, wavy viewing glass, watching the plate move through the tracks and gears, being pulled along by metal pincers. When Regula was finished inscribing the symbols of the message, it dropped the metal strip into the bin. Richard stared at it for a moment before picking it up and carefully laying it on top of the machine.

He stared at what it said, what it confirmed in his mind.

The lost are among us. You are their only hope. You are the Warheart. Do what you must. Act according to the Wizard’s Rule.

He knew exactly what it meant. He remembered Naja Moon’s words written on the cave wall in Stroyza.

Before he could say anything, Regula jumped to life again, but this time with an abrupt thud. Four metal plates were pulled into the machine, one right after the other. The machine rumbled as the strips ran their course through the gears and inner workings. This time, though, it sounded somehow different.

When the first dropped into the tray, he saw it steaming. He gingerly tested it with a finger. The metal strip was scalding hot. He knew what that meant.

It said, My children are coming.

The second hot metal strip emerged from the machine. He let it cool for a moment before picking it up.

They will devour you all.

The third plate said, Retribution is finally at hand.

The last plate plinked down into the tray. Richard plucked the hot strip out of the tray and tossed it on top of Regula.

Here they come.

He knew exactly what was happening. Emperor Sulachan and Hannis Arc had taken control of what the omen machine said. They were using it. They had done it before. When they did, the metal strips always came out hot.

This time they were telling him that the invasion of the palace was about to begin. It was their way to announce their arrival to strike paralyzing fear into their victims.