Wizard's First Rule

Chapter 26

Dropping their packs, they both ran out the door, heading for the open area where they had last seen Savidlin. Both screamed out Siddin’s name. As they ran, splashing through the mud, people scattered out of the way. By the time they reached the open area, the crowd was in a panic, not knowing what was happening, and were sweeping back for the shelter of the buildings. The elders retreated on the platform. The Bird Man stretched up, trying to see. The band of hunters behind him nocked arrows to their bowstrings.

She saw Savidlin, frightened and confused that they were calling out his son’s name.

“Savidlin!” Kahlan screamed. “Find Siddin! Don’t let him open the pouch he has!”

Savidlin paled, whirled around, searching, then ran off in a half crouch, looking for his son, his head darting among the running people. Kahlan didn’t see Weselan anywhere. Richard and Kahlan separated, widening their search. The area was turning to mass confusion—she had to push people out of her way. Kahlan’s heart was in her throat. If Siddin opened the pouch . . .

And then she saw him.

As people cleared the center of the village, there he was, paying no attention to the panic all around him as he sat in the mud, shaking the leather pouch in his little fist, trying to get the stone out.

“Siddin! No!” she yelled at him over and over, running toward him.

He couldn’t hear her screams. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to get it out. He was just a defenseless little boy. Please, she begged in her mind, let the fates be kind to him.

The stone dropped from the pouch and plopped into the mud. Siddin smiled and picked it up. Kahlan felt her skin go cold.

Shadow things began to materialize all around. They turned like wisps of mist in the damp air, as if looking about. Then they floated for Siddin.

Richard ran for him, screaming over at her, “Get the stone! Put it back in the pouch!”

His sword flashed through the air, cutting through the shadows as he ran in a straight line for Siddin. When the sword sliced through them, they howled in agony and spun apart. Upon hearing the terrifying wails Siddin looked up and froze—wide-eyed.

Kahlan yelled at him to put the stone back in the pouch, but he could not move. He was hearing other voices. She ran faster than she had ever run, weaving back and forth around the dense knots of shadows as they floated toward the boy.

Something dark and small zipped past her, making her breath catch in her throat. Then another, behind her. Arrows. The air suddenly became thick with arrows, the Bird Man having ordered his hunters to bring down the shadows. Every one went true and found its mark, but they simply passed through the shadow things as if they were whizzing through smoke. Poison tipped arrows were flying wildly everywhere. She knew that if one even nicked her or Richard, they were dead. Now she had to dodge the arrows as well as the shadows. She heard another whistle past her ear as she ducked at the last second. One skipped in the mud and flew past her leg.

Richard had reached the boy, but couldn’t grab the stone. All he was able to do was frantically strike down the advancing shadows. He couldn’t pause to try for the stone.

Kahlan was still a long way off, not able to run in as Richard had, cutting through them. She knew that if she inadvertently touched a shadow, she was dead. There were so many materializing around her the very air was like a gray maze. Richard fought around the boy in a circle that got smaller all the time. He held the sword in both hands, swinging it wildly. He dared not slow for an instant or they would close over him. There was no end to the shadow things.

Kahlan couldn’t make any headway. The shadows, floating past her from all around, and the arrows streaking by, cut her off at every turn, the arrows forcing her to jump back just as she went for an opening. She knew Richard wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. Hard as he fought, he was falling back in a tighter and tighter circle, closer to the boy. She was their only chance, and she wasn’t even close.

Another arrow zipped past, the feather flicking her hair.

“Stop the arrows!” she yelled angrily at the Bird Man. “Stop shooting the arrows! You’re going to kill us!”

Frustrated, he recognized her plight and reluctantly called a halt to the archers. But then they all drew knives and quickly advanced on the shadows. They had no idea what they were up against. They would be killed to the last man.

“No!” she screamed, shaking her fists. “If you touch them you will die! Stay back!”

The Bird Man held his arm up, stopping his men. She knew how helpless he felt as he watched her dart back among the shadows, angling slowly closer to Richard and Siddin.

She heard another voice. It was Toffalar, yelling.

“Stop them! They are destroying our ancestors’ spirits! Shoot them with your arrows! Shoot the outsiders!”

Hesitantly, looking at one another, the archers nocked arrows to their bows once again. They could not disobey one of the elders.

“Shoot them!” he yelled, red-faced, shaking his fist. “You heard me! Shoot them.”

They brought up their bows. Kahlan crouched, preparing to try to jump out of the way once the arrows were loosed. The Bird Man stepped in front of his men, holding his arm out, across them, countermanding the order. There were words she couldn’t hear between him and Toffalar. She wasted no time, and took the opportunity to work her way forward, ducking under the outstretched arms of the floating shadow things.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Toffalar. He had a knife and was running toward her. She dismissed the danger—sooner or later he would run into a shadow and be killed. He stopped here and there to plead with the shadow things. She couldn’t hear his voice above the wails. The next time she looked he had closed most of the distance. It was unbelievable that he hadn’t run into one. Somehow the gaps just opened for him as he ran heedlessly, recklessly, for her, his face contorted in rage. Still, she didn’t worry that he could make it—soon he had to touch one, and would be dead.

Kahlan gained the rest of the open ground, but found the ring of shadows around Richard and Siddin an impenetrable gray wall. There was no opening. She dodged right, and left, trying to find a way in, but couldn’t get through. She was so close, yet so far, and the trap was closing around her, too. Several times she barely escaped by stepping back before shadows converged. Richard snatched glimpses to see where she was. He tried to fight through to her a number of times, but was forced to turn to the other side to keep the shadows from Siddin.

With a start, she saw the knife slashing through the air. Toffalar had reached her. Lost in hate, he screamed things she couldn’t even understand. But she understood the knife, what he intended. He intended to kill her. She dodged his slash. It was her opening.

And then she made a mistake.

She started to reach to touch Toffalar, but caught sight of Richard looking toward her. She faltered at the thought of him seeing her use her power. She hesitated, and let Toffalar have the instant he needed. Richard screamed her name in warning, then turned to fight back the shadows from behind him.

Toffalar’s knife came up, hitting her right arm, deflecting off the bone.

Shock and pain ignited her rage. Rage at her own stupidity. She did not miss the opening a second time. Her left hand came up and caught Toffalar by the throat. She felt her grip shut off his air for an instant. She needed only to touch him—grabbing him by the throat was a reflex of her rage, not her power.

Though there were terrified screams and shouts coming from people all around, and the horrifying wails from the shadows Richard was destroying wholesale, her mind went suddenly quiet, calm. There was no sound in her head. Only silence. The silence of what she was going to do.

In the calm spark of an instant that to her twisted for an eternity, she saw the look of fear in Toffalar’s eyes, the realization of his fate. She saw in his eyes his railing against that end, felt his muscles beginning to tense, to fight her, his hands starting the ever so slow, hopeless journey to her grip at his throat.

But he had no chance, not the slightest glimmer. She was in control now. Time was hers. He was hers. She felt no pity. No remorse. Only deadly calm.

As she had done countless times before, in her calm, the Mother Confessor relaxed her restraint. Released at last, her power slammed into Toffalar’s body.

There was a hard impact to the air—thunder with no sound. Water in the puddles around her danced and flung muddy droplets into the air.

Toffalar’s eyes went wide. The muscles of his face went slack. His mouth fell open.

“Mistress!” he called out in a reverent whisper.

The calm expression on her face contorted with anger. With all her strength she shoved Toffalar backward, at the ring of shadows around Richard and Siddin. Arms flung in the air, he fell into the shadows and screamed at the contact before falling to the mud. Somehow, the contact opened a brief, small gap in the ring of shadows. Without hesitation she dove for it, flinging herself through an instant before it closed behind her.

Kahlan threw herself over Siddin.

“Hurry!” Richard yelled.

Siddin didn’t look at her—his face was fixed on the shadows, his mouth open, all his muscles locked. She tried to get the stone from his tight little fist, but his fingers were fastened around it with the strength of his fright. She snatched the pouch from his other hand. Gripping the pouch and his wrist with her left hand, she started prying his little fingers off the stone with the right, begging him the whole time to let go. He didn’t hear her. Blood ran down her arm to her shaking hand, mixing with the rain, making her fingers slippery.

A shadowy hand reached for her face. She flinched back. The sword hissed past her face, through the shadow. It added its wail to the others. Siddin’s eyes were transfixed on the shadows, all his muscles rigid. Richard was right over her, swinging the sword in weaving patterns all around. There was no more ground to give. It was just the three of them now. Siddin’s slippery fingers wouldn’t open.

Gritting her teeth with an effort that sent searing pain through the wound in her right arm, she finally raked the stone out of Siddin’s hand. Because of the blood and mud, it shot from her fingers like a melon seed, plopping in the mud by her knee. Almost instantly her hand was over it, snatching it back up in a scoopful of mud. She jammed it in the pouch and yanked the drawstring closed. Gasping, she looked up.

The shadows stopped. She could hear Richard’s heavy breathing as he continued slashing at them. Slowly at first, the shadows began moving back, as if confused, lost, searching. Then they dissolved back into the air, retreating to the underworld whence they had come. In a moment, they were gone. Except for Toffalar’s body, the three of them were in an empty expanse of mud.

Kahlan, rain running off her face, took Siddin into her arms, hugging him tight against her as he began crying. In exhaustion, Richard closed his eyes and collapsed to his knees, sitting back on his heels. His head hung down as he panted.

“Kahlan,” Siddin whimpered, “they were calling my name.”

“I know,” she whispered in his ear, kissing it, “it’s all right now. You were very brave. Brave as any hunter.”

He hugged his arms around her neck as she comforted him. She felt weak, shaky. They had almost lost their lives, to save a single one. Something she had told him the Seeker must not do, yet they had done it without a second thought. How could they not have tried? Having Siddin’s arms around her made it all worth it. Richard was still holding the sword in both hands—its tip sunk in the mud. She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder.

At the touch of her hand, his head instantly snapped up and the sword whipped around toward her, stopping in front of her face. Kahlan jumped with surprise. Fury at Richard’s wide eyes.

“Richard,” she said, startled, “it’s just me. It’s over. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

He let his muscles go limp, let himself fall over onto his side in the mud.

“Sorry,” he managed, still trying to catch his breath. “When your hand touched me . . . I guess I thought it was a shadow.”

Legs were suddenly all about them. She peered up. The Bird Man was there, as were Savidlin and Weselan. Weselan was sobbing loudly. Kahlan stood and handed her son. Weselan passed the boy to her husband and threw her arms around Kahlan, kissing her face all over.

“Thank you, Mother Confessor, thank you for saving my boy,” she bawled. “Thank you, Kahlan, thank you.”

“I know, I know.” Kahlan hugged her back. “It’s all right now.”

Weselan turned tearfully back to take Siddin in her arms. Kahlan saw Toffalar lying close by, dead. She flopped down in the mud, exhausted, and pulled her knees up with her arms around them.

She put her face against her knees and, losing control, started crying. Not because she had killed Toffalar, but because she had hesitated. It had almost cost her her life—almost cost Richard and Siddin—everyone—their lives. She had almost given victory to Rahl because she hadn’t wanted Richard to see what she was going to do, and had hesitated. It was the stupidest thing she had ever done, other than not telling Richard she was a Confessor. Tears of frustration poured out as she cried in choking sobs.

A hand reached under her good arm, pulling her up. It was the Bird Man. She bit her quivering lip, forcing herself to stop crying. She could not let these people see her showing weakness. She was a Confessor.

“Well done, Mother Confessor,” he said as he took a strip of cloth from one of his men and started wrapping it around her wounded arm.

Kahlan held her head up. “Thank you, honored elder.”

“This will need to be stitched together. I will have the gentlest healer among us do the work.”

She stood numbly as he tightened the bandage, sending flames of pain through the deep cut. He looked down at Richard, who seemed content to lie there on his back in the mud, as if it were the most comfortable bed in the world.

The Bird Man lifted an eyebrow to her, and gave a nod, indicating Richard. “Your warning that I should not want to give the Seeker cause to draw his sword in anger was as true as an arrow from my finest archer.” There was a twinkle in his sharp brown eyes—the corners of his mouth curled in a smile. He looked down at the Seeker. “You made a good showing of yourself too, Richard With The Temper. Fortunately the evil spirits still have not learned to carry swords.”

“What’d he say?” Richard asked.

She told him, and he gave a grim smile at their private joke as he came to his feet and put away the sword. He reached out and took the pouch from her hand. She hadn’t even realized it was still clutched there. Richard put it in his pocket. “May we never encounter spirits armed with swords.”

The Bird Man nodded his agreement. “And now we have business.”

He reached down and grabbed a fistful of the coyote hide around Toffalar. The body rolled over in the mud as he tore it off. He turned to the hunters.

“Bury the body.” His eyes narrowed. “All of it.”

The men looked at each other, unsure. “Elder, you mean all of it except the skull?”

“I said what I meant. All of it! We only keep the skulls of honored elders, to remind us of their wisdom. We do not keep the skulls of fools.”

This sent a chill through the crowd. It was just about the worst thing you could do to an elder, a dishonor of the highest order. It meant his life had mattered for nothing. The men gave a nod. No one spoke up for the dead elder, including the five standing nearby.

“We are short an elder,” the Bird Man announced. He turned, looking slowly to the eyes around him, then made his back straight and shoved the coyote hide against Savidlin’s chest. “I choose you.”

Savidlin put his hands around the muddy hide with the reverence due a gold crown. He gave a small, proud smile and a nod to the Bird Man.

“Do you have anything to say to our people, as their newest elder?” It was not a question, it was a command.

Savidlin walked over and turned, standing between Kahlan and Richard. He put the hide around his shoulders, beaming with pride at Weselan, and then addressed the gathered people. Kahlan looked out and realized that the whole village surrounded them.

“Most honored among us,” he addressed the Bird Man, “these two people have acted selflessly in the defense of our people. In my life, I have never witnessed anything to compare with it. They could have left us to fend for ourselves when we foolishly turned our backs on them. Instead, they have shown us what manner of people they be. They are as fine as the best of us.” Almost everyone in the crowd was nodding agreement. “I demand that you name them Mud People.”

The Bird Man smiled a small smile. The smile evaporated as he turned to the other five elders. Though he hid it well, Kahlan could see the Bird Man’s eyes flash with the ghost of his anger. “Step forward.” They gave one another sidelong glances, then did as ordered. “The demand made by Savidlin is extraordinary. It must be unanimous. Do you make the same demand?”

Savidlin strode to the archers and snatched a bow from the hands of one. He smoothly nocked an arrow while he kept his squinted eyes on the elders. He put tension to the string, locking the arrow in place with the bow hand, then stepped in front of the five. “Make the demand. Or we will have new elders who will.”

They stood grimly, facing Savidlin. The Bird Man made no movement to interfere. There was a long silence as the crowd waited, spellbound. At last, Caldus took a step forward. He put his hand on Savidlin’s bow and gently lowered its point to the ground.

“Please, Savidlin, allow us to speak from our hearts, not from the point of an arrow.”

“Speak then.” Caldus walked to Richard, stopping in front of him, looking him in the eye.

“The hardest thing for a man to do, especially an old man,” he said in a soft voice, waiting for Kahlan to translate, “is to admit he has acted foolishly, and selfishly. You have acted neither foolishly nor selfishly. The two of you are better examples of Mud People for our children than I. I demand of the Bird Man that you be named Mud People. Please, Richard With The Temper, and Mother Confessor, our people need you.” He held his palms out in an open gesture. “If you deem me unworthy of making this demand upon your behalf, please strike me down that one better than I might make the demand.”

Head bowed, he dropped to his knees in the mud in front of Richard and Kahlan. She translated it all word for word, omitting only her title. The other four elders came and knelt beside him, adding their sincere request to that of Caldus. Kahlan sighed in relief. At last, they had what they wanted—what they needed.

Richard stood over the five men with his arms folded, looking down at the tops of their heads, saying nothing. She couldn’t understand why he wasn’t telling them it was all right, and to get to their feet. No one moved. What was he doing? What was he waiting for? It was over. Why wasn’t he acknowledging their contrition?

Kahlan could see the muscle in his jaw tighten and flex. She went cold. She recognized the look in his eyes. The anger. These men had crossed a line against him. And against her. She remembered how he had slid the sword away when he had last stood with them, this very day. It had been final, and Richard meant it. He was not thinking. He was thinking of killing.

Richard’s arms unfolded—his hand went to the hilt. The sword slid out as slowly, smoothly, as it had slid away for them the last time. The high-pitched sound of steel announced the blade’s arrival in the silent air, sending a painful shiver through her shoulders and up the back of her neck. She could see Richard’s chest beginning to heave.

Kahlan stole a glance at the Bird Man. He did not move, nor did he have any intention of moving. Richard did not know it, but under the law of the Mud People, these men were his to kill if he so wished. It was no false offer they had made. Savidlin had not been bluffing either—he would have killed them. In a blink. Strength, to the Mud People, meant the strength to kill your adversary. These men were already dead in the eyes of the village, and only Richard could give them back their lives.

Even so, their law was irrelevant—the Seeker was a law unto himself, answering ultimately to no one but himself. There was no one present who could stop this.

Richard’s knuckles were white as he held the Sword of Truth level in both hands, over the heads of the five elders. Kahlan could see the rage building in him, the hot need, the fury. The whole scene felt like a dream, a dream she could only watch helplessly, one she couldn’t stop.

Kahlan thought of all those she knew who had already died, both the innocent and those who had given their lives trying to stop Darken Rahl. Dennee, all the other Confessors, the wizards, Shar the night wisp, perhaps Zedd and Chase.

She understood.

Richard was not deciding if he should kill them, but if he dared let them live.

Could he trust these men with his chance of stopping Rahl, trust that they were sincere? Could Richard trust them with his life? Or should he have a new council of elders, ones who might be more intent on his success?

If he couldn’t trust these men to send him in the right direction against Rahl, he would have to kill them and have ones he thought would be on his side. Stopping Rahl was all that mattered. The lives of these men must be forfeited if there was a chance they would jeopardize success. Kahlan knew that what Richard was doing was right. It was no less than she herself would do, no less than what the Seeker must do.

She watched him as he stood over the elders. The rain had stopped. Sweat ran from his face. She remembered the pain he suffered when he had killed the last man of the quad. She watched the anger building, hoping it would be enough to protect him from what he was about to do.

Kahlan understood why a Seeker was so feared. This was no game—he meant this. He was lost within himself, within the magic. If anyone were to try to stop him right now, he would kill them, too. If, that was, they got past her.

The blade of the sword came up in front of Richard’s face. His head tilted back. His eyes closed. He shook with wrath. The five did not move as they knelt before the Seeker.

Kahlan remembered the man Richard had killed, remembered the way the sword had exploded through the man’s head. The blood everywhere. Richard had killed him because of a direct threat. Kill or be killed, no matter that the threat was to her and not him.

But this was an indirect threat, a different kind of killing. Very different. This was an execution. And Richard was both judge and executioner.

The sword lowered again. Richard glowered at the elders, then made a fist and pulled the blade in a slow sweep across the inside of his left forearm. He turned the blade, wiping both sides in the blood, until it ran down, dripping off the tip.

Kahlan snatched a quick glance around. The Mud People stood transfixed, gripped by the mortal drama playing out before their eyes, not wanting to watch, yet unable to turn away. No one spoke. No one moved. No one even blinked.

Every eye followed as Richard brought the sword up again, touching it to his forehead.

“Blade, be true this day,” he whispered.

His left hand glistened with blood. She could see him shaking with need. The sword flashed in places between the red. He looked down at the men.

“Look at me,” he said to Caldus. The elder did not move. “Look at me while I do this!” he yelled. “Look into my eyes!” Still Caldus did not move.

“Richard,” she said. His eyes came angrily to hers. Eyes looking at her from a different world. The magic danced in them. She kept her voice even, showed no emotion. “He cannot understand you.”

“Then you tell him!”

“Caldus.” He looked to her blank face. “The Seeker wishes you to look into his eyes while he does this.”

He didn’t answer, but simply looked at Richard, held by the Seeker’s glare.

Richard inhaled sharply as the sword rose swiftly into the air. She watched the tip as it paused for only an instant. Some people turned away—others shielded their children’s eyes. Kahlan held her breath and half turned to brace for an aftermath of fragments.

The Seeker screamed as he brought down the Sword of Truth. Its tip whistled through the air. The crowd gasped.

The sword stopped dead in the air, a scant inch from Caldus’s face, just as it had stopped the first time Richard had used it, when Zedd had him try to cut down the tree.

For what seemed an eternity, Richard stood, unmoving, the muscles in his arms hard as steel—then at last they relaxed, and he withdrew the blade from over Caldus, withdrew his burning stare.

His eyes unmoving, he asked Kahlan, “How do you say ‘I return your lives and your honor to you’ in their language?”

She answered quietly.

“Caldus, Surin, Arbrin, Breginderin, Hajanlet,” he announced loud enough for all to hear, “I return your lives and your honor to you.”

There was a brief moment of silence—then the Mud People erupted in a wild cheer. Richard slid the sword back into its scabbard and then helped the elders to their feet. Pale, they gave him smiles, pleased with his action, and in no small measure relieved. They turned to the Bird Man.

“We make a unanimous demand of you, most honored elder. What have you to say?”

The Bird Man stood with his arms folded. He looked from the elders to Richard and Kahlan. His eyes showed the strain of the emotional ordeal he had just witnessed. Dropping his arms to his sides, he approached Richard. The Seeker looked drained, exhausted. The Bird Man put an arm around each of their shoulders as if to congratulate them on their courage, then put a hand on each of the elders’ shoulders to let them know all was set straight. He turned and headed off, intending for them to follow. Kahlan and Richard walked behind him, Savidlin and the other elders followed behind, a royal escort.

“Richard,” she said in a low voice, “did you expect the sword to stop?”

He looked ahead as he walked, letting out a deep breath. “No.”

She had thought as much. She tried to imagine what this was doing to him. Even if he hadn’t executed the elders, he had committed to it, expected it. Though he didn’t have to live with the deed, he still had to live with the intent.

She wondered if he had done the right thing, not killing them. She knew what she would have done in his place—she would not have allowed the option of clemency. Too much was at stake. But then, she had seen more than he had. Maybe she had seen too much, was too ready to kill. You couldn’t kill every time there was a risk—risk was constant. It had to stop somewhere.

“How’s the arm?” he asked, bringing her out of her thoughts.

“It throbs like mad,” she admitted. “The Bird Man says it must be stitched together.”

Richard looked deliberately ahead as he walked next to her. “I need my guide,” he said quietly, without emotion. “You gave me a fright.”

It was as close as he would come to a reprimand. Her face burned, and she was glad he wasn’t looking at her to see it. He didn’t know what it was she could do, but he knew she had hesitated. She had almost made a fatal mistake, had put them all at risk because she hadn’t wanted him to see. He hadn’t pressed her when he had the chance, the right, just as now, he put her feelings first. Her heart felt as if it would break.

The little group stepped onto the platform of the pole building. The elders stood in the back, the Bird Man between the two of them as they faced the crowd.

The Bird Man regarded her with an intense expression. “Are you prepared to do this?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, suspicious of his tone.

“I mean that if the two of you want to become Mud People, then you must do that which is required of Mud People: respect our laws. Our ways.”

“I alone know what we are up against. I expect to die in the quest.” She kept her tone deliberately hard. “I have already escaped death more times than anyone has a right to. What we want is to save your people. We are sworn on our lives to do so. What more could be asked of us than our lives?”

The Bird Man knew she was avoiding the question and didn’t let her get away with it. “This is not something I do lightly. I do it because I know you are true in your struggle, that you mean to shield my people from the storm that comes. But I must have your help in this. You must agree to our ways. Not to please me, but out of respect for my people. They expect it.”

Her mouth was so dry she could hardly swallow. “I do not eat meat,” she lied. “You know that from when I have been here before.”

“Though you are a warrior, you are also a woman, therefore it may be excused. That much is within my power. Being a Confessor excludes you from the other.” His eyes showed that this was as far as his compromise would go. “Not the Seeker. He must do these things.”

“But . . .”

“You have said you will not choose him as your mate. If he will call a gathering, it must be as one of us.”

Kahlan felt trapped. If she turned him down now, Richard would be furious, for good reason. They would lose to Rahl. Being from Westland, Richard was not used to the ways of the different peoples of the Midlands. He might not willingly go along. She couldn’t take the chance. Much was at stake. The Bird Man’s eyes waited.

“We will do what your law requires,” she said, trying not to show what she really thought.

“Don’t you wish to consult the Seeker on his feelings about these things?”

She looked away, over the heads of the waiting crowd. “No.”

He took her chin in his hand and turned her face back to his.

“Then it will be your responsibility to see to it that he does as required. By your word.”

She could feel the heat of her anger rising. Richard leaned around the Bird Man.

“Kahlan, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Her eyes went from Richard back to the Bird Man, and she gave him a nod. “Nothing. It’s all right.”

The Bird Man released her chin and turned to his people, blowing the silent whistle he carried around his neck. He began talking to them of their history, their ways, why they avoided the influence of outsiders, how they had the right to be a proud people. As he talked, doves began coming in, landing among the people.

Kahlan listened without hearing, standing still on the platform, feeling like a trapped animal. When she had thought they could win over the Mud People, and have themselves named Mud People, she hadn’t contemplated having to agree to these things. She had thought their initiation to be a mere formality, after which Richard could ask for a gathering. She hadn’t given consideration to events going this way.

Maybe she could simply not tell him some of it. He wouldn’t even know. After all, he didn’t understand their language. She would just keep quiet. It was for the best.

But other things, she thought despondently, would be all too obvious. She could feel her ears turning red, could feel a knot in the pit of her stomach.

Richard sensed that the words of the Bird Man were not yet something he needed to understand and didn’t ask for a translation. The Bird Man finished his introductory remarks, and arrived at the important part.

“When these two came to us, they were outsiders. By their actions, they have proved their caring for our people, proved their worth. From this day forward, let all know that Richard With The Temper and Confessor Kahlan are Mud People.”

Kahlan translated, dropping her title, as the crowd cheered. Smiling, Richard held his hand up to the people, and they cheered all the more. Savidlin reached out and gave him a friendly slap on the back. The Bird Man put a hand on each of their shoulders, giving hers a sympathetic squeeze, trying to relieve the sting of the agreement he had forced upon her.

She took a deep breath, resigning herself to it. It would be over soon enough, and then they would be gone, on their way to stop Rahl. That was all that mattered. Besides, she, of all people, had no right to be upset about it.

“There is one more thing,” The Bird Man went on. “These two were not born Mud People. Kahlan was born a Confessor, a matter of blood, not choosing. Richard With The Temper was born in Westland, across the boundary, of ways that are a mystery to us. Both have agreed to be Mud People, to honor our laws and ways from this day on, but we must understand that our ways may be a mystery to them. We must have patience with them, understand that they are trying for the first time to be Mud People. We have lived our lives as Mud People, this is their first day. They are as new children to us. Give them the understanding you would give our children, and they will do their best.”

The crowd buzzed with talk, heads nodding, all agreeing the Bird Man was wise. Kahlan let out a sigh—the Bird Man had given himself, and the two of them, a sliver of room if things went wrong. He was indeed wise. He gave her shoulder another squeeze, and she placed her hand over his, giving her own appreciative squeeze.

Richard didn’t waste a second. He turned to the elders.

“I am honored to be one of the Mud People. Wherever I may travel, I will uphold the honor of our people, to make you proud of me. Right now, there is danger to our people. I need help so I might protect them. I request a council of seers. I request a gathering.”

Kahlan translated, and each elder in turn nodded his agreement.

“Granted,” the Bird Man said. “It will take three days to prepare for the gathering.”

“Honored elder,” Richard said, restraining himself, “the danger is great. I respect your ways, but is there any way it can be done faster? The lives of our people depend on this.”

The Bird Man took a deep breath, his long silver hair reflecting the gloomy light. “In this special circumstance, we will do our best to help you. Tonight we will hold the banquet, tomorrow night we will hold the gathering. This is as fast as it can be done. There are preparations that must be made for the elders to bridge the gap to the spirits.”

Richard, too, took a deep breath. “Tomorrow night then.”

The bird man blew the whistle again and the doves took to the air. Kahlan felt as if her hopes, impossible and foolish as they had been, took wing with them.

Preparations were quickly set underway, and Savidlin took Richard to his home, to care for his cuts and clean him up. The Bird Man took Kahlan to the healer, to have her wound treated.

Blood had completely soaked the bandage, and the cut hurt in earnest. He guided her through narrow passageways with his arm protectively around her shoulders. She was thankful he didn’t speak of the banquet.

He left her in the care of a stooped woman named Nissel, instructing her to care for Kahlan as if she were his daughter. Nissel smiled little, mostly at the oddest times, and spoke little, other than instructions. Stand here, hold your arm up, put it down, breathe, don’t breathe, drink this, lie here, recite the Candra. Kahlan didn’t know what the Candra was. Nissel shrugged and instead had her balance flat stones atop one another on her stomach while the wound was inspected. When it hurt and the stones started slipping, Nissel admonished her to try harder to keep the stones balanced. She was given bitter-tasting leaves to chew while Nissel removed Kahlan’s clothes and bathed her.

The bath did more for her than the leaves. She couldn’t remember a bath feeling so good. She tried to let her depressing thoughts slough away with the mud. She tried very hard. While she was left to soak, Nissel washed her clothes and hung them by the fire, where a little pot of brown paste bubbled, smelling of pine pitch. Nissel dried her off, wrapped her in warm skins, and sat her on a bench built into the wall near the raised fire pit. The taste of the leaves seemed to get better the more she chewed them, but her head was beginning to spin.

“Nissel, what are the leaves for?”

Nissel turned from studying Kahlan’s shirt, which she thought very curious. “It will make you relax, so you will not feel what I do. Keep chewing. Do not worry, child. You will be so relaxed, you will not care when I stitch.”

Kahlan immediately spit out the leaves. The old woman looked at them on the floor, lifting an eyebrow to Kahlan.

“Nissel, I am a Confessor. If I am relaxed in a manner like that, I might not be able to hold back the power. When you touch me, I could release it without wanting to.”

Nissel frowned with curiosity. “But you sleep, child. You relax then.”

“That is different. I have slept from birth, before my power grew in me. If I were to be too relaxed or distracted in a way I do not know, as with your leaves, I could touch you without intending it.”

Nissel gave a crooked nod. Then her eyebrows came up. She leaned closer. “Then how do you . . .”

Kahlan gave a blank expression that said nothing and everything.

A look of sudden understanding came over Nissel’s face. The healer straightened up. “Oh, I see now.”

She stroked Kahlan’s hair sympathetically, then went to the far corner and came shuffling back with a piece of leather. “Put this between your teeth.” She patted Kahlan’s good shoulder. “If you are ever hurt again, be sure to have them bring you to Nissel. I will remember, and know what not to do. Sometimes, when you are a healer, it is more important to know what not to do. Maybe when you are a Confessor too. Hmm?” Kahlan smiled and gave a nod. “Now—child, make teeth marks in this leather for me.”

When she was finished, Nissel wiped the sweat from Kahlan’s face with a cold, wet cloth. Kahlan was so dizzy and nauseated she couldn’t even sit up. Nissel kept her lying down as she applied the brown paste and wrapped the arm with clean bandages.

“You should sleep for a while. I will wake you before the banquet.”

Kahlan put her hand on the old woman’s arm, and made herself smile. “Thank you, Nissel.”

She woke to the feel of her hair being brushed. It had dried while she slept. Nissel smiled at her.

“You will find it hard to brush your pretty hair until your arm is better. Not many have the honor to have hair such as yours. I thought you would like it brushed for the banquet. It starts soon. A handsome young man waits for you outside.”

Kahlan sat up. “How long has he been out there?”

“Almost the whole time. I tried to chase him away with a broom.” Nissel frowned. “But he would not go. He is very stubborn. Yes?”

“Yes.” Kahlan grinned.

Nissel helped her put on her clean clothes. Her arm didn’t hurt as much as before. Richard was leaning impatiently against the outside wall and stood up straight when she came out. He was washed and clean and fresh-looking, the mud all gone, and was dressed in simple buckskin pants and tunic, and of course his sword. Nissel was right: he did look handsome.

“How are you doing? How’s the arm? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She smiled. “Nissel has made me well.”

Richard kissed the top of the old woman’s head. “Thank you, Nissel. I forgive you the broom.”

Nissel smiled at the translation, leaned closer, and gave him a deep look he found uncomfortable.

“Shall I give him a potion,” Nissel asked, turning to her, “to give him stamina?”

“No,” Kahlan said bristling. “I am sure he will do just fine.”