Wizard's First Rule

Chapter 4

Richard ran down the walkway to catch up with her. Kahlan’s dress and long hair flowed behind as she marched along in the late-afternoon sunlight. When she reached a tree, she stopped and waited. For the second time that day, she wiped blood off her hand.

As he touched her shoulder, she turned, her calm face showing no emotion.

“Kahlan, I’m sorry . . .”

She cut him off. “Do not apologize. What your brother did, he was not doing to me, he was doing to you.”

“To me? What do you mean?”

“Your brother is jealous of you.” Her face softened. “He is not stupid, Richard. He knew I was with you and he was jealous.”

Richard took her arm and started walking down the road, away from Michael’s house. He was furious with Michael, and at the same time he was ashamed of his anger. He felt as if he were letting his father down.

“That’s no excuse. He’s First Councilor—he has all anyone could want. I’m sorry I didn’t put a stop to it.”

“I did not want you to. It was for me to do. What he wants is whatever you have. If you had stopped him, having me would be a contest he would have to win. This way he has no more interest in me. Besides, what he did to you, about your mother, was worse. Would you have wanted me to have stepped in on your behalf?”

Richard put his eyes back to the road. He choked off his anger. “No, that was not for you to do.”

As they walked, the houses became smaller, closer together, but remained clean and well kept. Some of their owners were out taking advantage of the good weather to make repairs before winter. The air was clean and crisp, and Richard knew by the dryness of it that it would be a cold night—the right kind of night for a fire of birch logs, fragrant but not too hot. The white-fenced yards gave way to larger garden plots in front of small cottages set farther back from the road. As he walked, Richard plucked an oak leaf from a branch hanging close to the road.

“You seem to know a lot about people. You’re very perceptive, I mean about why they do what they do.”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

He tore little pieces off the leaf. “Is that why they hunt you?”

She looked over as they walked, and when his eyes came to her, she answered. “They hunt me because they fear truth. One reason I trust you is because you do not.”

He smiled at the compliment. He liked the answer, even though he wasn’t sure what it meant. “You aren’t about to kick me, are you?”

A grin came to her face. “You are getting close.” She thought a moment, the smile fading, and went on. “I am sorry, Richard, but for now you must trust me. The more I tell you, the greater the danger, to both of us. Still friends?”

“Still friends.” He threw the skeleton of the leaf away. “But someday you will tell me all of it?”

She nodded. “If I can, I promise I will.”

“Good,” he said cheerfully. “After all, I am a ‘seeker of truth.’ ”

Kahlan jerked to a halt, grabbed his shirtsleeve, and spun him to face her wide eyes.

“Why did you say that?” she demanded.

“What? You mean ‘seeker of truth’? That’s what Zedd calls me. Ever since I was little. He says I always insist on knowing the truth of things, so he calls me ‘seeker of truth.’ ” He was surprised by her agitation. His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

She started walking again. “Never mind.”

Somehow, he seemed to have broached a sensitive subject. His need to know the answers started to shoulder its way around in his mind. They hunted her because they feared truth, he thought, and she became upset when he said he was a “seeker of truth.” Maybe she had become upset, he decided, because it made her fear for him, too.

“Can you at least tell me who ‘they’ are? Those who hunt you?”

She continued to watch the road as she walked next to him. He didn’t know if she was going to answer him, but at last she did.

“They are the followers of a very wicked man. His name is Darken Rahl. Please do not ask me any more for now—I do not wish to think of him.”

Darken Rahl. So, now he knew the name.

The late-afternoon sun was behind the hills of the Hartland Woods, allowing the air to cool as they passed through gently rolling hills of hardwood forest. They didn’t talk. He didn’t care to talk anyway, as his hand was hurting and he was feeling a little dizzy. A bath and a warm bed were what he wanted. Better to give her the bed, he thought—he would sleep in his favorite chair, the one with the squeak. That sounded good, too—it had been a long day and he ached.

By a stand of birch he turned her up the small trail that would lead past his house. He watched her walking in front of him on the narrow path, picking spiderwebs off her face and arms as she broke the strands strung across their way.

Richard was eager to get home. Along with his knife and the other things he had forgotten to take along, there was something else he had to have, a very important thing his father had given him.

His father had made him the guardian of a secret, made him the keeper of a secret book, and had given Richard something to keep always, as proof to the true owner of the book, that it was not stolen, but rescued for safekeeping. It was a triangular shaped tooth, three fingers wide. Richard had strung a leather thong to it so he could wear it around his neck, but like his knife and backpack he had stupidly left the house without it. He was impatient to have it back around his neck—without it, he couldn’t prove his father wasn’t a thief.

Higher up, after an open area of bare rock, the maples, oaks, and birches began to give way to spruce. The forest floor lost its green for a quiet, brown mat of needles. As they walked along, an uneasy feeling began to itch at him. He gently took Kahlan’s sleeve between his thumb and forefinger, pulling her back.

“Let me go first,” he said quietly. She looked at him and obeyed without question. For the next half hour he slowed the pace, studying the ground and inspecting every branch close to the trail. Richard stopped at the base of the last ridge before his house and squatted them down beside a patch of ferns.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Maybe nothing,” he whispered, “but someone has been up the trail this afternoon.” He picked up a flattened pinecone, looking at it for a short time before tossing it away.

“How do you know?”

“Spiderwebs.” He looked up the hill. “There aren’t any spiderwebs across the trail. Someone has been up the trail and broken them. The spiders haven’t had time to string more, so there aren’t any.”

“Does anyone else live up this trail?”

“No. It could be just a traveler, passing through. But this trail isn’t used much.”

Kahlan frowned, perplexed. “When I was walking in front, there were spiderwebs all over. I was picking them off my face every ten steps.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” he whispered. “No one had been up that part of the trail all day, but since the open place we came through, there haven’t been any more.”

“How could that be?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Either someone came out of the woods back by the clearing, and then went up the trail, a very hard way to travel”—he looked her in the eyes—“or they dropped in out of the sky. My house is over this hill. Let’s keep our eyes sharp.”

Richard carefully led the two of them up the rise, both scanning the woods as they went. He wanted to run in the other direction, take them away from there, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t running away without the tooth his father had given him for safekeeping.

At the top of the rise they crouched behind a big pine and looked down on his house. Windows were broken, and the door, which he always locked, stood open. His possessions were scattered about on the ground.

Richard stood. “It’s been ransacked, just like my father’s house.”

She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and hauled him back down.

“Richard!” she whispered angrily. “Your father may have come home just like this. Maybe he went in just like you are about to do, and they were waiting for him.”

She was right, of course. He ran his fingers through his hair, thinking. He looked back toward the house. Its back sat hard up against the woods with its door facing the clearing. Since it was the only door, anyone inside would expect him to come running in that way. That’s where they would wait, if they were inside.

“All right,” he whispered back, “but there’s something inside I have to get. I’m not leaving without it. We can sneak around the back, I’ll get it, and then we will be away from here.”

Richard would have preferred not to take her, but he didn’t want to leave her waiting on the trail, alone. They made their way through the woods, through the tangle of brush, skirting the house, giving it a wide berth. When he reached the place where he would have to approach the back of the house, he motioned her to wait. She didn’t like the idea, but he would take no argument. If there was anyone in there, he didn’t want them getting her as well.

Leaving Kahlan under a spruce tree, Richard started cautiously toward the house, following a serpentine route to stay on the areas of soft needles instead of treading on dry leaves. When he finally saw the back bedroom window, he stood frozen, listening. He heard no sound. Carefully, his heart pounding, he took slow crouched steps. There was movement at his feet. A snake wriggled past his foot. He waited for it to pass.

At the weathered back of his house, he gently put his hand on the bare wooden frame of the window and raised his head high enough to look inside. Most of the glass was broken out, and he could see that his bedroom was a mess. The bedding was slashed open. Prized books were torn apart and their pages strewn about the floor. To the far side of the room the door to the front room was opened partway, but not enough to see beyond. Without a wedge under it, that was the spot the door always swung to on its own.

Slowly, he put his head in the window and looked down at his bed. Below the window was the bottom bedpost, and hanging from it were his pack and the leather thong with the tooth, right where he had left them. He brought his arm up and started to reach through the window.

There was a squeak from the front room, a squeak he knew well. He went cold with fright. It was the squeak his chair made. He had never fixed the squeak because it seemed a part of the chair’s personality, and he couldn’t bring himself to alter it. Soundlessly, he dropped back down. There could be no doubt: someone was in the front room, sitting in his chair, waiting for him.

Something caught his eye, making him look to the right. A squirrel sat on a rotting stump watching him. Please, he thought desperately to himself, please don’t start chattering at me to leave your territory. The squirrel watched him for a long moment, then jumped off the stump to a tree, scurried up, and was gone.

Richard let out his breath, and raised himself back up to look in the window again. The door still stood as it had before. Quickly he reached inside and carefully lifted the pack and leather thong with the tooth off the bedpost, listening wide-eyed all the time for the slightest sound from beyond the door. His knife was on a small table on the other side of the bed. There was no chance of retrieving it. He lifted the pack through the window, being careful not to let it bump against any of the remaining shards of broken glass.

With his booty in hand, Richard moved quickly but silently back the way he had come, resisting a strong urge to break into a run. He looked over his shoulder as he went to be sure no one followed. He put his head through the loop of leather and tucked the tooth into his shirt. He never let anyone see the tooth—it was only for the keeper of the secret book to see.

Kahlan waited where he had left her. When she saw him, she sprang to her feet. He crossed his lips with his finger to let her know to keep silent. Slinging the pack over his left shoulder, he put his other hand gently on her back to move her along. Not wanting to go back the way they had come, he guided her through the woods to where the trail continued above his house. Spiderwebs strung across the trail glistened in the last rays of the setting sun and they both breathed out in relief. This trail was longer and much more arduous, but it led where he was going. To Zedd.

The old man’s house was too far to reach before dark and the trail was too treacherous to travel at night, but he wanted to put as much distance as he could between them and whomever waited back at his house. While there was light, they would keep moving.

Coldly, he wondered if whoever was in his house could be the same person who had murdered his father. His house was torn up just like his father’s had been. Could they have been waiting for him as they had waited for his father? Could it be the same person? Richard wished he could have confronted him, or at least seen who it was, but something inside him had strongly warned him to get away.

He gave himself a mental shake. He was letting his imagination have too free a rein. Of course something inside had warned him of danger, warned him to get away. He had already gotten away with his life when he shouldn’t have once this day. It was foolish to trust in luck once—twice was arrogance of the worst kind. It was best to walk away.

Still, he wished he could have seen who it was, been sure there was no connection. Why would someone tear his house apart, as his father’s had been torn apart? What if it was the same person? He wanted to know who had killed his father. He burned to know.

Even though he had not been allowed to see his father’s body at his house, he had wanted to know how he was killed. Chase had told him, very gently, but he had told him. His father’s belly had been cut open and his guts had been spread out all over the floor. How could anyone do that? Why would anyone do that? It made him sick and light-headed to think of it again. Richard swallowed back the lump in his throat.

“Well?” Her voice jolted him out of his thoughts.

“What? Well, what?”

“Well, did you get whatever it was you went to get?”

“Yes.”

“So what was it?”

“What was it? It was my backpack. I had to get my backpack.”

She turned to face him with both hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. “Richard Cypher, you expect me to believe you risked your life to get your backpack?”

“Kahlan, you are coming close to getting kicked.” He couldn’t manage a smile.

Her head was cocked to the side, and she continued to give him a sideways look, but his remark had taken the fire out of her. “Fair enough, my friend,” she said gently, “fair enough.”

He could tell Kahlan was a person who was used to getting answers when she asked a question.

As the light faded and colors muted into grayness, Richard started thinking of places to spend the night. He knew of several wayward pines along the way that he had used on many occasions. There was one at the edge of a clearing, just off the trail ahead. He could see the tall tree standing out against the fading pinks of the sky, standing above all the other trees. He led Kahlan off the trail toward it.

The tooth hanging around his neck nagged at him. His secrets nagged at him. He wished his father had never made him the keeper of the secret book. A thought that had occurred to him back at his house, but he had ignored, forced itself to the front of his mind. The books at his house looked like they had been torn apart in a rage. Maybe because none was the right book. What if it was the secret book they were looking for? But that was impossible—no one but the true owner even knew of the book.

And his father . . . and himself . . . and the thing the tooth came from. The thought was too farfetched to consider, so he decided he wouldn’t. He tried very hard not to.

Fear, from what had happened on Blunt Cliff and from what had been waiting for him at his house, seemed to have sapped his strength. His feet felt almost too heavy to lift as he trudged across the mossy ground. Just before he went through the brush into the clearing he stopped to swat a fly that was biting his neck.

Kahlan grabbed his wrist in midswat.

Her other hand clamped over his mouth.

He went rigid.

Looking into his eyes, she shook her head, then released his wrist, putting the hand behind his head while continuing to keep her other hand over his mouth. By the expression on her face he knew she was terrified he would make a sound. She slowly lowered him to the ground, and by his cooperation he let her know he would obey.

Her eyes held him as hard as her hands. Continuing to watch his eyes, she put her face so close to his he could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek.

“Listen to me.” Her whisper was so low he had to concentrate to hear her. “Do exactly as I say.” The expression on her face made him afraid to blink. “Do not move. No matter what happens do not move. Or we are dead.” She waited. He gave a small nod. “Let the flies bite. Or we are dead.” She waited again. He gave another small nod.

With a flick of her eyes she indicated for him to look across the clearing. He slowly moved his head just a little so he could see. There was nothing. She kept her hand over his mouth. He heard a few grunts, like those of a wild boar.

Then he saw it.

He flinched involuntarily. She clamped her hand harder against his mouth.

From across the clearing, fading evening light reflected in two glowing green eyes as their gaze swept in his direction. It stood on two feet, like a man, and was about a head taller than him. He guessed it weighed three times as much. Flies bit his neck, but he tried to ignore them.

He looked back to her eyes. She had not looked at the beast—she knew what waited across the clearing. Instead she continued to watch him, waiting to see if he would react in a way that would betray them. He nodded again to reassure her. Only then did she remove her hand from his mouth and put it over his wrist, holding it to the ground. Trickles of blood ran across her neck as she lay motionless on the soft moss, letting the flies bite. He could feel each sharp sting as they bit his neck. Grunts came short and low, and both turned their heads slightly to see.

With astonishing speed, it charged into the center of the clearing, moving in a shuffling, sideways motion. It grunted as it came. Glowing green eyes searched, while its long tail slowly swished the air. The beast cocked its head to the side and pricked its short, rounded ears ahead, listening. Fur covered the great body everywhere except its chest and stomach, which were covered with a smooth, glossy, pinkish skin that rippled with corded muscles underneath. Flies buzzed around something smeared over the taut skin. Throwing back its head, the beast opened its mouth, hissing into the cold night air. Richard could see the hot breath turning to vapor between teeth as big as his fingers.

To keep from shrieking in terror, Richard concentrated on the pain of the biting flies. They could not sneak away, or run—the thing was that close and, he knew, that fast.

A scream erupted from the ground right in front of them, making Richard flinch. Instantly the beast charged toward the two of them in a sideways run. Kahlan’s fingers dug into his wrist, but otherwise she didn’t move. Richard was paralyzed as he saw it pounce.

A rabbit, its ears covered with flies, bolted right in front of them, screaming again, and was swept up and torn in half in a blink. The front half went down in one swallow. The beast stood right over them and tore at the insides of the rabbit, taking some of the gore and smearing it on its pink-skinned chest and stomach. The flies, even the ones biting Richard’s and Kahlan’s necks, returned to the creature to feast. The rest of the rabbit was taken by each hind leg, ripped in half, and eaten.

When done, the beast cocked its head again, listening. The two of them were right underneath it, both holding their breath. Richard wanted to scream.

Large wings spread from its back. Against the failing light, Richard could see the veins pulsing through the thin membranes that were its wings. The beast took one last look around and skittered sideways across the clearing. It straightened, hopped twice, and flew off, disappearing in the direction of the boundary. The flies were gone with it.

Both flopped onto their backs, breathing fast, exhausted by the level of fright. Richard thought of the country people who had told him of things from the sky that ate people. He hadn’t believed them. He believed them now.

Something in his pack was poking him in the back, and when he could stand it no longer, he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. He was drenched in sweat, and it now felt like ice in the cold evening air. Kahlan still lay on her back with her eyes closed, breathing rapidly. A few strands of her hair stuck to her face, but most of it flowed out over the ground.

Sweat covered her, too—around her neck it was tinted red. He felt an overwhelming sense of sadness for her, for the terrors in her life. He wished she didn’t have to face the monsters she seemed to know all too well.

“Kahlan, what was that thing?”

She sat up, taking a deep breath as she looked down at him.

Her hand came up and hooked some of her hair behind her ear—the rest fell forward over her shoulders.

“It was a long-tailed gar.”

Reaching out, she picked up one of the biting flies by its wings. Somehow it must have gotten caught in a fold of his shirt and was smashed when he flopped onto his back.

“This is a blood fly. Gars use them to hunt. The flies flush out the quarry, the gar grabs it. They smear some on themselves, for the flies. We are very lucky.” She held the blood fly right in front of his nose to make her point. “Long-tailed gars are stupid. If it had been a short-tailed gar, we would be dead right now. Shorttail gars are bigger, and a lot smarter.” She paused to make sure she had his full attention. “They count their flies.”

He was frightened, exhausted, confused, and in pain. He wanted this nightmare to end. With a moan of frustration he sagged back down onto his back, not caring anymore about whatever it was that was poking him.

“Kahlan, I’m your friend. After those men attacked us, and you didn’t want to tell me more about what is going on, I didn’t press you.” His eyes were closed. He couldn’t bear the scrutiny of her eyes. “Now someone is after me, too. For all I know, it could be the same person who murdered my father. It’s not just you anymore—I can’t go home either. I think I have a right to know at least some of what’s going on. I’m your friend, not your enemy.

“Once, when I was little, I got a fever and almost died. Zedd found a root that saved me. Until today, that was the only time I’ve ever been close to death. Today I was close three times. What do I . . .”

Her fingertips touched his lips to silence him.

“You’re right. I will answer your questions. Except about me. For now, I cannot.”

He sat up and looked at her. She was starting to shake with cold. Shrugging the straps of the pack off his shoulders, he pulled a blanket out and wrapped it around her.

“You promised me a fire,” she said as she shivered. “Is it a promise you intend to keep?”

He couldn’t help but to laugh as he got to his feet. “Sure. There’s a wayward pine right over there on the other side of the clearing. Or if you want there are others up the trail a little way.”

She looked up and give him a worried frown.

“Right,” he smiled, “we’ll find another wayward pine up the trail.”

“What is a wayward pine?” she asked.