The Pillars of Creation (61 page)

“You don’t have to serve the Keeper, Sister,” Richard said. “You don’t have to serve the dream walker, either. You have a choice.”

Sister Perdita pointed at him. “You have a choice! I make you this offer, once! Your time is up! Kahlan’s time is up! Jennsen or Kahlan—choose!”

“I don’t like your rules,” Richard said. “I choose neither.”

“Then I choose for you! Your precious wife dies!”

Even as Jennsen dove at her to stop her, Sister Perdita seized Kahlan by the hair and lifted her head. The Mother Confessor’s face was blank of all expression.

Jennsen caught Sister Perdita’s arm, swinging the knife with the ornate letter “R” as fast as she could, with as much power as she could apply, hoping against hope that she was fast enough to save Kahlan’s life, yet knowing even as she made the attempt that she was already too late.

There was a crystal-clear instant when the world seemed to stop, to freeze in place.

And then, there was a violent concussion to the air, thunder without sound.

The terrible shock drove a ring of dust and rock away from the Mother Confessor in an ever-expanding circle. The shock to the columns so close all around shook the towering pillars. Some, that were so precariously balanced, toppled. As they fell, they hit others, bringing them down as well. It seemed to take forever for the huge sections of rock to plunge through the sweltering air, trailing dust as they disintegrated, plummeting down like thunder made of stone. As the rock came crashing to ground it seemed the entire valley shook under the tremendous blows. Blinding dust swirled up into the air.

The world went black, as if all light had been taken away, and in that terrifying instant, in the total blackness, it seemed that there was no world, no anything.

The world came back, like a shadow lifting.

Jennsen found herself holding the arm of a dead woman. The Sister toppled to the ground like one of the stone pillars. Jennsen saw her knife jutting from the Sister’s chest.

Richard was already there, holding Kahlan in his arms, slicing through the rope, easing her down. She looked drained, but other than her weakness, she looked fine.

“What happened?” Jennsen asked in wonder.

Richard smiled at her. “The Sister made a mistake. I warned her. The Mother Confessor unleashed her power into Sister Perdita.”

“Did you have to warn her?” Kahlan asked, suddenly quite coherent-sounding. “She might have listened to you.”

“No, it only encouraged her to do it.”

Jennsen realized that the voice was gone. “What happened? Did I kill her?”

“No. She was dead before your knife touched her,” Kahlan said. “Richard was distracting her so I could use my power. You tried, but you were an instant too late. She was already mine.”

Richard put a comforting hand on Jennsen’s shoulder. “You didn’t kill her, but you made a choice that saved your own life. That shadow that passed over us as the Sister died was the Keeper of the dead taking one who had sworn herself to him. Had you made the wrong choice, you would have been taken with her.”

Jennsen’s knees were trembling. “The voice is gone,” she whispered aloud. “It’s gone.”

“The Keeper inadvertently revealed his intent,” Richard said. “Since the hounds were loose, that meant the veil—the conduit between worlds—was open.”

“I don’t understand.”

Richard gestured with the book before he tucked it back into one of the pouches at his belt. “Well, I haven’t had time to read it all, but I’ve read enough to learn a little. You are an ungifted offspring of a Lord Rahl. That makes you the balance to the gifted Rahl—to magic. You not only have none, but you’re not touched by it. In a time of a great war, the House of Rahl was created to give birth to a line of powerful wizards, but in so doing, it also sowed the seeds of the end of magic for the world. It may be the Imperial Order that wants a world without magic, but it is the House of Rahl that may eventually deliver it.

“You, Jennsen Rahl, are potentially the most dangerous person alive, because you, like any truly ungifted Rahl, are the seed that could spawn a new world without magic.”

Jennsen stared into his gray eyes. “Then why would you not want me dead, like every Lord Rahl before you?”

Richard smiled. “You have as much right to your life as anyone else—as any Lord Rahl has ever had to their life. There is no right way for the world to be. The only right is that people be allowed to live their own life.”

Kahlan pulled the knife from Sister Perdita’s chest and cleaned it on the black robes before handing it to Jennsen. “Sister Perdita was wrong. Salvation is not through sacrifice. Your responsibility is to yourself.”

“Your life is your own,” Richard said, “and not anyone else’s. You made me proud, hearing everything you said to Sebastian.”

Jennsen stared down at the knife in her hand, still dazed and confused by everything that was happening. She looked around in the gathering darkness, but didn’t see Sebastian anywhere. Oba was gone, too.

As she looked around, Jennsen was startled to see a Mord-Sith standing not far away. “This is just great,” the woman complained to the Mother Confessor, throwing her hands up. “The girl sounds like Lord Rahl. Now I’m going to have to listen to two of them.”

Kahlan smiled and sat down, leaning back against the pillar where she had been tied, watching Richard, listening, stroking the ears of Betty’s twin kids.

Betty watched her two young ones, then, seeing them safe, peered hopefully up at Jennsen. Her little tail started wagging in a blur.

“Betty?”

Betty happily jumped up on her, eager for a reunion. Jennsen tearfully hugged the goat before standing to face her brother.

“But why would you not do as your ancestors? Why? How can you risk everything in that book?”

Richard hooked his thumbs behind his belt and took a deep breath. “Life is the future, not the past. The past can teach us, through experience, how to accomplish things in the future, comfort us with cherished memories, and provide the foundation of what has already been accomplished. But only the future holds life. To live in the past is to embrace what is dead. To live life to its fullest, each day must be created anew. As rational, thinking beings, we must use our intellect, not a blind devotion to what has come before, to make rational choices.”

“Life is the future, not the past,” Jennsen whispered to herself, considering all that life now held for her. “Where did you ever hear such a thing?”

Richard grinned. “It’s the Wizard’s Seventh Rule.”

Jennsen gazed up at him through her tears. “You have given me a future, a life. Thank you.”

He embraced her, then, and Jennsen suddenly didn’t feel alone in the world. She felt whole again. It felt so good to be held as she wept with tears for her mother, and tears for the future, for the joy that there was life, and a future.

Kahlan rubbed Jennsen’s back. “Welcome to the family.”

When Jennsen wiped her eyes, and laughed at everything and nothing while she used her other hand to scratch Betty’s ears, she saw, then, Tom standing nearby.

Jennsen ran to him and fell into his arms. “Oh, Tom. You can’t know how glad I am to see you! Thank you for bringing me Betty.”

“That’s me. Goat delivery, as promised. Turns out that Irma, the sausage lady, only wanted your goat to get herself a kid. She has a billy and wanted a young one. She kept one and let you have the other two.”

“Betty had three?”

Tom nodded. “I’m afraid that I’ve become very fond of Betty and her two little ones.”

“I can’t believe that you did that for me. Tom, you’re wonderful.”

“My mother always said so, too. Don’t forget, you promised to tell Lord Rahl.”

Jennsen laughed in delight. “I promise! But, how in the world did you ever find me?”

Tom smiled and pulled a knife from behind his back. Jennsen was astonished to see that it was identical to the one she had.

“You see,” he explained, “I carry the knife in service to Lord Rahl.”

“You do?” Richard asked. “I’ve never even met you.”

“Oh,” the Mord-Sith said, “Tom, here, is all right, Lord Rahl. I can vouch for him.”

“Why, thank you, Cara,” Tom said with a twinkle in his eye.

“And you knew all along, then,” Jennsen asked, “that I was making it all up?”

Tom shrugged. “I wouldn’t be a proper protector to Lord Rahl if I let such a suspicious person as you roam around, trying to do harm, without doing my best to find out what you were up to. I’ve kept tabs on you, followed you a goodly part of your journeying.”

Jennsen swatted his shoulder. “You’ve been spying on me!”

“As a protector to Lord Rahl, I had to see what you were up to, and to make sure you didn’t harm Lord Rahl.”

“Well,” she said, “I don’t think you were doing a very good job of it then.”

“What do you mean?” Tom asked with exaggerated indignation.

“I could have really stabbed him. You just stood way over there the whole time, too far away to do anything about it.”

Tom smiled that boyish grin of his, but this time it was a little more mischievous than usual.

“Oh, I’d not have let you hurt Lord Rahl.”

Tom turned and heaved his knife. With blinding speed such as she had never seen, the blade flew across the valley, embedding itself with a thunk in one of the faraway fallen stone pillars. Jennsen squinted and saw that it had been driven through something dark.

She followed Tom, Richard, Kahlan, and the Mord-Sith between towering columns and stone rubble to where the knife was stuck. To Jennsen’s astonishment, it had impaled a leather pouch—right through the center—being held up by a hand coming from beneath the huge section of fallen stone.

“Please,” came a muffled voice from under the rock, “please let me out. I’ll pay you. I can pay. I have my own money.”

It was Oba. The rock had fallen on him when he ran. It had landed on boulders that kept the main section of stone, big enough that twenty men couldn’t have joined hands around it, from collapsing to the ground, leaving a tiny space, trapping the man alive under the tons of rock.

Tom pulled his knife from the soft stone and retrieved the leather pouch. He waved it in the air.

“Friedrich!” he called toward the wagon. A man sat up. “Friedrich! Is this yours?”

Jennsen was astonished yet again, in this astonishing day, to see Friedrich Gilder, the husband of Althea, climb down from the wagon and make his way over to them.

“That’s mine,” he said. He looked under the rock. “You have more.”

After a moment, the hand began passing out more leather and cloth purses. “There, you have all my money. Let me out, now.”

“Oh,” Friedrich said, “I don’t think I could lift that rock. Especially not for the man who is responsible for the death of my wife.”

“Althea died?” Jennsen asked in shock.

“I’m afraid so. My sunshine has gone from my life.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “She was a good woman.”

Friedrich smiled. “Yes, she was.” He pulled a small smooth stone from his pocket. “But she left me this, and that much is a pleasure.”

“Isn’t that odd,” Tom said in wonder. He fished around in his pocket until he came up with something. He opened his hand to reveal a small smooth stone sitting in his palm. “I have one of those, too. I always carry it as a good-luck charm.”

Friedrich eyed him suspiciously. He grinned at last. “She has smiled on you, too, then.”

“I can’t breathe,” came a muffled voice from under the rock. “Please, it hurts. I can’t move. Let me out.”

Richard held his hand out toward the rock. There came a grinding sound and a sword floated from under the rock. He bent and pulled his scabbard out, dragging the baldric out behind. He wiped the dust off and placed the baldric over his shoulder, the scabbard at his hip. The sword was magnificent, a proper weapon for the Lord Rahl.

Jennsen saw the gleaming gold word “TRUTH” on the hilt.

“You faced all those soldiers, and you didn’t even have your sword,” Jennsen said. “I guess your magic was better defense.”

Richard smiled as he shook his head. “My ability works through need and anger. With Kahlan taken, I had plenty of need, and a ready rage.” He lifted the hilt clear of the scabbard until she could again see the word spelled out in gold. “This weapon works all the time.”

“How did you know where we were?” Jennsen asked him. “How did you know where Kahlan was?”

Richard burnished a thumb over the single gold word on the hilt of his sword. “My grandfather gave me this. King Oba, there, stole it when, with the Keeper’s help, he captured Kahlan. This sword is rather special. I have a connection to it; I can sense where it is. The Keeper no doubt induced Oba to take it in order to entice me here.”

“Please,” Oba called, “I can’t breathe.”

“Your grandfather?” Jennsen asked, ignoring Oba’s distress, his weeping. “You mean, Wizard Zorander?”

Richard’s whole face softened with a splendid grin. “You’ve met Zedd, then. He’s wonderful, isn’t he?”

“He tried to kill me,” Jennsen muttered.

“Zedd?” Richard scoffed. “Zedd’s harmless.”

“Harmless? He—”

The Mord-Sith, Cara, poked at Jennsen with the red rod she had—the Agiel.

“What are you doing?” Jennsen asked. “Stop that.”

“That doesn’t do anything to you?”

“No,” Jennsen said, scowling. “No more than it did when Nyda did it.”

Cara’s eyebrow went up. “You’ve met Nyda?” She looked up at Richard. “And she can still walk. I’m impressed.”

“She’s immune to magic,” Richard said. “That’s why your Agiel won’t work on her, either.”

Cara, with a sly smile, looked over at Kahlan.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Kahlan asked.

“She might just be able to solve our little problem,” Cara said, her wicked grin growing.

“Now, I suppose,” Richard said in ill humor, “you’re going to have her touch it, too.”

“Well,” Cara said defensively, “someone has to. You don’t want me to do it again, do you?”

“No!”

“What are you three talking about?” Jennsen asked.

“We have some urgent problems,” Richard said. “If you’d like to help, I think you just might have the special talent it takes to get us out of a serious bind.”