Wizard's First Rule (41 page)

Richard realized his shoulders ached. The tension of what they were doing was making his muscles tighten, his breathing shallow. He relaxed, took a deep breath, let his arms hang loose, shook his wrists to ease the stress away, and then took Kahlan’s hand again. He smiled down at her face lit by the haunting green light. She smiled back, but he could see the controlled terror in her eyes. At least, he thought, the bones were keeping the shadow things and the beasts away from them, and nothing appeared beyond the walls when they accidentally encountered them.

Richard could almost feel his will to live draining from his soul with each careful step. Time took on an abstract dimension, holding no solid meaning. He could have been in the Narrows for hours, or days; he had trouble telling anymore. He found himself wishing only for peace, for it to be over, to be safe again. His fear was beginning to dull from the sheer level of tension he had maintained as they probed their way ahead.

Movement caught his attention. He looked behind. Shadow things, a flush of green light around each, floated in a line between the walls, close at their backs, following the two of them down the path, skimming above the ground, each lifting in turn to pass over a tree trunk that lay across the way. Richard and Kahlan stopped, frozen, watching. The shadows didn’t stop.

“Lead the way,” he whispered, “and keep hold of my hand. I’ll watch them.”

He could see that her shirt was soaked with sweat, same as his, even though it wasn’t a warm night. Without so much as a nod, she started off. He walked backward, his back to hers, his eyes to the shadows, his mind in a panic. Kahlan went as fast as she could, having to stop and change direction several times, pulling him after by the hand.

She stopped again, at last groping her way to the right, when the unseen path made a sharp turn down the hill. Walking backward downhill was difficult; he stepped carefully to avoid falling. The shadows followed in a single file, turning with the path. Richard resisted his urge to tell Kahlan to go faster, as he didn’t want her to make a mistake, but the shadows were getting closer. It would only be a matter of minutes before they closed the distance, before they were on him.

Muscles tense, his hand gripped the hilt of his sword. He debated in his mind whether or not to draw it, not knowing if it could help them, or if it would bring them to harm. Even if the sword worked against the shadows, a fight in the confines of the Narrows would be a big risk, at best. But if there was no choice, if they came too close, he would have to use the sword.

The shadows seemed as if they had taken on faces. Richard tried to remember
if they had faces before, but couldn’t. His fingers gripped the hilt of the sword tighter as he walked backward, Kahlan’s soft hand warm in his. The faces appeared sad, gentle, in the green glow. They regarded him with kind, pleading countenances. The raised lettering of the word “
Truth
” on the sword seemed to burn painfully into his fingers as he clutched it tighter. Anger seeped from the sword, searching his mind, searching for his own anger, but, finding only fear and confusion, the anger wilted. The forms no longer gained on him, but paced along, keeping him company in the lonely darkness. Somehow, they made him feel less afraid, less tense.

Their whispers calmed him. Richard’s hand relaxed on the sword as he strained to make out the words. The slow, easy smiles reassured him, gentled his caution, his alarm, making him want to hear more, to understand the murmurs. Green light around the faint forms shimmered comfortingly. His heart pounded with the need for rest, for peace, for their company. Like the shadows, his mind drifted, smoothly, quietly, gently. Richard thought of his father, longed for him. He remembered joyful, easy times with him, times of love, sharing, caring, times of safety when nothing threatened him, nothing frightened him, nothing worried him. He longed for those times again. He realized that that was what the whispers were saying, that it could be like that again. They wanted to help him reach that place again, that was all.

Small warnings burgeoned deep in his mind, but then withered and were gone. His hand slipped from the sword.

He had been so wrong, so blind, and hadn’t been able to see it before. They weren’t there to harm him, but to help him reach the peace he wanted. It wasn’t what they wanted, but what he wanted, that’s what they offered him. They wished only to help release him from loneliness. A wistful smile spread on his lips. How could he have not seen it before? How could he have been so blind? Whispers like sweet music washed over him in gentle waves, soothing his fears, giving him soft light in the dark places of his mind. He stopped walking so that he wouldn’t step out of the bathing warmth of the enchanting murmurs, the breath of the music.

A cold hand tugged annoyingly at his, trying to pull him on, so he released it. It went without objection, to bother him no more.

The shadows drifted closer. Richard waited for them, watched their gentle faces, listened to their soft whispers. When they sighed his name it made him shudder with pleasure. He welcomed them as they came around in a comforting circle, floating closer, their hands reaching to him as they did so. Hands lifted to his face, almost touching him, seeking to caress him. He looked from one face to another, meeting the eyes of his saviors, each holding his gaze in turn, each whispering a promise of wonderment.

A hand almost brushed his face, and he thought he felt searing pain, but wasn’t sure. The keeper of the hand promised that he would feel pain no more, after he joined with them. He wanted to speak, to ask them so many questions, but it seemed so suddenly unimportant, so trivial. He had only to give himself over to their care, and everything would be all right. He turned to each, offering himself to each, waiting to be taken.

As he turned, he looked for Kahlan, thinking to take her with him, to share the peace with her. Memories of her flamed into his mind, distracting his attention even though the whispers told him to ignore them. He scanned the hillside, peering off into the dark rubble. Faint light tinged the sky, morning materializing. Black voids of the trees ahead stood against the pale pink sky; he was almost to the end of the slide. He didn’t see Kahlan anywhere. The shadows whispered insistently to him, calling his name. Memories of Kahlan blazed brightly into his mind. Sudden choking fear flamed up inside him, burning the whispers in his mind to ash.

“Kahlan!” he screamed.

There was no answer.

Dark hands, dead hands, reached for him. The faces of the shadows wavered like vapors rising from boiling poison. Gnarled voices called his name. He took a step back, away from them, confused.

“Kahlan!” he screamed again.

Hands reached for him, bringing searing pain even though they did not touch him. Again he took a step back, away from them, but this time the dark wall was there, at his back. The hands extended up, to push at him. He looked around for Kahlan, bewildered. This time the pain brought him fully awake. Terror raced through him as he realized where he was and what was happening.

And then his anger exploded.

Heat of rage from the magic surged through him as the sword came free, sweeping in an arc at the shadows. The ones caught by the blade flared into nothingness, the smoke of their form spinning, as if caught in a vortex of wind, before coming apart with a howl. More came at him. The sword flashed through them, and still more came, as if there were no end to their numbers. As he cut them down on one side, the ones on the other side would reach for him, the pain of their near touch burning into him before he turned with the sword. Richard wondered for an instant what it would feel like if they were able to finally touch him, if he would feel the pain or simply be dead in that moment. He stepped away from the wall, slashing with the sword as he did so. He took another step forward, cutting furiously as he moved, the blade whistling as he swung it.

Richard stood, feet dug in, destroying the shadows as fast as they came. His arms ached, his back hurt, his head pounded. Sweat poured from his face. He was exhausted. With nowhere to run, he was forced to stand his ground, but he knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. Screams and howls filled the night air as the shadows seemed to fall eagerly on his sword. A knot of them rushed forward, forcing him back again before he could slash through them. Again the dark wall came up at his back. Black forms on the other side of it reached for him while giving out agonizing cries. Too many shadows were coming at once to allow him to step away from the wall; it was all he could do to hold where he was. Pain from the reaching hands was wearing him down. He knew that if they came at him fast enough and in enough numbers, he would be pushed through the wall, into the underworld. He fought on numbly, endlessly.

Anger was giving way to panic. The muscles of his arms burned with the effort of swinging the sword. It seemed the shadows’ intent was simply to wear him down
with their numbers. He realized that he had been right not to use the sword before, that it would bring them to harm. But there had been no choice. He had to use it to save them.

But there was no “them,” he realized; Kahlan was nowhere to be found. It was only him. Swinging the sword, he wondered if it had been like this for her, if the shadows had seduced her with their whispers, and touched her, forced her into the wall. She had no sword to protect her; that was what he had said he would do. Fury erupted in him anew. The thought of Kahlan being taken by the shadows, by the underworld, brought the rage roaring forth again, the magic of the Sword of Truth rising to the summons. Richard cut through the shadows with renewed vengeance. Hatred, flaming into white-hot need, took him ahead through the forms, swinging the sword faster than they could come forward to meet it. So he went to them. Howls of their end joined in a mass cry of anguish. Richard’s wrath at what they had done to Kahlan drove him forward in a frenzy of violence.

Without his realizing it at first, the shadows had stopped moving and instead hovered as Richard continued down the path between the walls, slashing at them. For a time, they made no attempt to avoid his blade, but simply floated in place. Then they began to glide, like trailers of smoke in a near still air. They drifted into the walls of the boundary, losing their green glow as they went through to become the dark things on the other side. At last, Richard came to a panting halt, his arms throbbing with weariness.

That was what they were, not shadow people, but the things from the other side of the boundary wall, the things that had been escaping and taking people, just as they had tried to take him.

Just as they had taken Kahlan.

A pain from deep inside welled up, and tears came to his eyes.

“Kahlan,” he whispered into the cool morning air.

His heart ached with wrenching agony. She was gone, and it had been his fault; he had let down his guard, he had let her down, had not protected her. How could it have happened so fast? So easily? Adie had warned him, warned him that they would call to him. Why hadn’t he been more cautious? Why hadn’t he paid more attention to her warning? Over and over in his mind he imagined her fear, her confusion at why he wasn’t there with her, her pleading for him to help her. Her pain. Her death. Desperately, his mind raced as he cried, trying to make time go backward, to do it again differently, to ignore the voices, to keep hold of her hand, to save her. Tears ran down his face as he let the tip of the sword lower and drag on the ground, too tired to put it away as he walked forward in a daze. Rubble of the slide was at an end. The green light faded and was gone as he stepped into the woods and onto the trail.

Someone whispered his name, a man’s voice. He stopped and looked back.

Richard’s father stood in the light of the boundary.

“Son,” his father whispered, “let me help you.”

Richard stared woodenly at him. Morning lit the overcast, washing everything in a wet gray light. The only color was the glowing green around his father, who held his hands open.

“You can’t help me,” Richard whispered back hoarsely.

“Yes, I can. She is with us. She is safe now.”

Richard took a few steps toward his father. “Safe?”

“Yes, she is safe. Come, I will take you to her.”

Richard took a few more steps, dragging the tip of the sword on the ground behind. Tears ran down his cheeks. His chest heaved. “You could really take me to her?”

“Yes, son,” his father said softly. “Come. She waits for you. I will take you to her.”

Richard walked numbly toward his father. “And I can be with her? Forever?”

“Forever,” came the answer in the reassuring, familiar voice.

Richard trudged back into the green light, to his father, who smiled warmly at him.

When he reached him, Richard brought the Sword of Truth up, and ran it through his father’s heart. Wide-eyed, his father looked up at him as he was impaled.

“How many times, dear father,” Richard asked through tears and gritted teeth, “must I slay your shade?”

His father only shimmered and then dissolved into the dim morning air.

Bitter satisfaction replaced the anger; then it, too, was gone as he turned once again to the path. Tears ran in streaks through the dirt and sweat on his face. He wiped them on his shirtsleeve as he swallowed back the lump in his throat. Woods enveloped him indifferently as he rejoined the trail.

Laboriously, Richard slid his sword home, into its scabbard. When he did so, he noticed the light from the night stone shining through his pocket, it still being just dark enough to cause it to glow weakly. He stopped and took the smooth stone out once more and replaced it in its leather pouch, quenching the dim yellow light.

His face set in grim determination, Richard slogged ahead, his fingers reaching up to touch the tooth under his shirt. Loneliness, deeper than he had never known, sagged his shoulders. All his friends were lost to him. He knew now that his life was not his own. It belonged to his duty, to his task. He was the Seeker. Nothing more. Nothing less. Not his own man, but a pawn to be used by others. A tool, same as his sword, to help others, that they might have the life he had only glimpsed for a twinkling.