Stone of Tears (25 page)

The Bird Man squatted down over a dark form, and then straightened. He was holding a dead owl cradled in his hands. The head lolled to the side. The wings fell open. The elders all looked at one another. Chandalen’s frown deepened, but he said nothing.

Richard looked at the blood on his fingers. “Why in the world would an owl hit me like that? And what killed it?”

The Bird Man gently smoothed the dead bird’s feathers. “
Birds live in the air, a different level than us. They live in two levels—land and air. They can travel between their level and ours. Birds are closely connected to the spirit world. To the spirits. Owls more than most birds. They see in the night, where we are blind, just as we are blind to the spirit world. I am a spirit guide for our people. Only a Bird Man can be a spirit guide, because he can understand such things.
”

He looked at Richard. “
This is a warning. I have never witnessed an owl bringing a spirit message before. This bird gave its life to warn you. Richard, please reconsider your request for a gathering. This warning means the gathering will be dangerous, dangerous enough for the spirits to send this message.
”

Richard looked from the Bird Man’s face to the owl. His fingers reached out and touched the bird. He stroked its feathers. No one made a sound. “Dangerous for me, or for the elders?”

“
For you. You are the one calling for the gathering. The owl brought the message to you. The warning was for you.” He looked up at Richard’s forehead. “A blood warning. One of the worst kinds. The only thing worse than an owl, would have been if a raven had brought the message. That would have meant sure death.
”

Richard took his hand back and wiped his fingers on his shirt. He stared down at the dead owl. “I don’t have any choice,” he whispered. “If I don’t do something, the veil will be torn, and the Keeper of the dead will escape. Our people, everyone, will be swallowed into the world of the dead. I must learn how to stop it. I must try.”

The Bird Man nodded. “
As you wish. It will take three days to prepare.
”

Richard looked up. “You did it in two days before. We can’t spare any time.”

The elder took a deep breath and sighed. “
Two days.
”

“Thank you, honored elder.” Richard turned to her, his eyes were filled with pain. “Kahlan, please, find Nissel, and bring her? I’m going to the spirit house. Ask her to bring something stronger?”

She squeezed his arm. “Of course. I’ll hurry.”

Richard nodded. He pulled his sword from the ground and walked off into the darkness.

Cause of death. She looked up in thought, pressing the round end of the plain, wooden handled pen to her lower lip. The small, modest room was dimly lit with candles set among and on top of the disheveled piles of papers on her desk. Scrolls were balanced precariously in stacks between fat books. The dark patina of the desktop was only visible in a small area in front of her, framing the waiting report.

Odd objects of magic stood jammed together collecting dust on the shelves behind her. The ever present and diligent cleaning staff was not allowed to touch them, and so the task of dusting them was left to her, but there was never enough time, or inclination. Besides, they looked less important to curious eyes when covered in a mask of dust.

Heavy drapes were drawn against the night. The only splash of color in the room was one of the local blue and yellow carpets she had placed on the other side of the desk. Visitors usually spent their time in her office staring down at it.

Cause of death. Reports were such a bother. She sighed. But a necessary bother. For now, anyway. The Palace of the Prophets required reams of reports. There were Sisters who spent their whole lives in the libraries, cataloging reports, pampering them, keeping records of every useless word they thought might someday be important.

Well, there was nothing for it but to think up a suitable cause of death. The truth would never do. Her Sisters would have to have a satisfactory explanation as to the cause of death. They valued highly those with the gift. Fools.

Training accident? She smiled. Yes, a training accident. She hadn’t used that one in many years. She pursed her lips as she dipped the pen in the ink bottle and began writing.
The cause of death was a training accident with the Rada’Han. A twig, as I have often warned the other Sisters, no matter how young and tender, will break if bent too far.

Who could question? Let them wonder where among them the fault lay. It would keep them from digging too deeply, lest the blame fall on them. As she blotted the paper, there was a soft rap at the door.

“One moment, please.” She touched the corner of the boy’s letter to the candle flame and when it was nearly consumed, tossed it in the cold hearth. The broken seal melted into a molten red puddle. He would be writing no more letters. “Come.”

The heavy, round topped door opened enough to admit a head.

“Sister, it’s me,” came a whisper from the shadow.

“Don’t stand there like a novice, come in and close the door.”

The woman entered, closing the door quietly, after putting her head back out to check the hall. She didn’t look down at the carpet. “Sister …”

With a finger across lips, and an angry scowl, she was silenced. “No names when we are alone. I’ve told you before.”

The other looked about at the walls, as if expecting someone to pop out. “But surely you have shielded your room.”

“Of course it’s shielded. But it is always possible the breeze could carry words to the right ears. If that ever happened, we wouldn’t want our names carried with the words, now would we.”

The other’s eyes flicked around at the walls again. “Of course not. Of course you are right.” She scrubbed her hands together. “Someday this won’t be necessary. I hate that we must remain hidden. Someday we will be able to …”

“What have you found out?”

She watched as the woman straightened her dress at the hips and then put her fingers to the desk, leaning over a little. Her eyes had a fierce intensity. They were strange eyes, pale, pale blue, with dark violet flecks. She always found it hard not to stare at those eyes.

She leaned closer, and whispered. “They have found him.”

“You saw the book?”

She nodded slowly. “I saw it. At dinner time. I waited until the others were at dinner.” She gave an even look. “He refused the first offer.”

She slapped her hand down on the desk. “What! Are you sure?”

“That’s what the book said. And not only that, there was more. He is grown. Grown into a man.”

“Grown!” She took a heavy breath as she watched the Sister standing before her. “Which Sister was it?”

“What difference does it make? They are all ours.”

“No, they weren’t. I wasn’t able to send three of our own. Only two. One is a Sister of the Light.”

The other’s eyes widened. “How could you let that happen? Something as important as this …”

She slapped her hand down on the desk again. “Silence!”

The other straightened, knitting her fingers together. A small pout came to her face. “It was Sister Grace.”

She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair. “Sister Grace was one of ours,” she whispered.

The other leaned over the desk again. “Then, only one of the two remaining is ours. Who is it? Sister Elizabeth, or Sister Verna?”

“That is not for you to know.”

“Why not? I hate never knowing. I hate not knowing if the Sister I am talking to is a Sister of the Light, or one of us, a Sister of the Dark …”

She slammed her fist on the desk and gritted her teeth. “Don’t you ever say that out loud again,” she hissed, “or I will send you to the Nameless One in pieces.”

This time the other stared down at the carpet as her face paled. “Forgive me,” she whispered.

“There isn’t a Sister of the Light alive who believes we are anything but myth. If that name ever reaches their ears, they could begin to wonder. That name is never, ever, to be spoken aloud by you! If the Sisters were to ever discover you, or who you serve, they would have a Rada’Han around your neck before you had a chance to scream.”

The other’s hands went to her throat as she let out a small gasp. “But I …”

“You would claw your own eyes out, for fear of seeing them come to question you every day. That is why you are not to know the names of the others; so you can’t give them over. That is why they don’t know your name; so they can’t give you over. It is to protect us all, so we may serve. The only name you know is mine.”

“But Sister … I would bite my own tongue off before I ever gave them your name.”

“You say that now. But were there a Rada’Han around your neck, you would be begging to give me up just to have it off … And it isn’t my forgiveness that matters. If you fail us, the Nameless One will not be forgiving. When you meet his eyes, it will make whatever could be done to you with the Rada’Han while you were alive seem a pleasant time at tea.”

“But I serve … I am sworn … I have given the oath.”

“Those who serve well will be rewarded when the Nameless One is free of the veil. Those who fail him, or fight him, will have an eternity to regret their mistake.”

“Of course, Sister.” She was staring furiously at the carpet now. “I live only to serve.” She knitted her fingers back together. “I will not fail our Master. On my oath.”

“On your soul.”

Her defiant, violet flecked eyes came up. “I have given my oath.”

She nodded as she sank back in the chair. “As have we all, Sister. As have we all.” She stared at the other’s eyes a moment. “Did the book say anything else?”

“I didn’t have time to search it thoroughly, but there were some other things I caught. He is with the Mother Confessor. He is promised as her mate.”

She frowned. “The Mother Confessor.” She waved her hand. “That is no problem. What else.”

“He is the Seeker.”

She slapped her hand on the desk. “Curse the Light!” She let out a noisy breath. “The Seeker. Well, we can deal with that. Anything more?”

The other nodded slowly, leaning closer. “He is strong, and grown, yet only two days after he triggered the gift, the headaches made him unconscious.”

She rose slowly out of her chair. This time it was her eyes that went wide. “Two days,” she whispered. “Are you sure? Two days?”

The other shrugged. “I am only telling you what the book said. I am sure of what it said. I am not sure it is true. I don’t see how it could be.”

She sank back into her chair. “Two days.” She stared at her desk. “The sooner we get a Rada’Han around his neck, the better.”

“Even the Sisters of the Light would agree with you about that. There was a message sent back. From the Prelate.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “The Prelate herself sent orders?”

The other nodded. “Yes.” Under her breath, she added, “I wish I knew if she was with us, or against us.”

She ignored the comment. “What did she say?”

“That if he refuses the third offer, Sister Verna is to kill him herself. Have you ever heard of such an order? If he is really this strong, and he refuses the third time, he would be dead in a few weeks anyway. Why would she give such an order?”

“Have you ever heard of anyone refusing the first offer?”

“Well, no, I guess I haven’t.”

“It is one of the rules. If one with the gift refuses all three offers, they are to be killed, to spare them the suffering at the end, the madness. You have never seen such an order before because you have never heard of anyone refusing the first offer.

“I have spent time in the archives, looking through the prophecies. That is where I saw reference to the rule. The Prelate knows all the obscure rules, the old rules. And she is afraid; she has read the prophecies too.”

“Afraid?” she asked, wide-eyed. “The Prelate? I have never seen her afraid of anything.”

She nodded up at the woman. “She is afraid now. Either way suits our purposes. Either he is collared, or he is dead. If he is collared, we will deal with him, in our way, as we have always done. If he is dead, we won’t have to. Maybe better he were dead. Maybe better he were dead before the Sisters of the Light find out what he is, if they don’t already know.”

The other leaned over the desk again, lowering her voice. “If they know, or find out, there are those among the Sisters of the Light who would kill him.”

She studied the violet flecks a moment. “Indeed there are.” A smile spread across her face. “What a dangerous dilemma for them. What a glorious opportunity for us.” Her smile faded. “What of the other matter?”

The woman straightened. “Ranson and Weber are waiting where you wanted them.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “They were pretty cocky, because they have passed all the tests, and tomorrow are to be released.” A sadistic grin came to her thin lips and flecked eyes. “I gave them a little reminder that they still wear the collar. I’m surprised we can’t hear their knees knocking together all the way up here.”

She ignored the other’s smile. “I have lessons to give. You will go in my place. Tell them I had reports to work on. I’ll go see to our two friends. They may have passed all the Prelate’s tests, but they have not yet passed all of mine. One has an oath to give. And the other …”

She leaned halfway over the desk, hunger in her flecked eyes. “Which one? Which one are you going to … Oh, I so wish I could watch. Or help. Promise me you will tell me everything?”

She smiled at the other’s eagerness. “Everything. I promise. From beginning to end. Every last scream. Now go see to my lessons for me.”

The woman danced through the doorway like a giddy schoolgirl. She was too eager. That kind of eagerness was dangerous. That kind of lust made one forget to be careful, made one take chances. As she pulled a knife from a drawer, she made a mental note to use her less in the future, and keep an eye on her.

She tested the edge gingerly with a thumb, and satisfied it was razor sharp, tucked the knife up her sleeve, the sleeve without the dacra. She plucked a small, dusty statue from the shelf, and slipped it into a pocket. Before she was around the desk and through the door, she remembered one more item, and turned back to pick up the stout rod leaning against the side of her desk.

It was late, and the halls were quiet and mostly empty. Despite the heat, she pulled her short, thin, blue cotton cloak tighter across her shoulders. Thoughts of this new one with the gift gave her a chill. Grown. A man.

She shook her head as she walked silently over the long carpets, past lamps set in wall brackets centered in the raised, cherry paneling, past tables set with dried flowers, and past heavily draped windows looking out over the bailey and courtyard below. Lights of the city in the distance twinkled like a carpet of stars. Slightly rank air drifted in the windows. Must be near low tide, she thought.

The cleaning staff, polishing a chair rail molding here, or a bannister there, dropped into deep curtsies as she swept past. She hardly noticed them, and certainly didn’t acknowledge them. They were beneath her attention.

Grown. Into a man.

Her face heated with anger at the thought. How could this be? Someone had made a serious mistake. A mistake. An oversight. It had to be that.

A maidservant on her hands and knees, concentrating on wiping at a spot on a carpet, looked up just in time to leap back out of the way with a “Forgive me, Sister”. On her hands and knees, she touched her head to the floor with another apology.

Grown. It would have been difficult enough to turn this one if he were still a boy. But a man? She shook her head again. Grown. She smacked the rod against her thigh in frustration. Two maidservants nearby jumped at the sound and fell to their knees, burying their tightly closed eyes behind prayerful hands.