Stone of Tears (59 page)

“Rape,” she said in an even tone. “It is called rape.”

He nodded. “The Jocopo would do this to our women. They stole many women, and did this rape to them.” He glanced at the door again. “In the way it was done to these women. Do you understand?”

“They were raped by many men and tortured and murdered.”

He nodded, relieved that he didn’t have to elaborate. “The Mud People did not have fighters, like we do now, like me.” His chest swelled again, and his chin came up. At last, the wind left his lungs. “We never had to fight with anyone. None of our people wanted to fight others. They thought it was wrong. But the Jocopo made us want to fight.

“They stole my grandmother. My grandfather’s wife. The mother to my father. My grandfather gave an oath to send the Jocopo to the spirit world. He gathered men together, men who had their wives, or sisters, or mothers taken and …” He wiped his forehead as if he were sweating, but in the cold he was not.

Kahlan put a hand on his arm. He didn’t flinch this time. “I understand, Chandalen.”

“My grandfather called for a gathering, and was visited by our ancestors’ spirits. He wept for his wife before the spirits, and asked if the ancestors’ spirits would teach him how to stop the Jocopo. They told him that first he must stop weeping until after the fighting was done.”

Kahlan took her hand back and absently stroked the fur at her neck. “My father taught me something very much like that. He said, ‘Don’t shed tears over those already in the ground, until after you have brought vengeance to those who put them there. There will be time enough, then.’”

Chandalen appraised her approvingly. “Then your father was a wise man.”

Kahlan waited silently until at last he seemed to mentally gather up the memories of the stories, and go on.

“The ancestors’ spirits came to my grandfather every night in a gathering. They taught him what he must do, how to kill. He taught these men what he had learned. He taught them how to put mud on themselves, and tie grass to themselves, so not to be seen. Our men became like the shadows. The Jocopo could not see them if they stood as close as we do now.

“My grandfather and his men made war with the Jocopo. Not war the way the Jocopo made war, but the way the spirits taught. The Jocopo made war in the light, because they were many, and had no fear of us. The spirits told grandfather that he must not fight the Jocopo the way they wanted, but must make them fear the night, and the empty grassland, and every call of a bird or frog or bug.

“For every one of the Mud People, there were five Jocopo. They were not afraid of us, at first, because of their numbers. We killed Jocopo when they hunted food, when they tended their crops, when they cared for their animals, when they went for water, when they went to squat, when they slept. Any Jocopo. Every Jocopo. We did not try to fight them; we only killed them. Until there were no more Jocopo in this world, only in the spirit world.”

She wondered briefly if he meant that they had killed the children, too, but she knew the answer; there were no more Jocopo. Something else her father had taught her came to mind:
If war is brought to you, then it is incumbent upon you to show no mercy. Surely you will be shown none, and you will be a traitor to your people and as good as their enemy if you let any clemency slip its bounds, for your people will pay for your mistake with their lives
.

“I understand, Chandalen. Your people did the only thing they could. Your grandfather did what was necessary to protect his people. My father also taught me, ‘If war is brought to you, then let there be war like your enemy has never imagined in his most frightening nightmares. Anything less, and you hand victory to your foe.’”

“Your father, too, must know the spirits of his ancestors. He did well to teach you their lessons.” His voice lowered sympathetically. “But I know they are harsh lessons to live by, and can make you look hard to others.”

“I know the truth of that. Your grandfather brought honor to the Mud People, Chandalen. I am sure that when it was done, he shed many tears for those of his people who were murdered.”

Chandalen untied the thong at his neck and shrugged back his mantle, letting it drop to the floor. He wore a heavy buckskin tunic and pants. At each shoulder, held with a band made of woven prairie cotton around his upper arm, was a bone knife. The lower end was sharpened to a point, and the knuckle at the other end was covered with the same woven cotton for a better grip. Black feathers hung from the top.

He tapped one of the bones. “This is of my grandfather.” He touched the other. “This is of my father. One day, when I have a strong son, he will wear one of me, and of my father, and the one of my grandfather will be put to rest in the ground.”

When Kahlan had first seen the bone knives, when they had left the Mud People village, she had thought they were ceremonial. With terrible certainty, she now knew they were not. They were real weapons: spirit weapons.

“What are the feathers?”

He stroked the glossy black feathers on the one at his right shoulder. “The Bird Man we had then, when this was made, placed these.” He touched the ones on his left shoulder. “The Bird Man we have now placed these. They are raven.”

The raven was a powerful spirit to the Mud People. Its image invoked death. While she thought the idea of wearing a knife made from your grandfather and father’s arm bone was gruesome, she knew it was an honor to Chandalen, and so didn’t say anything to insult his beliefs. “It brings me honor, Chandalen, that you would bring the spirits of your ancestors to protect me.”

He didn’t look happy. “The Bird Man says you are Mud People, too, and must be protected, so I wear these. It is my duty.”

He stroked his grandfather’s bone again. “My grandfather taught my father, and my uncle, Toffalar, the man you killed, to be protectors of our people.” He touched his father’s bone. “My father taught me. I will teach my son, when he comes, and someday he will carry my spirit with him as he protects our people.

“Since the time we killed the Jocopo, we have not let many come onto our land. Our ancestors’ spirits teach us that to invite others to come as they wish is to invite death. The spirits speak true. You brought Richard With The Temper to us, and because of him, Darken Rahl came and killed many of our people.”

So it came down to this. Chandalen was supposed to be a protector of his people, but they had been killed and he hadn’t been able to stop it. “The ancestors’ spirits helped us to save the Mud People, Chandalen, and countless others. They saw that Richard’s heart was true, that he was risking his life, the same as you, to save others who did not want war.”

“He stayed in the spirit house while Darken Rahl killed our people. He did not try to stop him. He did not fight. He let our people die.”

“Do you know why?” She waited as he stood stone-faced, but when he didn’t reply, she resumed. “The spirits told him that if he went out to fight Darken Rahl, he would be fighting the way Darken Rahl fought, and Richard would die, never to help anyone. They told him that if he wanted to defeat Darken Rahl and save the rest of the Mud People, he must not fight the way Darken Rahl did, but wait and fight his own way, later, just as the spirits told your grandfather.”

He regarded her skeptically. “This is his story.”

“I was there, Chandalen. I heard them say this. Richard wanted to fight. He wept with frustration when the spirits told him he must not. There was nothing that could have been done to stop Rahl just then. It was not Richard’s fault, nor was it yours. You could have done nothing to stop it, the same as Richard could have done nothing. If he had tried, he would be dead, and Darken Rahl would have won.”

He leaned a little closer. “If you had not brought him, it would not have happened. Darken Rahl would not have come looking for him.”

She drew herself up straight. “Chandalen, do you know what I do? What my specialty is?”

“Yes. Like all Confessors, you make people afraid of you, so you may tell them what to do, and because they are afraid, they will do as you say.”

“In a way. I lead the Council of the Midlands. I represent all the people and protect their rights. I make it possible for those like the Mud People to live as they wish.”

“We protect ourselves.”

She gave him a sober nod. “You think so? For ever one of the Mud People, there were five Jocopo. Your grandfather was brave, and defeated an enemy that outnumbered him. But for every man, woman, and child of the Mud people, there are over a hundred dead soldiers here, and this is only one city of this land. They were defeated as if they were nothing. One hundred fighting men for every Mud Person, and they fought bravely, you said so. What chance do you think you would have against an army that could defeat this many? Against an army half that size?”

Chandalen shifted his weight without answering.

“There are lands, Chandalen, that have no say, like the Mud People, and the Bantak. They are not represented on the Council. The larger lands, like this one, and the one that defeated them, are very powerful, yet Darken Rahl conquered them. I speak for the lands that have no voice on the Council. I protect your wish to be left alone, and forbid others to come onto your land.

“Without me to make them afraid, and tell them what to do, they would take your land for themselves. You have seen the country we have traveled through. Much of it is difficult to plant. People would take your land for farms, and to raise animals. Your sacred grasslands would be burned and tilled and planted with crops to trade for gold.

“As brave and strong as you are, you would not be able to protect your people. These outsiders would blacken your land with their numbers. Just because your are brave, and strong, does not mean you will win. The soldiers here were brave, and strong, and a hundred times your number, and look what happened to them. And this is only one city. There are many larger.

“Being brave does not mean you have to be stupid, Chandalen. You saw what was done here. How long do you think you could fight against an army like that which did this? Even if every one of your men killed fifty, they would hardly notice. You would be like the Jocopo, gone. Every last one of you.

Kahlan jabbed a finger at her own chest. “I am the one who tells them they may not. They do not fear you, but they fear me, and the alliance I represent. There are good people in the Midlands, people who are willing to fight to protect others who are less powerful. The dead here are one of those peoples. They are one that has always backed me when I said no land may attack another to gain land. “I head the Council of the Midlands and hold together the lands that would have peace. Under me they would fight any who would make war on others. Yes, I make people afraid, so they will do what I say. But not to have the glory of power. I hold power to keep the people of the Midlands—including the Mud People—free of oppression. These people here have fought before to keep all the people of the Midlands free to live as they wished. They have fought for you, for your rights, though you have never known of the blood they have shed on your behalf.”

She clutched her mantle tighter. “You have never before had to fight for them, until Darken Rahl threatened all. I came to the Mud People, with Richard, to seek help. Your ancestors’ spirits saw the truth of our struggle, and they helped us so that the Mud People, and all others, could live free. For the first time, Mud people had to shed blood for the Midlands. Your ancestors’ spirits saw the truth of this, and they helped us.

“The people of the Midlands owe the Mud People a debt for their sacrifice, but you also owe them.

“Richard With The Temper put his life at risk for your people. He lost loved ones in the struggle, the same as you. He suffered things you could never understand. You could not imagine what was done to him by Darken Rahl before Richard killed him.”

Kahlan stood in fury, clouds of her hot breath rising into the cold air.

“I make people afraid of me so you may continue to be blind and stubborn. Richard and I have fought to keep all the people of the Midlands, including the Mud People, from being murdered, as the Jocopo murdered Mud People, even though you would deny us your help, or simple gratitude.”

Silence echoed around them.

Chandalen walked slowly to the railing, idly running a finger along its polished surface. She watched each slow cloud of his breath dissipate, to be followed by another. He spoke softly. “You see me as stubborn. I see you, too, as stubborn. Maybe our fathers should have also taught us to see that sometimes people do as they do, not because they are stubborn, but because they fear for those they protect. Maybe you and I should be able to see each other not as harsh, but as doing the best we know, to keep our people safe.”

A small smile came unexpectedly to Kahlan’s lips. “Perhaps, Chandalen is not so blind as I thought. I will try, myself, to see better, see you for the man of honor you are.”

He gave a nod, and a small smile of his own. “Richard With The Temper is not a stupid man.” He put his hands to the railing, looking out over the first floor. “He said that if he had to pick one man to fight beside him, he would pick Chandalen.”

“You speak the truth,” she said softly. “He is not a stupid man.”

“Richard also sacrificed himself as your mate. He has saved our men from being chosen, as surely you would have picked one of us, because we are so strong.” His voice rose with pride. “You would probably have picked me, so that you might have the strongest mate. Richard has saved me.”

Kahlan smiled again in spite of herself as he stared out over the railing. “I am sorry you feel the task of being my mate is so onerous a thing.”

Chandalen came back to her. He stood a moment, studying her eyes, and then began untying the band at his right arm. He pulled the band and bone knife free, holding it out before her.

“Grandfather would be proud to protect you, one of his own, one of his Mud People.” He flipped her mantle back over her left shoulder.

“Chandalen, I cannot accept this. It holds the spirit of your grandfather.”

He ignored her words and tied the band to her left arm. “I have the spirit of my father with me, and I am strong. You fight to protect our People. Grandfather would want to be with you in your fight. You do him an honor.”