The Sword of the Truth, Book 12 - The Omen Machine (21 page)

R
ichard couldn’t begin to imagine what it could all mean— what the machine really was, who had made it, and why it had so long ago been sealed away.

And worse, why it had suddenly awakened from its long slumber.

He supposed that what ever the machine’s purpose had been at one time, it might have fallen into disuse and, being so massive, might have been more trouble than it was worth to dismantle, so it had simply been walled away and forgotten.

Yet, for all he knew, it could just as well be that the machine had been sealed away because it had been a source of trouble. It wouldn’t be the first time that prophecy had caused trouble, and perhaps the machine was no less troublesome for that reason.

But none of that explained why it had come back to life now.

Unable to answer any of those questions for the time being, Richard turned to his grandfather. “So, what have you been able to learn about the nature of this thing?”

Zedd looked somewhat exasperated, maybe even a little sheepish. He glanced at Nathan and Nicci before he answered.

“Nothing, I’m afraid.”

That wasn’t what Richard had been expecting to hear, least of all from Zedd.

“Nothing? Nothing at all? You had to have been able to learn something.”

“I’m afraid not.”

Richard spread his hands in frustration. “But it uses magic. Can’t you at least tell something about the magic it uses?”

“So you say.” Zedd laid a hand on the machine. “We can detect no magic. The machine has been as silent as this grave where it rests. As far as we can tell it’s just an inert collection of gears and levers and wheels and ratchets and shafts. We looked down inside, as best we could, but that told us nothing useful. All the inner workings seem to be made of ordinary metal, even if on a grand scale.”

Richard raked his fingers back through his hair. “Then what made the gears turn when we were down here before?”

Zedd shrugged. “We’ve done everything we can think of to get it to start up, or to react, or to do something to reveal its nature, but it remains silent. We’ve fed in threads of magic, used analysis spells on it, and sent in conjured probes, but they reveal nothing.”

“Maybe that’s just because the palace weakens your power,” Richard suggested.

“Being a Rahl, my power works just fine here within the palace,” Nathan said as he swept his hand out over the machine, “yet my power was of no more use on this thing than Zedd’s was.”

Richard turned to Nicci. She had different abilities than either Zedd or Nathan did. She could wield Subtractive Magic. He hoped that maybe with her unique gift she could sense a hint of magic that Zedd and Nathan couldn’t.

“You must be able to tell something about it.”

She was shaking her head even before he had finished. “It’s as Zedd says. None of us can detect any magic— that includes me. Kahlan told me all about what it did when you first found it. The slot where you found the strips of metal with the symbols on them is empty. It hasn’t made any more since the ones you found.”

Richard heaved a sigh of frustration. “But how does it do all the things it does?”

Nicci unfolded her arms to hold a hand out to the machine. “Does what? It has not turned one gear, or let out one bit of light, since you were down here last. It’s as still and silent as it has been for probably thousands of years.”

“But all those parts down inside were all moving and turning, all lit with some kind of strange orangish light.”

“I saw it too,” Kahlan said. “We’re not both imagining it.”

“We’re not saying you imagined it,” Zedd said as he withdrew his hand from the top of the machine and sighed, “only that we haven’t seen it do any of those things. Unless it comes to life again, we can get no sense of it.”

Richard was actually relieved that the machine had gone silent. It meant that they had one less problem to deal with. They still had the nettlesome issue of prophecy without the machine adding its own.

Richard laid a hand on the flat, iron top.

The instant he touched the machine the ground rumbled with the thunder of the sudden power of all the heavy pieces of machinery inside abruptly thrown into motion.

With a dull thud that shook the ground more sharply, light shot up from the center of the machine, like lightning in the darkness, projecting the symbol up onto the ceiling, the same symbol they had seen the last time, the same symbol that was on the side of the machine and in the book
Regula
. As massive gears inside turned, so did the emblem written in lines of light on the ceiling.

Zedd and Nathan raced to the machine and bent to look down through the window.

Zedd pointed, speaking over the roar and clatter of all the huge gears turning against one another. “Look down there. It’s moving a strip of metal through the mechanism, just as Richard described it.”

Nicci placed the flats of her hands on the machine, apparently trying to sense its power.

She immediately jumped back with a gasp of pain.

“It’s shielded,” she said, comforting the ache in her elbows and shoulders.

Zedd gingerly touched one hand to the machine, to test it, but more lightly than Nicci had done. He, too, had to yank his hand back. He shook it as if he had touched fire.

“Bags, she’s right.”

“There,” Nathan said, pointing down at the window, careful not to touch the machine. “The strip of metal is moving through that bright beam of light.”

Everyone waited silently as Nathan and Zedd peered down through the window. Richard could see lines of light, parts of emblems, play across their features.

The metal strip dropped into the slot.

Richard grabbed Zedd’s wrist. “Careful, it will be hot.”

Zedd licked his fingers and then plucked the metal strip from the slot and quickly tossed it on top of the machine.

Richard could clearly see the fresh emblems that had been burned into the metal. Wisps of smoke still rose from them. With a finger he pushed the strip around to better see the designs.

“Any idea what it says?” Nathan asked.

Richard nodded as he took in the collection of symbols. “Yes, it says ‘Pawn takes queen.’”

“Like before,” Kahlan said.

“I’m afraid—”

“Look,” Nicci said, pointing down into the window. “It’s making another.”

As soon as it dropped into the slot, Richard snatched it up and quickly flipped the hot metal onto the flat iron top of the machine.

He blinked at what he saw.

As he stared, Kahlan put a hand on his arm. “Richard, what’s wrong?”

“What’s the matter?” Zedd asked. “What does it say?”

Richard finally looked up from the strip to his grandfather, and then the others.

“What it says doesn’t leave this room. Understand?”

T
he door carefully opened a crack in response to his soft knock.

“Abbot.” She pulled the heavy, ornately carved door open the rest of the way. “I’m so glad you could come.”

Ludwig removed his rimless hat and bowed his head respectfully. “How could I resist an invitation from the most beautiful queen in the palace?”

Her demure smile took the edge off her air of authority. It was exaggerated flattery and she recognized it as such. Nonetheless, she couldn’t help appreciating it.

She turned her back to him as she led to him into her lavish apartment, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure he was following behind. Couches upholstered in silvery material were strewn with colorful pillows. Low tables and a desk in a small sitting area to the side were veneered in matching burl walnut. Double doors at the far end of the room led to a terrace that overlooked some of the outer rim of the plateau and the now dark Azrith Plain out beyond.

The accommodations, softly lit by candles, were fit for a queen, yet as luxurious as her quarters were, they were no better than his. He chose not to say so.

“Come, sit, Abbot,” she said as she glided across an expanse of ornate carpeting on her way to one of the couches.

“Please, call me Ludwig.”

She glanced back over her shoulder again, again giving him the demure smile.

“Ludwig, then.”

Her auburn hair was done up on top of her head, held in place with a jeweled comb. Ringlets hung down in front of each ear. It left her flawlessly smooth, graceful neck bare.

She sat on the front edge of the cushions. The slit up the front of her long dress came up just high enough that he could see her bare knees pressed together as she leaned forward to lift a wine decanter.

“What was it you wished to see me about, Queen Orneta?”

She patted the couch beside her in invitation for him to sit. “If I’m to call you Ludwig, then you must call me Orneta.”

He sat, making sure there was a respectful space between them. “As you wish, Orneta.”

She poured two glasses of the red wine and handed him one.

“A queen who serves wine?”

She returned the smile. “The servants have been dismissed and sent home for the night. I’m afraid we’re all alone.”

She clinked her glass against his.

“To the future, and our knowledge of it,” she said.

He sipped when she did. He had an appreciation for quality wine and was not disappointed.

“An interesting choice for a toast, I must say.”

“You asked why I wished to see you. The toast is the reason. I wanted to see you about prophecy.”

Ludwig took a longer sip of wine. “What about it?” he finally asked, trying to sound innocently puzzled.

She gestured offhandedly. “I think prophecy is important.”

He dipped his head. “So I gathered from the luncheon a few days back when the Mother Confessor threatened to behead us for wanting to know more about it. You were quite impressive, standing up to her the way you did. You can’t be faulted for relenting at last under such a mortal threat.”

She smiled, but this time it showed less modesty and a little more cunning. “A ruse, I believe.”

“Really?” Ludwig leaned in. “You think it was an act?”

Orneta shrugged. “At the time I certainly didn’t think so. I guess I was caught up in the moment, the emotion, along with everyone else.”

“It was a frightful moment, there’s no doubt about that.” He took another sip. “But now, you think differently?”

The queen took her time before answering. “I’ve known the Mother Confessor a long time. Not so much personally, mind you, but I’m from the Midlands. Before the war, before the D’Haran Empire came to be, the Midlands was ruled by a Central Council, and the Central Council was ruled by the Mother Confessor, so I’ve had dealings with her in the past. I’ve never once known her to be temperamental or cruel. Tough, yes. Vindictive, no.”

“So you believe it was out of character for her?”

“Of course it was. We’ve been fighting the war a long time. I’ve known her to be absolutely ruthless with the enemy. Every night, she would send the head of the special forces, Captain Zimmer, out to cut the throats of the enemy as they slept. In the morning she would always ask to see the strings of ears he had collected.”

Ludwig lifted his eyebrows, trying to act at least a little scandalized as she went on.

“But I’ve never known her to be cruel to her own people, to innocent people, good people. I have seen her risk her life to save a child she doesn’t even know. I think cutting off the heads of everyone in the room would have been a pretty brutal way to teach a lesson to the people she rules. Such a thing simply is not in her character unless she had a powerful reason.”

Ludwig let out a long sigh. “You know her better than I do. I will take your word for it.”

“What I want to know is why she would go to such extremes.”

“What do you mean?”

“That was a pretty extreme performance, and quite convincing, at least until I thought it through. I think she did it because she and Lord Rahl are hiding something from us.”

Ludwig frowned. “Hiding something? Like what?”

“Prophecy.”

He decided to take a drink rather than say anything in order to let her go on to reveal her theories.

“I asked to see you because I’ve heard that you have something to do with prophecy.”

He smiled. “Yes, I guess you could say that.”

“Then prophecy is something that is respected in your land?”

“Fajin Province. That’s where I come from. The bishop—”

“The bishop?”

“Hannis Arc. Bishop Hannis Arc is the ruler of Fajin Province.”

“And he believes that prophecy is important?”

Ludwig inched a little closer along the couch and leaned in, confidentially. “Of course. We all do. I collect prophecy for him so that it might guide him in ruling our land.”

“As Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor should do.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “That is what I believe.”

She poured him some more wine. “As do I.”

“You are a wise ruler, Orneta.”

This time she was the one who sighed. “Wise enough to know that prophecy is important.” She laid a hand on his forearm. “It is a great responsibility to lead a people. And prophecy can be a lonely belief, at times.”

“I’m sorry to hear that— being lonely in your beliefs about prophecy, I mean. So, there is no king for you?”

She shook her head. “No. Duty has been my companion since I ascended to the throne in my late twenties after long years of grooming for the position. That makes it hard to, well, hard to find the time for myself, for the companionship of one who shares beliefs with me.”

“That’s a shame. I think the Creator gave us the capacity for passion for a reason, just as He gave us prophecy for a reason.”

Her brow twitched. “Yes, I’ve heard some talk of what you’ve mentioned to others, talk about your beliefs that prophecy has a connection to the Creator, yet you do not worship the Creator. That seems a curious contradiction.”

Ludwig took a drink to give himself time to gather his thoughts.

“Well, have you ever spoken with the Creator?”

She let out a laugh, putting fingertips to her chest. “Me? No, He has never deemed it worth His time to speak to me.”

“Exactly.”

The laughter evaporated. “Exactly?”

“Yes. The Creator created everything. All the mountains, the seas, the stars in the sky. He creates life itself. He creates all living things.”

She turned more serious and leaned in a little. “Go on.”

“Can you imagine a being that could do such things? I mean, really, can you imagine a being such as the Creator? A being that created everything, and continues to create new life in uncountable numbers every day? Every new blade of grass, every new fish in the sea, every new soul born into the world. How could we, mere men, even imagine such a being? None of us can, really. We have no point of reference for creation out of nothing on such a cosmic scale. That’s why I say the Creator has to be beyond what you or I could ever begin to imagine.”

“I suppose you have a point.”

He tapped his temple for emphasis. “So if our small human minds are incapable of even imagining such a being, then how can we know Him? Or presume to think that He notices us individually? If we cannot possibly know Him, then how could we have the temerity to worship Him? How can we presume to think we know that He would even desire such worship? Why would He? Do you long for the worship of ants?”

“I never looked at it that way, but I see what you mean.”

“That’s why He hasn’t spoken to you— to any of us. The Creator is everything. We are nothing. We are specks of dust that He brings to life, and then when we die our worldly bodies return to specks of dust. Why would He talk to us? Would you stoop to talk to a speck of dust?”

“So you don’t think that the Creator cares about us? We are just specks of nothing to him?”

“We believe, where I come from, that the Creator does care about us, but in a general sense— we are His creation, after all— and so He does speak to us, but not directly.”

She was caught up in the story, and returned the hand to his forearm as she inched closer to him.

“So you think He really does care about us? And so He somehow speaks to us?”

“Yes, through prophecy.”

Dead silence hung in the room.

“Prophecy is the Creator speaking to us?”

“In a way.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips. He leaned toward her. “The Creator created all things. He created life itself. Don’t you suppose that He would have an interest in what He has created?”

“Yes, but you said He doesn’t speak to us.”

“Not directly, not individually, but He does speak to us in a sense. He created life, and He also gave some the gift— magic—as a way for mankind to hear him. He knows all things— everything that has happened and everything that will happen. Through the gift of magic that He gave mankind, He gives us prophecy so as to help guide us.”

She went back to drinking her wine as she thought it over. After a moment, her gaze turned to him again.

“Then why would Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor not want us to know the prophecies that the Creator Himself has given us to help guide us? After all, they are both gifted.”

Ludwig arched an eyebrow at her. “Why indeed?”

Her frown grew. “What are you saying?”

He studied her face a moment. She really was an attractive woman. A bit thin, but very appealing, actually.

“Orneta, who would have an interest in us not knowing the words of guidance the Creator has given mankind so as to help us avoid dangers to our lives? Guidance so that we might live?”

She stared off a moment, thinking it over. Realization bloomed on her face. She looked back, her eyes wide.

“The Keeper of the underworld…” she breathed.