Stone of Tears

  "Then we are in danger in a few weeks, at winter solstice."

  Warren's eyebrows lifted in delight. "Yes. But you've given me the information to solve an upcoming prophecy, along with what we now know to be the true fork involved along with it. You see, this winter solstice, there is a prophecy about the danger to the world of the living.

  "The Keeper has to have a number of elements in place for it to be a true fork, such as an open gateway, but he needs an agent called into this world—" Warren leaned forward in delight "—and he in turn needs the skrin. If he has the skrin bone you told me of, he can invoke the guardian, and destroy it. If the guardian is destroyed, the Keeper can come through the gateway."

  "Warren, that sounds pretty frightening to me."

  Warren lifted his hand with a dismissive wave. "No, no. Many prophecies sound ominous, like this one. But the elements are rarely all in place, so they turn out to be false forks, as most do. The books are clogged with false forks because—"

  "Warren, get to the point."

  "Oh, yes. Well, you see, you told me that your friend has the bone that can invoke the skrin. And the Keeper would need an agent, but he doesn't have one. Without the skrin bone, and with the upcoming fork which we know must be passed correctly, and we think it will, this is just another false fork, so we're safe!"

  Richard felt a distant tingling of apprehension, but Warren's bubbly confidence overwhelmed it. He was caught up in Warren's enthusiasm. He gave the young man a clap on the back.

  "Good work, Warren. Now I can concentrate on learning to use my Han."

  Warren Beamed. "Thank you, Richard. I'm so glad you've been able to help me. I've made more progress than I ever thought I would before I met you."

  Still grinning, Richard shook his head in wonder. "Warren, I've never met anyone that was so smart, yet so young."

  Warren laughed as if that was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

  "What's so funny?"

  "Your joke," Warren said, wiping tears from his eyes.

  "What joke?"

  Warren's laughter slowed to a frowning chuckle. "About me being young. It was funny."

  Richard held his polite smile. "Warren, why is that funny?"

  Warren's chuckle died down to a grin. "Because I'm one hundred and fifty seven years old."

  Richard's flesh prickled. "Now you're making a joke. That's a joke. It is a joke, Warren, isn't it?"

  Warren's good humor evaporated. He blinked. "Richard... you do know, don't you. They must have told you. I was sure they would have told you by now..."

  Richard's arm swept the books aside. He scooted his chair closer. "Told me what? Warren, don't you say something like that and then go silent on me. You're my friend, you tell me."

  Warren cleared his throat and then wet his lips with his tongue. He leaned in a little. "Richard, I'm sorry. I thought you knew, or I would have told you myself a long time ago. I would have."

  "Told me what!"

  "The magic. The magic of the Palace of the Prophets. It has Additive and Subtractive elements to it that are tied to the other worlds. That makes time move differently here."

  "Warren," Richard said hoarsely, "do you mean it affects all of us? All those wearing the collar?"

  "No... everyone at the Palace. The Sisters, too. This place is spelled. As long as the Sisters live at the Palace, they age the same as we do. The spell makes us age more slowly; makes time seem different to us."

  "What do you mean, 'different'?"

  "The spell slows our aging process. For every year we age, those outside age between ten and fifteen years."

  Richard's head was spinning. "Warren, that can't be true. It can't." He tried desperately to think of proof. "Pasha. Pasha could only be..."

  "Richard, I've known Pasha for over a hundred years."

  Richard slid the chair back and stood. He raked his fingers through his hair. "That doesn't make any sense. It has to be some kind of... Why would it work like that."

  Warren took Richard's arm and sat him down. He pulled his own chair close. He spoke in a soft, concerned voice, as one would when breaking calamitous news to a someone.

  "It takes a long time to train a wizard. Outside, in the rest of the world, over twenty years had gone by before I was even able to touch my Han. But because I live here, I had aged less than two years. Twenty years had passed here, too, but I aged only two. If the Palace did not slow our aging, we would all die of old age before we could even light a lamp with our Han.

  "I have never heard of it taking less than two hundred years to train a wizard. Commonly, it takes near to three hundred, and sometimes even as much as four hundred.

  "The wizards who created this place knew that, and so they tied the magic here to the worlds beyond, where time is meaningless. I don't know how it works, just that it does."

  Richard's hands shook. "But... I have to get this collar off. I have to get to Kahlan. I can't wait that long. Warren, help me. I can't wait that long."

  Warren glanced to the floor. "I'm sorry, Richard. I don't know how to get our collars off, and I don't know how to get by the barrier that keeps us here. I know how you feel, though. It drove me into the vaults for the last fifty years. Some of the others don't seem to care, and say that it just gives them more time with women."

  Richard slowly rose. "I can't believe it."

  Warren turned his face up. "Richard, please forgive me for telling you. I'm sorry I was the one to hurt you. You've always been..."

  Richard put a hand to Warren's shoulder. "It's not you fault. You didn't do it. You simply told me the truth." His voice felt as if it were coming from the bottom of a well. "Thank you for the truth, my friend."

  All he could think, as his feet shuffled toward the door, was that his dreams were all dying. If he couldn't get the collar off, everything would be lost.

  Sisters Ulicia and Finella both stood in warning as he came through the doors. They backed away, the same as the guards had, when they saw the look on his face. A sparkling shield went up before the door. He went through it without slowing. The door beyond burst open for him, without him touching it, part of the frame splintering. It somehow never occurred to him to use the knob.

  The Prelate was sitting with her hands folded on the heavy walnut table. Her solemn eyes watched him come. Richard pressed up against the table, towering over her.

  "I must admit, Richard," she said in a somber tone, "that I have not been looking forward to this visit."

  His straining voice broke. "Why didn't Sister Verna tell me?"

  "I ordered her not to."

  "And why did you not tell me?"

  "Because I wanted you first to learn some significant things about yourself, so you would be better able to understand your importance. The burden of a wizard, and of a Prelate, too."

  Richard sank to his knees before her desk. "Ann," he whispered, "please, help me. I must have the Rada'Han off. I love Kahlan. I need her. I need to get back to her. I've been gone a long time. Please, Ann, help me. Take the collar off."

  She closed her eyes for a long moment. When they opened, they were heavy with regret.

  "I spoke the truth, Richard. We cannot get the Rada'Han off until you learn enough to help us. That will take time."

  "Please, Ann, help me. Isn't there any other way?"

  Slowly, her eyes staying on his, she shook her head. "No, Richard. Over time, you will come to accept it. They all do. It is easier for the rest, because they come here as boys, not understanding, and grasp it only over time. We have never had to tell one grown, like you, who could understand the significance."

  Richard couldn't make himself think clearly. It felt as if he were stumbling in a dark dream. "But, we'll lose so much time together. She will be old. Everyone I know will be old."

  Ann smoothed her hair back as she averted her eyes. "Richard, by the time you are trained and leave here, the great, great, great grandchildren of everyone you know will have died of old age and been buried in the
ground for over a hundred years."

  He blinked at her, trying to comprehend the math of the generations involved, but it all turned to mush in his mind. He suddenly remembered what Shota had warned him of—a trap in time. This was that trap.

  He had been stripped of everything by these people. Everything he loved was gone. He would never see Zedd again, or Chase, or anyone he knew. He would never hold Kahlan again. He would never be able to tell her that he loved her, that he understood the sacrifice she had made for him.

  63

  Richard looked up from where he sat on the floor to see Warren in the doorway. He hadn't heard the knock. When he said nothing, Warren rushed over and squatted down beside him.

  "Listen, Richard, something you said made me think. You said that you were going to wed the Mother Confessor."

  Richard's mind came out of the daze and his eyes suddenly came up. "The prophecy is about her, isn't it. The prophecy you said would come on winter solstice."

  "I think it might be. But I don't know enough about her, about Confessors, to tell. Does the Mother Confessor wear white?"

  "Yes. The Confessors are born to find the truth. She is the last one."

  "Richard, I think that is good news. I think she is to find happiness, and bring it to her people, on winter solstice."

  Richard remembered the vision he had had in the Tower of Perdition. He remembered the horror of what he had seen. The words Kahlan had spoken were burned into his memory. He quoted it to Warren.

  "Of all there were, but a single one born of the magic to bring forth truth will remain alive when the shadow's threat is lifted. Therefore comes the greater darkness of the dead. For there to be a chance at Life's bond, this one in white must be offered to her people, to bring their joy and good cheer."

  "Yes! That's it! I believe that the 'greater darkness' means both the Keeper, and winter solstice. I think that means... Richard, where did you read that prophecy?"

  "I didn't read it. It was brought to me in a vision of her."

  Warren's eyes grew big, the way they tended to do when he was astonished. "You had a vision of Prophecy?"

  "Yes, she brought me the words, and also brought a vision of what it means."

  "What does it mean?"

  Richard brushed at his pant leg. "I can't tell you. She said that I could speak the words, but not of the vision. I'm sorry, Warren, but I dare not violate that warning without knowing the consequences. But I can tell you that the results of this prophecy coming true would not be joyful for her, or for me."

  Warren considered a moment. "Yes. You are right." He looked over out of the corner of his eye. "Richard, there is something about prophecy I think I should tell you. Hardly anyone knows this, but the words don't always reflect the true intent."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, a few times when I have read prophecies, I've had a vision. The vision turns out to be true, and so does the prophecy, but not in the way you would think from reading it. I believe that the true way prophecy is meant to be understood is through the gift, through the visions."

  "Do the Sisters know this?"

  "No. I think this is what it means to be a prophet. Richard, if you had this vision, and heard the words, and saw the meaning, maybe that means you are a prophet."

  "According to the Prelate, I have a different talent. If she is right, then having the vision might just be part of my ability for what I truly am."

  "Which is?"

  "The Prelate said I'm war wizard."

  His eyes widened again. "Richard, war wizards have the gift for both Magics. None with the gift for Subtractive, too, has been born in... in thousands of years. Maybe the Prelate is wrong."

  "I hope she is, but it would explain some things. From what a friend of mine told me, Additive Magic is using what is, adding to it, multiplying it, altering it; the doing of things. Subtractive Magic is the counter, the undoing of things.

  "All the shields are put up by the Sisters. They have only Additive. Even those with the gift cannot easily go through them, or break them, because they also have only Additive. Power against power. But somehow I'm able to walk right through the shields around here without even trying.

  "Subtractive Magic would explain that. Subtractive would counter the Additive of the shields; undo it."

  "But you said you tried to go through the barrier that keeps us from leaving. That's a shield, too. Why can't you go through that shield, then, if you really have the Subtractive?"

  Richard lifted an eyebrow and leaned in. "Warren, who put those shields in place."

  "Well, the ones who placed the rest of the magic of the Palace, the wizards of old..."

  "Who you said had Subtractive Magic. That shield is the only one placed by them. It's the only one I can't go through. It's the only one my Subtractive Magic, if I truly have it, wouldn't counter. See what I mean?"

  Warren sat back on his heels. "Yes..." He rubbed his chin as he thought. "Well, that would make sense. It might fit with some of the prophecies about you. If you really are a war wizard, and are the one born true."

  "And do these prophecies say I will prevail?"

  Warren hesitated. He glanced over at the Sword of Truth lying on the floor nearby. "If I said 'white blade,' would that mean anything to you?"

  Richard let out a heavy breath at the memory. "I can turn the blade of my sword white, through magic."

  Warren wiped his hand over his face. "Then I think we might be in trouble. There is a prophecy that says, 'Should the forces of forfeit be loosed, the world will be shadowed yet by darker lust through what has been rent. Salvation's hope, then, will be as slim as the white blade of the one born True.'"

  "Through what has been rent. The open gateway," Richard said.

  "That would make 'the darker lust' be the Keeper."

  "Warren, I have to do something about the prophecy. The one about the one in white. It's important. Do you have any ideas?"

  Warren watched him, as if trying to decide something. "I do. I don't know if it will help." He put weight on his hands as he rubbed them on his thighs. "They have a prophet here, at the Palace. I've never seen him. I want to, but they won't let me. They say it's too dangerous for me to talk to him until I learn more. They promised that when I learn enough, they will let me talk with him."

  "Here in the Palace? Where?"

  Warren pulled a fold of his robes from under his knees. "I don't know. It would have to be one of the restricted areas, but I don't know which one, and I don't know how we can find out."

  Richard stood. "I do."

  *****

  Richard knew he had gone to the right guard when swordsman Kevin Andellmere turned white as a spirit at the mention of "The Prophet." He was reluctant, feigning ignorance at first, but when Richard gently reminded him of all the favors, Kevin whispered the location.

  The compound Kevin had divulged was one of the most heavily guarded. Richard knew where all the guards were stationed because he had gathered white roses there, and had been up on the wall, to "look out at the sea." He also knew all the guards. They were frequent visitors to the prostitutes he provided.

  He didn't slow at the outer gate, but simply gave a nod to the wink the guards gave him. The guards at the rampart were considerably more reticent, stammering and holding out a hand to halt him. He shook the hand, pretending that he thought that was what was meant by it. They finally sighed and resumed their post as he marched away, his mriswith cape billowing open.

  At the end of the rampart was a small colonnade, and at the end of that, winding stairs that led down to the Prophet's quarters. The guards at the door he wanted were the two he had had trouble winning over at first, and the first to receive his gift of female company. They stiffened when they saw him.

  Richard casually made for the door between them. "Walsh, Bollesdun, how you doing?"

  They crossed their pikes over the door. "Richard, what are you doing down here? The roses grow up top."

  "Look, Walsh, I have
to go see the Prophet."

  "Richard, don't put us in this spot. You know we can't let you in. The Sisters would skin us alive."

  Richard shrugged. "I won't tell them you let me in. I'll say I tricked you. If anyone finds out, which they won't, just tell them I snuck by, and you didn't know until I was on my way out. I'll back your story."

  "Richard, you're really..."

  "Have I ever done anything to cause trouble? Have I ever done anything but help all you men? I buy you drinks, I loan you money when you need it, I let you have free access to the girls, and it never costs you a copper. Have I ever asked for anything in return?"

  Richard had his hand on the hilt of the sword. One way, or another, he was going through that door.

  Walsh pushed a stone chip with his boot. With a heavy sigh, first one, and then the other, pulled their pikes up. "Bollesdun, go make your rounds. I'm going to the privy for a sit."

  Richard took his hand from his sword and gave the man a pat on the shoulder. "Thanks, Walsh. I appreciate it."

  Halfway down the inner hall, Richard felt layers of resistance, shields, like were outside the Prelate's door, but they only slowed him a bit. The room inside was as spacious as his own, but perhaps more elegantly appointed. One wall held large tapestries, and another expansive bookshelves. Most of the books, though, seemed to be scattered about the room, on chairs and couches and covering the blue and yellow carpets on the floor.

  Richard could see the back of a man in the chair beside the cold hearth.

  "You must tell me how you do that," the man said in a deep, powerful voice. "I would be most interested in learning the trick."

  "Do what?" Richard asked.

  "Walk through shields as if they weren't there. Burns the flesh right off me if I try."

  "If I ever figure it out myself, I'll let you know. My name is Richard. If you're not busy, I would like to speak with you."

  "Busy!" The man gave a hearty laugh. When he stood, Richard was a little surprised at how big he was. His long white hair had made Richard think he might be old and shriveled. Old, he was, shriveled he was not. He looked strong and full of vitality. His smile was welcoming and threatening at the same time. He wore a Rada'Han, the same as Richard.