The Sister at her head held the twisted cloth over the hooded face. "Open your mouth, and bite down on this." She put the cloth between the woman's teeth. "Now, open your legs. You must keep them open. If you try to close them, it will be a rejection of what you are being offered, and you will lose the chance. Forever."
The naked woman stared fixedly up at nothing. She panted with fear, her breast heaving. Slowly, she spread her legs.
The beast stirred, giving a low grunt.
Margaret put a hand on Jedidiah's forearm, her fingers digging into him.
The beast sniffed the air. As it slowly unfolded itself, Margaret saw that it was larger than it had looked when it was all hunched over. It was powerfully built, looking mostly like a man. Flickers of candle light reflected off sweat slicked, knotted muscles of its arms and chest. Downy hair started at the narrow hips, growing coarser further down the legs, until at the ankles, where it was the longest, thickest. But the head was something other than a man. It was a horror of anger and fangs.
A long, thin tongue flicked out, tasting the air. The eyes glowed orange in the dim light, orange with the power of the gift it had absorbed from the quillion.
As it stretched out on its hands and knees toward the naked woman, Margaret almost gasped aloud; she recognized the beast. She had seen a drawing of it in an old book. The same book in which she had seen drawings of some parts of the spells before her. She wanted to scream.
It was a namble. One of the Nameless One's minions.
Oh dear Creator, she prayed fervently, please protect us.
Growling in a low rumble, its powerful muscles flexing, its haunted eyes glowing orange, the namble edged like a huge cat toward the woman on the ground. Head low, it crawled between her legs. In a state of ragged fear, the woman still stared up at nothing.
The namble sniffed at her crotch. Its long tongue flicked out, running over her. She flinched, making a small jerk of a sound against the cloth in her teeth, but she kept her legs open. Her eyes did not move. She did not look at the namble. The Sisters in the circle began a soft chant. The namble licked her again, slower, grunting this time as it did so. She squealed against the rag. Beads of sweat shimmered on her flesh. She kept her legs wide apart.
Rising up on its knees, the beast gave a throaty roar to the black sky. Its, pointed, barbed, erect phallus stood out, plainly silhouetted against the candles beyond. Muscles bulged in knotted cords along its arms and shoulders as the namble bent forward, putting a fist to each side of the woman. Its tongue licked out around her throat as it gave a vibrating rumble of a growl, and then it lowered itself, covering her with its massive form.
Its hips hunched forward. The woman's eyes winced shut as she screamed against the cloth in her teeth. The namble gave a quick, powerful thrust and her eyes snapped open in a panic of pain. Even with the cloth clenched in her teeth, her screams could be heard over the chanting each time the beast knocked the wind from her, adding more force to the shrieks.
Margaret had to force herself to take a breath as she watched. She hated these women; they had given themselves over to something unspeakably evil. Still, they were her Sisters, and she could hardly bear to watch one being hurt. She realized she was shaking. She clenched the gold flower at her neck in one fist, and Jedidiah's arm with her other as tears streamed down her face.
The beast thrashed at the Sister on the ground as the three Sisters held her. Her muffled screams of torment ripped at Margaret's heart.
The Sister holding the cloth finally spoke. "If you want the gift, you must encourage him to give it to you. He will not surrender it unless you overcome his control—unless you take it from him. You must win it from him. Do you understand?"
Crying, her eyes shut tight, the woman nodded.
The Sister pulled the cloth away. "Then he is yours now. Take the gift, if you will."
The other two released her arms and the three of them returned to their places in the circle, taking up the chanting with the others. The woman let out a wail that turned Margaret's blood to ice. It made her ears hurt.
The woman flung her arms and legs around the namble, clutching herself to it, moving with it, moving with the chanting. Her screams died away as she panted with the effort.
Margaret could watch no longer. She closed her eyes and swallowed back a wail of her own that tried to force itself from her throat. But even with her eyes closed, it was no better. She could still hear it. Please, dear Creator, she begged in her mind, let it end. Please let it end.
And then, with a husky grunt, it did. Margaret opened her eyes to see the namble still, its back hunched. It shuddered, and then slowly went limp. The woman struggled to breathe under its weight.
With strength that seemed impossible, she at last pushed the namble off her. Chest heaving, it rolled to its hands and knees and slunk back to its place in the circle, folding itself into a dark bundle. The chanting had stopped. The woman lay on the ground for a time, panting, recovering. She was covered with a glistening sheen of sweat that reflected the yellow light of the candle flames.
Taking one, last, deep breath, the woman came smoothly to her feet. A dark stain of blood ran down her legs. With a calm awareness that sent a chill up Margaret's spine and caught her breath short, the woman turned to face her, pulling off her hood.
The menacing orange glow in her eyes faded, and they returned to the pale blue with dark violet flecks that Margaret knew so well.
"Sister Margaret." Her tone was as mocking as the smile on her thin lips. "Did you enjoy watching? I thought you might."
Wide-eyed, Margaret rose slowly to her feet. Across the circle the Sister who had held the cloth also rose, and pulled off her hood. "Margaret dear, how nice of you to show such interest in our little group. I didn't know you were that stupid. Did you think I let you see the quillion in my office by accident? That I wasn't aware someone was interested? I had to know who was skulking about, looking into things that were none of their concern. I let you see it. I wasn't sure though, until you followed us." Her smile froze Margaret's breathing. "Think we are fools? I saw the pool of Han you cast for us to step in. I obliged you. Such a shame. For you."
Margaret's hand was clutched tightly around the gold flower at her neck, her fingernails digging into her palm. How could they have seen the pool of her Han? She had underestimated them, that was how. Underestimated what they could do with the gift. It was going to cost her her life.
But only her. Only her. Please, dear Creator, only her. She could sense Jedidiah close at her side.
"Jedidiah..." she whispered, "run. I'll try to hold them off while you escape. Run, my love. Run for your life."
His powerful hand came up and gripped her upper arm. "I don't think so, 'my love'." Her eyes were captured by his cruelly empty expression. "I tried to save you, Margaret. I tried to get you to turn back. But you wouldn't listen." He glanced to the Sister across the clearing. "If I got her oath, couldn't we just..." The Sister glared back. He sighed. "No, I suppose we couldn't."
He gave her a strong shove into the clearing. She came to a stumbling stop at the edge of the candles. She had gone numb. Her mind refused to work. Her voice refused to work.
The Sister across the circle clasped her hands together, looking to Jedidiah. "Has she told anyone else?"
"No. Just me. She was looking for proof before she went to anyone else for help." His eyes returned to her. "Isn't that right, my love?" He shook his head again, the smirk of a smile touching his lips. Lips she had kissed. She felt sick. She felt like the biggest fool the Creator had ever seen. "Such a shame."
"You have done well, Jedidiah. You will be rewarded. And as for you, Margaret... well, tomorrow Jedidiah will report that after trying to avoid the insistent affections of an older woman, he finally and firmly rejected you for good, and you ran away in shame and humiliation. If they come here and find your bones, it will confirm their fears that you chose to end your life because you felt unworthy to live any longer as a Sister
of the light."
The dark flecked eyes glided back to Margaret. "Let me have her. Let me test my new gift. Let me taste it."
Those eyes kept Margaret frozen, her hand still clutching the gold flower at her neck. She could hardly breathe through the numbing agony of knowing Jedidiah had betrayed her.
She had prayed to the Creator to give Jedidiah strength, strength to help others. She had had no idea who those others would be. The Creator had answered her prayers, foolish as they had been.
When the Sister consented, the thin lips widened in a greedy grin. Margaret felt naked, helpless, in the penetrating gaze of those flecked eyes.
At last, Margaret made her mind work. Her thoughts sprang to a terrified groping for a way of escape. She could only think of one thing to do, before it was too late. With panicked abandon, she let her Han explode through every fiber of herself, and brought forth a shield; the most powerful shield she knew—a shield of air. She made it hard as steel. Impenetrable. She poured her hurt and hate into it.
The thin smile never left. The flecked eyes didn't move. "Air, is it then? With the gift, I can see it now. Shall I show you what I can do with air? What the gift can do with it?"
"The Creator's power will protect me," Margaret managed.
The thin smile turned to a sneer. "You think so? Let me show you the Creator's impotence."
Her hand came up. Margaret expected a ball of Wizard's Fire. It wasn't; it was a ball of air so dense she could see it, see it coming. It was so dense it distorted what was seen through it. Margaret could hear the whoosh of its approach, the wail of its power. It went through her shield like flaming pitch through paper.
It shouldn't have been able to do that; her shield was air. Air should not have been able to break a shield of air, not a shield as strong as she had made. But this was air made not by a mere Sister, but one with the gift. A wizard's gift.
Confused, Margaret realized she was laying on the ground, looking up at the stars, pretty stars: the Creator's stars. She couldn't draw a breath. Simply, couldn't.
She thought it odd; she didn't remember the air hitting her. Only her breath being ripped violently from her lungs. She felt cold, but there was something warm against her face. Warm and wet. It was a comfort.
Her legs didn't seem to work. Try as she might, she couldn't make them move. With the greatest of effort, she managed to lift her head a bit. The Sisters hadn't moved, but somehow, they were farther away now. They all watched her. Margaret looked down at herself.
Something was terribly wrong.
Below her ribs, there was mostly nothing there. Just the shredded, wet, remains of her insides, and then nothing. Where the rest of her should have been, there was nothing. Where had her legs gone? They must be somewhere. They had to be somewhere.
There they were. They lay a little distance away, where she had been standing.
So. That was why she couldn't take a breath. Air shouldn't have been able to do that. It was impossible. At least air wielded by a Sister shouldn't have been able to do that. It was a wonder.
Dear Creator, why have you not helped me? I was doing your work. Why have you let this be done.
It should hurt, shouldn't it? Shouldn't it hurt to be ripped in half? But it didn't. It didn't hurt the least little bit.
Cold. She felt only cold. But the warm rope of her guts laying against her face felt good. Warm. She took comfort in the warmth.
Maybe it didn't hurt because the Creator was helping her. That must be it. The Creator had taken her pain. Dear Creator, thank you. I did my best. I am sorry I failed you. Send another.
Boots were near: Jedidiah. Husband Jedidiah; bastard Jedidiah.
"I tried to warn you, Margaret. I tried to keep you away. You can't say I didn't try."
Her arms lay sprawled out to her sides. In her right hand she could feel the little gold flower. She hadn't let go of it. Even as she was torn in half, she never let go. She tried to now, but she couldn't make her hand open. She wished she had the strength to open her hand. She didn't want to die with that in her hand. But she just couldn't open her fingers.
Dear Creator, I have failed in this, too.
Since she couldn't release it, she did the only other thing she could think of. She sent the rest of her power into it. Maybe someone would see, and ask the right question.
Tired. She was so very tired.
She tried to close her eyes, but they wouldn't close. How could a person die, if they couldn't close their eyes?
There were a lot of stars. Pretty stars. There seemed to be fewer than she remembered. Hardly any at all. She thought her mother had told her once how many there were. But she couldn't remember.
Well, she would just have to count them.
One... Two...
21
"How long?" Chase asked.
The seven fierce looking men that were squatted down in a half circle before her and Chase just stared at him and blinked. None of the seven had any weapons except belt knives, and one didn't even have that. But there were a lot of other men standing behind them, and they all had bows or spears, or both.
Rachel tugged her thick, brown, woolen cloak tighter around herself and shifted her weight as she squatted, wiggling her toes, wishing her feet weren't so cold. They were starting to tingle. She stroked her fingers over the big, amber stone hanging on the chain from her neck. Its smooth, teardrop shape felt warm against her fingers.
Chase mumbled something Rachel couldn't understand as he pushed his heavy black cloak back over his shoulders and then pointed with a stick at the two people drawn in the dirt. All the leather belts for his weapons creaked as he leaned forward on boots big enough for any of the other men to fit both of their feet into just one. He tapped his stick on the ground again, then turned and pushed his hand out toward the grassland.
"How long?" He pointed at the drawing and pushed his hand out a few more times. "How long since they left?"
They chattered something Chase and she couldn't understand, and then the man with long silver hair falling down around his sun brown face, the one who didn't have a coyote hide around his shoulders but wore only simple buckskin clothes, drew another picture in the dirt. She could tell what it was easy this time. It was the sun. He made marks under it. Chase watched as the man drew three rows of marks under the picture of the sun. He stopped.
Chase stared at the picture. "Three weeks." He looked up at the man with the long hair. "Three weeks?" He pointed at the sun on the ground and held up most of his fingers three times. "They've been gone three weeks?"
The man gave a nod and made some more of those funny words.
Siddin handed her another piece of flat bread with honey. It tasted wonderful. She tried to eat it slowly, but it was gone before she knew it. She had tasted honey only once before, back at the castle when she lived there as the Princess's playmate. The Princess never let her have honey, said it wasn't for the likes of her, but one of the cooks had given her some once.
Her stomach fluttered at the memory of how mean the Princess had been to her. She never wanted to live in a castle again. Now that she was Chase's daughter, she would never have to. Every night she lay in her blankets, before she went to sleep, and wondered what the rest of her new family was like.
Chase said she would have sisters and brothers. And a real mother. He said she would have to mind her new mother. She could do that. It was easy to mind when someone loved you.
Chase loved her. He never really said it, but it was easy to tell. He put his huge arm around her, and stroked her hair, when she was afraid of sounds in the dark.
Siddin smiled at her as he licked the honey off his fingers. It was nice to see him again. When they had first came here she thought there was going to be trouble. Scary men, all painted with mud, and with grass stuck all over themselves, came up to them when they were still out on the grassland. She didn't even see where they came from. They were just there all of a sudden.
Rachel was afraid at first, becau
se the men pointed arrows at them, and their voices sounded scary and she couldn't understand what they said, but Chase just got off the horse and held her in his arms while he watched them. He didn't even draw his sword or anything. She didn't think anything scared him. He was the bravest man she ever saw. The men had looked at her as she stared at them, and Chase stroked her hair and told her not to be afraid. The men stopped pointing the arrows at them, and led them to the village.
When they got here, she saw Siddin. Siddin knew her and Chase, from before when Kahlan had saved him from Queen Milena back in the castle. Zedd, Kahlan, Chase, Siddin and she had all been together when they were running with the box. She couldn't speak Siddin's language, but he knew them, and told his father who they were. After that, everyone was real nice to them.
Chase pointed with one finger to one of the pictures of a person, the finger of his other hand to the other picture, and then held the fingers together and pointed away, moving his hands like they were going over hills. "Richard and Kahlan left three weeks ago, and they went north? To Aydindril?"
The men all shook their heads and started jabbering again. Siddin's father held up his hand for quiet. He pointed at himself and the other men and held up three fingers, then he pointed at the picture on the ground that had a dress and said Kahlan's name, and then he pointed north.
Chase pointed at the picture of the sun, then the picture of Kahlan, then at the men, holding up three fingers, then north. "Three weeks ago, Kahlan and three of your men went north, to Aydindril?"
The men all nodded and said "Kahlan" and "Aydindril".
Chase put a knee to the ground as he leaned forward, tapping the picture of the other person. "But Richard went, too." He pointed north again. "Richard went to Aydindril too. With Kahlan."
The men all turned to the man with the long silver hair. He looked at Chase and then shook his head. The carved piece of bone hanging from a leather thong around his neck swung back and forth. He pointed down at the picture of the man with a sword, and then pointed in a different direction.