Tears began rolling down her face. “Don’t you see? That is why I cannot tell him. If I tell him, he will no longer be my friend, will no longer care for me. You cannot know what it is like to be a Confessor, to have everyone fear you. He looks into my eyes, Shar. Not many have ever dared that. No one could ever look into me the way he does. His eyes make me feel safe. He makes my heart smile.”
“Others might tell him before you do, Confessor Kahlan. That would be worse.”
She looked up at the night wisp, her eyes wet. “I will tell him before that happens.”
“You play a dangerous game, Confessor Kahlan,” Shar warned. “He could fall in love with you first. Then your telling would hurt him unforgivably.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“You will choose him?”
“No!”
The night wisp spun back at the sound of Kahlan’s shriek, then slowly came back by her face. “Confessor Kahlan, you are the last of your kind. Darken Rahl has killed all the others. Even your sister, Dennee. You are the Mother Confessor. You must choose a mate.”
“I could not do that to someone I cared for. No Confessor would,” she sobbed.
“Sorry, Mother Confessor. It is for you to choose.”
Kahlan pulled her legs up, wrapped her arms around them, and rested her forehead against her knees. Her shoulders heaved as she cried, her thick hair cascading down to encircle her. Shar flew slowly around her head, throwing off shafts of silvery light, comforting her companion. She continued to circle until Kahlan’s weeping slowed and finally stopped. When it did, Shar returned to hover in front of her.
“Hard to be Mother Confessor. Sorry.”
“Hard,” Kahlan agreed.
“Much on your shoulders.”
“Much,” Kahlan agreed again.
The night wisp landed lightly on the woman’s shoulder and rested there quietly while Kahlan watched the fire glow with small slow flames. After a time the night wisp rose from her shoulder and floated to a spot in the air in front of her.
“Wish to stay with you more. Good times. Wish to stay with Richard Cypher. Asks good questions. But I cannot hold on longer. Sorry. I die.”
“You have my word, Shar, that I will give my own life, if necessary, to stop Darken Rahl. To save your kind and the others.”
“I believe in you, Confessor Kahlan. Help Richard.” Shar came closer. “Please. Before I die. Touch me?”
Kahlan pushed herself away from the wisp until her back was against the trunk of the tree. “No… please… no,” she implored, shaking her head. “Don’t ask me to do that.” Her eyes filled with tears again. She put her trembling fingers to her lips, trying to hold back the crying.
Shar came forward. “Please, Mother Confessor. I feel such pain of aloneness away from the others. I will never share their company again. It hurts so. I pass now. Please. Use your power. Touch me and let me drink in the sweet agony. Let me die with the taste of love. I have forfeited my life to help you. I have asked nothing else of you. Please?”
Shar’s light was growing dimmer, fainter. Kahlan, crying, held her left hand over her mouth. At last, she reached out with her right hand, until her trembling fingers touched the wisp.
All about there was thunder but no sound. The violent impact to the air jolted the wayward pine, causing a rain of dead needles, some flaring when they touched the fire. Shar’s dim silvery color changed to a pink glow, growing in intensity.
Shar’s voice was faint. “Thank you, Kahlan. Good-bye, my love.”
The spark of light and life faded and was gone.
After the thunder without sound, Richard waited for a time before he returned to her. Kahlan sat with her arms around her legs and her chin resting on her knees as she stared into the fire.
“Shar?” he asked.
“She is gone,” came the answer in a distant voice.
He nodded and, taking her arm, led her to the mat of dry grass and laid her down. She went without resistance or comment. He put the blanket over her and piled on some of the dry grass to help keep her warm through the night, then burrowed himself into it next to her. Kahlan turned on her side, away from him, and pushed her shoulders back against him the way a child would put its back to a parent when peril approached. He sensed it, too. Something was coming for them. Something deadly.
Already, she was asleep. He knew he should feel cold, but he didn’t. His hand throbbed. He felt warm. Richard lay there, thinking about the thunder without sound. He wondered what she would do to make the great wizard do what she wanted. The idea frightened him. Before he could worry more he, too, was asleep.
6
By noon the next day, Richard knew the bite of the vine was bringing on a fever. He had no appetite. At times he was unbearably hot, sweat making his clothes stick to his skin; then he would shiver with chills. His head pounded in a way that made him sick to his stomach. There was nothing he could do about it, except seek Zedd’s help, and since they were nearly there he decided not to tell Kahlan. Dreams had troubled his sleep, whether from the fever or the things he had learned, he didn’t know. What Shar had told him was the most disturbing: seek the answer or die.
The sky was thinly overcast, the cold gray light foretelling the coming of winter. Trees grown large and close held back the breeze and its chill, making the trail a quiet sanctuary filled with the aromatic fragrance of balsam fir: a refuge from winter’s breath above.
Crossing a small brook near a beaver pond, they came upon a patch of late wildflowers, their yellow and pale blue blossoms blanketing the ground in a sparsely wooded hollow. Kahlan stopped to pick some. Finding a scoop-shaped piece of dead wood, she started arranging the flowers within the hollow of the wood. Richard thought she must be hungry. He found an apple tree he knew to be nearby and filled his pack half full while she bent to her task. It was always a good idea to bring food when going to see Zedd.
Richard finished before Kahlan, and waited, leaning against a log, wondering what she was doing. When she was satisfied with the arrangement, she lifted the hem of her dress and knelt beside the pond, floating the wood out onto the water. She sat back on her boots with her hands folded in her lap, watching for a time as the small raft of flowers drifted out onto the quiet water. When she turned and saw him leaning against the log, she stood and joined him.
“An offering to the spirits of our two mothers,” she explained. “To ask their protection and help in finding the wizard.” Kahlan looked to his face, and concern came over her features. “Richard, what’s wrong?”
He held out an apple. “Nothing. Here, eat this.”
She slapped his hand away and in a blink had him by the throat with her other hand. Anger flared in her green eyes. “Why would you do this!” she demanded.
Shock raced through his mind. He went rigid. Something told him not to move. “Don’t you like apples? I’m sorry, I’ll find you something else to eat.”
The fury in her eyes faltered, changing to doubt. “What did you call them?”
“Apples,” he said, still not moving. “Don’t you know what apples are? They’re good to eat, I promise. What did you think they were?”
Her hand loosened its grip a little. “You eat these… apples?”
Richard kept himself still. “Yes. All the time.”
Embarrassment replacing her anger, she released his throat and put her fingers over her mouth. Her eyes were wide. “Richard, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you could eat these things. In the Midlands, any red fruit is deadly poison. I thought you meant to poison me.”
Richard laughed as the tension went out in a rush. Kahlan laughed, too, while protesting that it wasn’t funny. He took a bite to show her, then offered her another. This time she took it, but looked at it long and hard before taking a bite.
“Umm, these things are good to eat.” Kahlan’s brow wrinkled. She put her hand on his forehead. “I thought there was something wrong. You are burning with fever.”
“I know, but
there’s nothing we can do until we get to Zedd’s. We’re almost there.”
Zedd’s squat house came into sight a short distance farther up the trail. A single plank from the sod-covered roof served as a ramp for his old cat, who was better at getting up than down. White lace curtains hung on the inside of the windows, flower boxes on the outside. The flowers had dried and wilted with the passing of the season. The log walls were dull gray with age, but a bright blue door greeted visitors. Other than the door, the whole place gave the appearance of hunkering into the grasses surrounding it, of trying to go unnoticed. The house wasn’t large, but it did have a porch running the length of the front.
Zedd’s “reason” chair was empty. The reason chair was where Zedd sat and thought until he figured out the reason for whatever it was that had snagged his curiosity. He had once sat in the chair for three days straight, trying to figure out why people were always arguing over how many stars there were. He himself didn’t care. He thought the question trivial, and he only wondered why people spent so much time debating the subject. At last he had stood and pronounced that it was because anyone could express his profound conviction on the subject without fear of being proven wrong, as it was impossible to know the answer. Such fools simply didn’t have to worry about contradiction when proclaiming expertise. Having settled the matter, Zedd then went in the house and ate in earnest for three solid hours.
Richard called out but received no answer. He smiled at Kahlan. “I bet I know where he is. Out back on his cloud rock, studying the latest batch of clouds.”
“Cloud rock?” Kahlan asked.
“It’s his favorite place to stand and watch clouds. Don’t ask me why. Ever since I’ve known him, whenever he sees an interesting cloud, he runs out back to watch it while standing on that rock.” Richard had grown up with the rock, and didn’t think the behavior peculiar; it was just part of the old man.
The two of them walked through the tall, wild grasses that surrounded the house and up a rise to the top of a small barren hill, where the cloud rock sat. Zedd was standing on the flat cloud rock with his arched back to them, his spindly arms out-stretched and his wavy white hair hanging away from his head as it tilted back in scrutiny.
Zedd was stark naked.
Richard rolled his eyes; Kahlan averted hers. Pale leathery skin draped loosely over a collection of bony projections made him look as frail as a dry stick. Richard knew him to be anything but frail, though. His bottom lacked any padding whatsoever, leaving the skin there to droop.
One scrawny finger rose, pointing skyward. “I knew you were coming, Richard.” His voice was as thin as the rest of him.
The plain, unadorned robes that were his only clothes lay in a heap behind him. Richard bent and picked them up while Kahlan, smiling, turned around to avoid any further embarrassment. “Zedd, we have company. Put on your clothes.”
“Do you know how I knew you were coming?” Still he did not move or turn.
“I would say it has something to do with a cloud that has been following me for the last few days. Here, let me help get this on you.”
Zedd spun around, arms flailing in excitement. “Days! Bags! Richard, that cloud has been following you for three weeks! Ever since your father was killed! I haven’t seen you since George’s death. Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you. I can find a lost bug in a barn easier than I can find you when you get it in your head not to be found!”
“I’ve been busy. Hold your arms up so I can help you put this on.” Richard shoved the robes over Zedd’s outstretched arms and helped pull the folds down the bony body while the old man shrugged his way into the outfit.
“Busy! Too busy to look up once in a while? Bags, Richard, do you know where that cloud is from?” Zedd’s eyes were wide with concern as his forehead wrinkled above his raised brow.
“Don’t curse,” Richard said. “And I would say the cloud is from D’Hara.”
Zedd’s arms shot back into the air. “D’Hara! Yes! Very good, my boy! Tell me, what gave it away for you. Was it the texture? The density?” Zedd was becoming ever more excited as he wiggled around in his robe, dissatisfied with the way it twisted.
“Neither. It’s an assumption I make based on independent information. Zedd, as I said before, we have company.”
“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time.” He waved the matter away with his hand. “Independent information, you say.” He drew his forefinger and thumb down his smooth jaw. His hazel eyes lit up. “That’s very good too. Very good, indeed! Did this information also tell you this is bad business? Well, yes, of course it did,” he said, in answer to his own question. “Why are you sweating?” He put his twiglike fingers to Richard’s forehead. “You have a fever,” he pronounced. “Did you bring me anything to eat?”
Richard already had an apple at hand; he knew Zedd would be hungry. Zedd was always hungry. The old man bit into the apple with a vengeance.
“Zedd, please listen to me. I’m in trouble, and I need your help.”
Zedd put his scrawny fingers on the top of Richard’s head while he chewed, and with his thumb, lifted an eyelid. Leaning forward, he thrust his sharply featured face close to Richard’s and peered into his eye, then repeated the procedure on the other eye. “I always listen to you, Richard.” He lifted Richard’s arm by the wrist, feeling his pulse. “And I agree, you are in trouble. In three hours, maybe four, no more, you will be unconscious.”
Richard was taken aback; Kahlan looked worried, too. Zedd knew about fevers, among other things, and did not make precise pronouncements like this that ever proved in error. Richard’s legs had felt weak since he awoke with chills, and he knew he was getting worse. “Can you do anything to help?”
“Probably, but it depends on what caused it. Now, stop being rude and introduce me to your girlfriend.”
“Zedd, this is my friend, Kahlan Amnell….”
The old man peered closely into his eyes. “Oh, was I wrong? She is not a girl then?” Zedd cackled. He smiled over the trick as he shuffled to Kahlan, bowed dramatically at the waist, lifted her hand only a little, kissed it lightly, and said, “Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander, humbly at your whim, my dear young lady.” He straightened himself up to have a look at her face. When their eyes met, his smile evaporated and his eyes went wide. His keen features transformed to anger. He released her hand as if he had discovered himself holding a poisonous snake. Zedd spun to Richard.
“What are you doing with this creature!”
Kahlan was calm and impassive. Richard was aghast. “Zedd…”
“Has she touched you?”
“Well, I…” Richard was trying to remember the times she had touched him, when Zedd cut him off again.
“No, of course not. I can see she hasn’t. Richard, do you know what she is?” He turned to her. “She’s a…”
Kahlan gave Zedd a look of such cold danger that it froze him in place.
Richard kept his voice calm, but firm. “I know exactly what she is: she is my friend. A friend who yesterday saved me from getting killed as my father was, and again saved me from being killed by some beast called a gar.” Kahlan’s expression relaxed. The old man stared at her a little longer before turning to Richard. “Zedd, Kahlan is my friend. We are both in a lot of trouble and need to help each other.”
Zedd stood in silence, searching Richard’s eyes. He nodded. “Trouble indeed.”
“Zedd, we need your help. Please?” Kahlan came and stood next to him. “We don’t have much time.” Zedd didn’t look inclined to be any part of it, but Richard went on anyway, watching Zedd’s eyes. “Yesterday, after I found her, she was attacked by a quad. Another will come soon.” He saw what he was looking for; a quick flash of hatred, softening into empathy.
Zedd looked to Kahlan as if seeing her for the first time. They faced each other for a long while. At the mention of the quad the look on Kahlan’s face became one of torment. Zedd came forward and put his spindly arms around her protectively,
holding her head to his shoulder. She reached around and embraced him gratefully, burying her face in his robes to conceal her tears. “It’s all right, dear one, you are safe here,” he said softly. “Let’s go down to the house and you can tell me of this trouble, and then we must tend to Richard’s fever.” She nodded against his shoulder.
Kahlan parted from him. “Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander. I have never heard such a name.”
He smiled proudly, his thin lips pushing back his cheeks into deep wrinkles. “I’m sure you haven’t, dear one, I’m sure you haven’t. By the way, can you cook?” He put his arm around her shoulder, holding her tight as he started walking her down the hill. “I’m hungry and haven’t had a suitably cooked meal in years.” He glanced back. “Come along, Richard, while you still can.”
“If you help Richard’s fever, I will make you a big pot of spice soup,” she offered.
“Spice soup!” Zedd swooned. “I haven’t had a proper spice soup in years. Richard is lousy at making it.”
Richard trudged behind, the emotional strain having taken much of his remaining strength. The casual way Zedd was handling the fever scared him. He knew this was his old friend’s way of trying not to frighten him about the seriousness of the matter. He could feel his pulse in his sore hand.
Since Zedd was from the Midlands, Richard had thought he could gain his compassion with the mention of the quad. Richard was relieved, if somewhat surprised, at how the two of them were suddenly so amiable. He reached up as he walked, touching the tooth for reassurance.
He was, however, quite disturbed by what he now knew.
Near a back corner of the house sat a table where Zedd liked to take his meals in good weather. It afforded him the opportunity to keep an eye to the clouds while he ate. Zedd sat them down together on a bench while he went inside and brought out carrots, berries, cheese, and apple juice, putting them on the wooden tabletop worn smooth with years of use, then sat himself on the bench opposite them. He gave Richard a mug of something brown and thick that smelled of almonds and told him to drink it slowly.