Soul of the Fire tsot-5 Read online

  Zedd wiped rain from his eyes. “Richard, I want to know what this is about.”

  “A chicken was killed outside the spirit house. Juni spat at the honor of whatever killed that chicken. Not long after, Juni died. I threw a stick at the chicken in the window, and not long after, it attacked that little boy. It was my fault Ungi got clawed. I don’t want to make the same mistake again.”

  Zedd, to Kahlan’s surprise, spoke calmly. “Richard, you’re bridging some yawning chasms with gossamer reasoning.”

  “The Bird Man said one of the chickens wasn’t a chicken.”

  Zedd frowned. “Really?”

  “He’d been drinking,” Kahlan pointed out.

  “Zedd, you named me the Seeker. If you wish to reconsider your choice, then do it now. If not, then let me do my job. If I’m wrong you can all lecture me later.”

  Richard took Zedd’s silence for acquiescence and again grasped Kahlan’s arm, if a little more gently than the first time. Conviction ignited his gray eyes.

  “Please, Kahlan, do as I ask. If I’m wrong, I’ll look a fool, but I’d rather look a fool than be right and fail to act.”

  Whatever had killed the chicken had done it right outside the spirit house, where she had been. That was the skein from which Richard had woven this tapestry of threat. Kahlan believed in Richard, but suspected he was merely getting carried away with concern over protecting her.

  “What is it you would have me say to the men?”

  “I want the men to gather up the chickens. Take them to the buildings they keep empty for the evil spirits. I want every last chicken herded in there. Then, we can have the Bird Man look at them and tell us which one is not a chicken.

  “I want the men to be gentle and courteous as they gather the chickens. Under no circumstances do I want anyone to show disrespect to any of the chickens.”

  “Disrespect,” Kahlan repeated. “To a chicken.”

  “That’s right.” Richard checked the waiting hunters before locking his gaze on her. “Tell the men I fear one of the chickens is possessed by the evil spirit that killed Juni.”

  Kahlan didn’t know if that was what Richard believed, but she knew without doubt that the Mud People would believe it.

  She looked to Zedd’s eyes for counsel, but found none. Ann’s visage had no more to offer. Cara was sworn to Richard; although she routinely disregarded orders she thought trifling, were Richard to insist, she would walk off a cliff for him.

  Richard would not give up. If Kahlan didn’t translate for him, he would go find Chandalen to do it. Failing that, he would gather up the chickens by himself, if necessary.

  The only thing to be accomplished by not doing as he asked would be to display a lack of faith in him. That alone persuaded her.

  Shivering in the icy rain, Kahlan took in Richard’s resolute gray eyes one last time before she turned to the waiting hunters.

  Chapter 8

  “Have you found the evil spirit, yet?”

  Kahlan looked back over her shoulder to see that it was Chandalen, carefully shuffling his way through the squawking throng of chickens. The muted light helped calm the flock in their confinement, if they did still raise quite the clamor. There were a few Reds and a sprinkling of other types, but most of the Mud People’s chickens were the striated Barred Rocks, a breed more docile than most. It was a good thing, too, or the simple pandemonium would be feathered chaos.

  Kahlan nearly rolled her eyes to hear Chandalen muttering ludicrous apologies to the birds he urged out of his way with a foot. She might have quipped about his risible behavior were it not for the disquieting way he was dressed, with a long knife at his left hip, a short knife at the right, a full quiver over one shoulder, and a strung bow over the other.

  More troubling, a coiled troga hung from a hook at his belt. A troga was a simple wire long enough to loop and drop over a man’s head. It was applied from behind, and then the wooden handles yanked apart. A man of Chandalen’s skill could easily and accurately place his troga at the joints in a man’s neck and silence him before he could make a sound.

  When they had fought together against the Imperial Order army that had attacked the city of Ebinissia and butchered the innocent women and children there, Kahlan had more than once seen Chandalen decapitate enemy sentries and soldiers with his troga. He wouldn’t be carrying his troga to battle evil-spirit-chicken-monsters.

  His fist held five spears. She guessed the razor-sharp spear points, with then—gummy, dark varnished look, were freshly coated with poison. Once so charged, they had to be handled with care.

  In the buckskin pouch at his waist, he carried a carved bone box filled with dark paste made by chewing and then cooking bandu leaves to render it into ten-step poison. He also carried a few leaves of quassin doe, the antidote for ten-step poison, but as the poison’s name implied, haste with the quassin doe was essential.

  “No,” Kahlan said, “the Bird Man has not yet found the chicken that is not a chicken. Why are you painted with mud, and so heavily armed? What’s going on?”

  Chandalen lifted a foot over a chicken that didn’t seem to want to move. “My men, the ones on far patrol, have some trouble. I must go see to it.”

  “Trouble?” Kahlan’s arms unfolded. “What sort of trouble?”

  Chandalen shrugged. “I am not sure. The man who came for me said there are men with swords—”

  “The Order? From the battle fought to the north? It could be some stragglers who got away, or combat scouts. Maybe we can get word to General Reibisch. His army might still be within striking distance, if we can get them to turn back in time.”

  Chandalen lifted a hand to allay the alarm in her voice.

  “No. You and I together fought the men of the Imperial Order. These are not Order troops, or scouts.

  “My man does not think they are hostile, but they are reported to be heavily armed and they had a calm about them when approached, which says much. Since I can speak your language, as they do, my men would like my direction with such dangerous-looking people.”

  Kahlan began to lift her arm to get Richard’s attention. “Richard and I had better go with you.”

  “No. Many people wish to travel our land. We often meet strangers out on the plains. This is my duty. I will take care of it and keep them away from the village. Besides, you two should stay and enjoy your first day as a newly wedded couple.”

  Without comment, Kahlan glowered at Richard, who was still sorting through the chickens.

  Chandalen leaned past her and spoke to the Bird Man, standing a few steps away. “Honored elder, I must go see to my men. Outsiders approach.”

  The Bird Man looked over at the man who was, in effect, his general charged with the defense of the Mud People. “Be careful. There are wicked spirits about.”

  Chandalen nodded. Before he turned away, Kahlan caught his arm. “I don’t know about evil spirits, but there are other dangers about. Be careful? Richard is concerned about trouble. If I don’t understand his reasons, I trust his instincts.”

  “You and I have fought together, Mother Confessor.” Chandalen winked. “You know I am too strong and too smart for trouble to catch me.”

  As she watched Chandalen work his way through the milling mass of the chickens, Kahlan asked the Bird Man, “Have you seen anything . . . suspicious?”

  “I do not yet see the chicken that is not a chicken,” the Bird Man said, “but I will keep looking until I find it.”

  Kahlan tried to think of a polite way to ask if he was sober. She decided to ask another question, instead. “How can you tell the chicken is not a chicken?”

  His sun-browned face creased with thought. “It is something I can sense.”

  She decided there was no avoiding it. “Perhaps, since you were celebrating with drink, you only thought you sensed something?”

  The creases in his face bent with a smile. “Perhaps the drink relaxed me so that I could see more clearly.”

  “And are you stil
l . . . relaxed?”

  He folded his arms as he watched the teeming flock.

  “I know what I saw.”

  “How could you tell it was not a chicken?”

  He stroked a finger down his nose as he considered her question. Kahlan waited, watching Richard urgently searching through the chickens as if looking for a lost pet.

  “At celebrations, such as your wedding,” the Bird Man said after a time, “our men act out stories of our people. Women do not dance the stories, only men. But many stories have women in them. You have seen these stories?”

  “Yes. I watched yesterday as the dancers told the story of the first Mud People: our ancestor mother and father.”

  He smiled, as if the mention of that particular story touched his heart. It was a smile of private pride in his people.

  “If you had arrived during that dance, and did not know anything of our people, would you have known the dancer dressed as the mother of our people was not a woman?”

  Kahlan thought it over. The Mud People made elaborate costumes expressly for the dances; they were brought out for no other reason. For Mud People, seeing dancers in the special costumes was awe-inspiring. The men who dressed as women in the stories went to great lengths to make themselves look the part.

  “I am not certain, but I think I would recognize they were not women.”

  “How? What would give them away to you? Are you sure?”

  “I don’t think I can explain it. Just something not quite right. I think, looking at them, I would know it was not a woman.”

  His intent brown-eyed gaze turned to her for the first time. “And I know it is not a chicken.”

  Kahlan entwined her fingers. “Maybe in the morning, after you have had a good sleep, you will see only a chicken when you look at a chicken?”

  He merely smiled at her suspicion of his unpaired judgment. “You should go eat. Take your new husband. I will send someone for you when I find the chicken that is not a chicken.”

  It did sound like a good idea, and she saw Richard heading in their direction. Kahlan clasped the Bird Man’s arm in mute appreciation.

  It had taken the whole afternoon to gather the chickens. Both structures reserved for evil spirits and a third empty building were needed to house all the birds. Nearly the entire village had joined in the grave cause. It had been a lot of work.

  The children had proven invaluable. Fired by responsibility in such an important village-wide effort, they had revealed all the places the chickens hid and roosted. The hunters gently gathered all the chickens, even though it was a Barred Rock the Bird Man had at first pointed out, the same striated breed Richard chased out when they went to see Zedd, the same breed Richard said had waited above the door while they’d been in to see Juni.

  An extensive search had been conducted. They were confident every chicken was housed in one of the three buildings.

  As he cut a straight line through the chickens, Richard smiled briefly in greeting to the Bird Man, but his eyes never joined in. As Richard’s gaze met hers, Kahlan slipped her fingers up his arm to snug around the bulge of muscle, glad to touch him, despite her exasperation.

  “The Bird Man says he hasn’t yet found the chicken you want, but he will keep searching. And there are still the two other buildings full of them. He suggested we go get something to eat, and he will send someone when he sees your chicken.”

  Richard started for the door. “He won’t find it here.”

  “What do you mean? How do you know?”

  “I have to go check the other two places.”

  If she was only annoyed, Richard looked frantic at not finding what he wanted. Kahlan imagined that he must feel his word was at stake. Back near the door, Ann and Zedd waited, silently observing the search, letting Richard have the leeway to look all he wanted, to do as he thought necessary.

  Richard paused, combing his fingers back through his thick hair. “Do either of you know of a book called Mountain’s Twin?”

  Zedd held his chin as he peered up at the underside of the grass roof in earnest recollection. “Can’t say as I do, my boy.”

  Ann, too, seemed to consider her mental inventory for a time. “No. I’ve not heard of it.”

  Richard took a last look at the dusty room packed with chickens and muttered a curse under his breath.

  Zedd scratched his ear, “What’s in this book, my boy?”

  If Richard heard the question over the background of bird babel, he didn’t let on, and he didn’t answer. “I have to go look at the rest of the chickens.”

  “I could ask Verna and Warren for you, if it’s important.” Ann drew a small black book from a pocket, drawing, too, Richard’s gaze. “Warren might know of it.”

  Richard had told Kahlan that the book Ann carried and was now flashing at him, called a journey book, retained ancient magic. Journey books were paired; any message written in it appeared simultaneously in its twin. The Sisters of the Light used the little books to communicate when they went on long journeys, such as when they had come to the New World to take Richard back to the Palace of the Prophets.

  Richard brightened at her suggestion. “Please, yes. It’s important.” He started for the door again. “I’ve got to go.”

  “I’m going to check on the woman who lost the baby,” Zedd told Ann. “Help her get some rest.”

  “Richard,” Kahlan called, “don’t you want to eat?”

  As she was speaking, Richard gestured for her to come along, but was through the door and gone before she finished the question. Zedd followed his grandson out, shrugging his perplexity back at the two women. Kahlan growled and started after Richard.

  “It must be like a fanciful children’s story come to life for you, for a Confessor, to marry for love,” Ann commented while remaining rooted to the spot where she had been for the last hour.

  Kahlan turned back to the woman. “Well, yes, it is.”

  Ann smiled up with sincere warmth. “I’m so happy for you, child, being able to have such a wonderful thing as a husband you dearly love come into your life.”

  Kahlan’s fingers lingered on the lever of the closed door.

  “It still leaves me utterly astonished, at times.”

  “It must be disappointing when your new husband seems to have more important things to attend to than his new wife, when he seems to be ignoring you.” Ann pursed her lips. “Especially on your very first day being his wife.”

  “Ah.” Kahlan released the lever and clasped both hands loosely behind her back. “So that’s why Zedd left. We are to have a woman-to-woman talk, are we?”

  Ann chuckled. “Oh, but how I do love it when men I respect marry smart women. Nothing marks a man’s character better than his attraction to intelligence.”

  Kahlan sighed as she leaned a shoulder against the wall. “I know Richard, and I know he’s not trying my patience deliberately . . . but, this is our first day married. I somehow thought it would be different than this . . . this chasing imaginary chicken monsters. I think he’s so worried about protecting me he’s inventing trouble.”

  Ann’s tone turned sympathetic. “Richard loves you dearly. I know he is worried, though I don’t understand his reasoning. Richard bears great responsibility.”

  The sympathy evaporated from her voice. “We all are called upon to make sacrifices where Richard is concerned.”

  The woman pretended to watch the chickens.

  “In this very village, before the snow came,” Kahlan said in a careful, level tone, “I gave Richard over to your Sisters of the Light in the hope you could save his life, even though I knew doing so could very well end my future with him. I had to make him think I had betrayed him in order to get him to go with the Sisters. Do you even have any idea . . .”

  Kahlan made herself stop, lest she needlessly dredge up painful memories. Everything had turned out well. She and Richard were together at last. That was what mattered.

  “I know,” Ann whispered. “You do not have to p
rove yourself to me, but since it was I who ordered him brought to us, perhaps I must prove myself to you.”

  The woman had surely picked the peg Kahlan wanted pounded, but she kept her response civil, anyway. “What do you mean?”

  “Those wizards of so very long ago created the Palace of the Prophets. I lived at the palace, under its unique spell, for over nine hundred years. There, five hundred years before it was to happen, Nathan the prophet foretold the birth of a war wizard.

  “There, together, we worked on the books of prophecy down in the palace vaults, trying to understand this pebble yet to be dropped into the pond, trying to foresee the ripples this event might cause.”

  Kahlan folded her arms. “From my experience, I would say prophecy may be far more occluding than revealing.”

  Ann chortled. “I am acquainted with Sisters hundreds of years your senior who have yet to understand that much about prophecy.”

  Her voice turned wistful as she went on. “I traveled to see Richard when he was newborn life, newborn soul, glimmering into the world. His mother was so astonished, so grateful, for the balance of such a magnificent gift come of such brutality as had been inflicted upon her by Darken Rahl. She was a remarkable woman, not to pass bitterness and resentment on to her child. She was so proud of Richard, so filled with dreams and hope for him.

  “When Richard was that newborn life, suckling at his mother’s breast, Nathan and I took Richard’s stepfather to recover the Book of Counted Shadows so when Richard was grown he might have the knowledge to save himself from the beast who had raped his mother and given him life.”

  Ann glanced up with a wry smile. “Prophecy, you see.”

  “Richard told me.” Kahlan looked back at the Bird Man concentrating on the chickens pecking at the ground.

  “Richard is the one come at last: a war wizard. The prophecies do not say if he will succeed, but he is the one born to the battle—the battle to keep the Grace intact, as it were. Such faith, though, sometimes requires great spiritual effort.”

  “Why? If he is the one for whom you waited—the one you wanted?”