'From the Creator springs life, the soul of life. It blooms into this world. Without the Keeper, without death, there can be no life. Without death, life would be open-ended.
'Can you even imagine a world in which no one ever died? Where every child born lives? Forever? Where every plant that sprouts flourishes? Where every tree lives forever, and every seedling sprouts and grows to a tree?
'What would happen? How could we eat, if we could kill no animal, or harvest no crop, if it all lived forever and could not die? A never-ending life of gnawing, ravenous hunger? The world of the living would be consumed by chaos, and destroy itself forever.
'Death, the underworld as some call it, is eternal. You think of it in terms of this life. In eternity, time has no meaning, no dimension. To the Keeper, a second, or a year, has no meaning.
'It is through those in this world, who serve him, that the Keeper is given the dimension of time. It is their urgency that drives his struggle, because they understand time. He needs the living if he is to succeed. His promises to those who help him are seductive, and they hunger for his triumph.'
'So what part do the living play in this?'
'We divide and define the chaos with order, and keep it separated: light and dark; love and hate; good and evil. We are the balance.
'We are like the duck weed floating on the surface of the pond. The air above is the Creator, the depths below, the Keeper. The souls of the living, which have come down from the Creator, blossom to life in this place, and when they die, they descend to the world of the dead.
'But that does not mean it is evil. Evil is a judgment we put on it. The Keeper is like the muck at the bottom of the pond. Spirits of the dead reside anywhere from the depths of that chaos and hate, near the Keeper, to near the living, near the light of the Creator. It is the hope of the living to spend eternity in the warmth of that light.
'It is we, the living, who separate, and define the worlds to each side of life. Magic is the element that gives this world the power to do that. Magic is the balance point.
The Keeper would like to swallow the world of the living, to triumph. To do that, he must eliminate magic. But at the same time, in order to triumph, he must use magic to tip the balance.'
Richard struggled to keep his head above the murky waters of confusion. 'And wizards have the power to influence this balance?'
She was still leaning over him. She held up a finger. 'Yes. You have both sides of the magic.' Her smile evaporated in a way that took his breath with it. 'That makes you an extremely dangerous person, Richard.
'You have both sides of the gift; you have the power to mend, or destroy the veil. There are good people who, if they knew of your power, would kill you in a twinkling for fear you might destroy us all, if not deliberately, by accident.'
'And you? Are you one of those?'
'If I were, I would not have helped your father get the Book of Counted Shadows. Your involvement stopped the immediate threat, but it also fed the gateway magic, and chances greater danger in the future. It was a risk I had to take, because the consequences of not doing so would have been disaster. But if what has happened is not fixed, it will be greater disaster in the end.'
'What is the veil? Where is it?'
She reached out and tapped his forehead. The veil is within those of us with magic. We are its custodians. That is why balance means so much to those with the gift. When the veil is torn, the balance is tipped. The further it tips, the more the veil tears.
'The Creator rules his domain, the Keeper, his. The Keeper needs the Creator to feed him life, the Creator needs the Keeper to allow it to be renewed. The veil keeps the balance.'
Her face was grim. This view would be considered blasphemy by many. They see the Keeper only as evil that must be destroyed. But to do so would ultimately accomplish the opposite - all life being swept away like a sandbar in a river flood.'
'Just for the sake of argument, what if I did have both kinds of magic? What is my power for?'
'Most wizards have a talent that leans in a particular direction. Some are healers, some make things of magic, more rare are prophets. The most rare are war wizards. There has not been one born in over three thousand years. Until you.'
Richard wiped his sweaty palms on his pant legs. 'I don't like the sound of that.'
'War wizard has two meanings which balance each other, as in all things magic. The first meaning is that they can tear the veil, bring destruction and death - war. And the second is that they have the magic needed to fight against the powers of the Keeper. Being a war wizard does not mean you are evil, Richard. Many who fight do so to protect those who are defenseless. It means you have the capacity to care enough to fight, to defend the innocent.'
'"Lest he who's born true can fight for life's bond. And that one is marked; he's the pebble in the pond."' Richard quoted.
She lifted an eyebrow. 'For one who professes to scoff at prophecy, you seem to know some of the more pivotal passages. If I'm not entirely addled, I expect you have been marked.'
Richard could feel the scar on his chest as he nodded. 'Are you saying that my life is already marked out? That I'm just meant to live it out, as it has been preordained?'
'No, Richard. Life is not predetermined. The prophecies mean only that you have potential. You have the ability to influence events. That's why it is so important for you to learn.
'Of most importance is that you learn to accept yourself. If you do not do this, you will harm the most vital part of yourself: your free will. If you act without understanding, you could cast yourself into the chaos.
'I let you live when you were born because you have the potential for doing good. Within you is the hope of life. But until you truly accept both sides of your magic, you are a danger to every living thing.'
Richard desperately wanted to change the subject. He felt as if the world were crushing him. 'What is the Stone of Tears?'
She gave a little shrug. 'In the world of the dead, it exists as a force. In this world, it exists as an object with power, representing that force.
The Stone of Tears is like a weight that holds the Keeper at the infinite end of his world, where his influence here is diminished to the point of balance.'
'Then if it's here, off him, he is freed from his prison.'
'If that were true, we would all be dead. Hmm?' She lifted a questioning eyebrow, but Richard didn't say anything. 'It's one of the seals that locks the Keeper beyond. There are others, that still hold. Magic helps hold him back, for now.
The Stone of Tears has the power, though, to destroy the balance, to tear the veil and free the Keeper, if it is used in this world, by such as you, in the wrong way. You see, the Stone has the power to banish any soul to the infinite depths of the underworld. But if it were used in that way, through hate, through selfishness, it would feed power to that side, and destroy the veil.
The veil can only be restored by one with the gift for both sides of the magic. The Stone must be put back where it belongs.
'We must struggle to keep the other seals intact until the day when one such as you can restore this lock while there is still time. Meanwhile, the Keeper gains strength here. His minions struggle to break the other seals. There are other ways to free the Keeper.'
'Ann... are you sure about me? Maybe...'
'You proved it just tonight, by walking through that shield. Our shields are made of Additive Magic. The only way for you to penetrate it was for your Han to use Subtractive.'
'Maybe my Han, my Additive Magic, is just stronger.'
'When you came through the Valley of the Lost, you would have been drawn to the towers. To both towers. Am I right?'
'I could have just come across them by accident.'
She let out a tired sigh. The towers were created by wizards who had both kinds of power. In the white tower, there is white sand. Sorcerer's sand. I doubt you would have taken any.'
That doesn't prove anything. And what is sorcerer's sand?'
'Sorcerer's sand is extremely valuable, nearly priceless. It is only gathered by chance happenings across the tower. Sorcerer's sand is the crystallized bones of the wizards who gave their life into the towers. It's a sort of distilled magic. It gives power to spells drawn with it - good, and evil. The proper spell drawn in white sorcerer's sand can invoke the Keeper.
'You took, instead, some of the black sand, did you not?'
'Well, yes. I just wanted a little bit, that's all.'
She nodded. 'Just a little bit. Richard, no wizard since the towers were built has been able to gather any black sorcerer's sand. It cannot be taken from a tower by any but those with Subtractive Magic. Guard that black sand with your life. It's more valuable than you can imagine.'
'Why? What will it do?'
'Black sorcerer's sand is the counter to the white. They nullify each other. The black, even one grain of it, will contaminate a spell drawn to invoke the Keeper. It will destroy the spell. A spoonful of it is a weapon worth kingdoms.'
'Still,' he said, 'it could just be that -'
The last wizards born with both kinds of magic invested the Palace of the Prophets with their magic. The prophets of that time knew one would be born again with both sides of the magic, a war wizard, and so they created, too, the Hagen Woods, and the mriswith. One born with the Subtractive would be drawn to that place. Drawn to do battle there.
The collar keeps the Additive gift from killing you. The Hagen Woods provide an outlet for the other side of your power. It is something the Sisters cannot provide.'
'But I used the Sword of Truth.' His voice sounded to him like a plea into a gale. 'It was the sword.'
The Sword of Truth was also created by wizards with the gift for both sides of the magic. Only one born the same could bring out the full range of its magic. Only you can use the sword to its full potential. And you have not done so yet.
'It is an aid to you, but even so, you do not need it to kill the mriswith. Your gift is enough. If you do not believe me, leave your sword, and go into the Hagen Woods with just your knife. You will still kill the mriswith.'
'Others have used this blade. They didn't even have the gift, much less Subtractive Magic.'
They were not truly using the sword's magic. The blade was made for you. It's an aid, much as prophecy is an aid, much as the mriswith are an aid, sent down through time.'
'I don't think I could be one of these war wizards.'
'Do you eat meat?'
'What does that have do do with anything?'
'You are a child of balance. Wizards must balance themselves, the things they do, their power. War wizards rarely eat meat. Their abstinence is a balance for the killing they sometimes must do.'
'I'm sorry, Ann, but I just can't believe I have Subtractive Magic.'
That's why you are such a danger. Every time you encounter magic, your Han learns more about how to protect you, to serve you, but you are not aware that it is learning. The Rada'Han helps it grow, though you're not aware of the process.
'You do things without knowing the importance, or the reason, like when you were drawn to the black sorcerer's sand and took it, or when you took the round skrin bone from Adie.'
Richard's brow pulled together. 'You know Adie, too?'
'Yes, she helped your father and me get through the pass, so we could retrieve the Book of Counted Shadows.'
'What round bone are you talking about?'
Richard saw the slightest twitch of alarm in her eyes.
'Adie had a round bone, carved all over with beasts. It's an object of great power. Your Subtractive Magic would have drawn you to it.'
Richard remembered seeing the round bone on a high shelf. 'I saw such a thing at her house, but I didn't take it. I wouldn't take something that didn't belong to me. Maybe that means I don't really have Subtractive Magic.'
She straightened. 'No, you noticed it. The fact that you didn't take it means only that since you did not have the Rada'Han on yet, your power had not developed enough to draw you to the skrin bone, the way it drew you to the black sand.'
Richard hesitated. 'Is this some kind of problem?'
She smiled. It looked forced to him. 'No. Adie would protect that bone with her life. She knows how important it is. You can recover it in the future.'
'What does it do?'
'It helps protect the veil. When used by a war wizard, like you, with both powers, it invokes the skrin. The skrin are a force that helps keep the worlds separated. You might say they are guardians of the boundary between worlds.'
'What if the wrong person got their hands on it? A person wishing to help the Keeper?'
She pulled on his shirt, urging him up. 'You worry too much, Richard. I have work to do. You must leave me to it, now. Do your best, child, and study. Learn to touch your Han, to get control of it. You must learn if you are to be of any help to the Creator.'
Richard turned back to her. She was staring off.
Ann, why does the Keeper want the world of the living? What will it gain him? What is the purpose?'
Her answer came in a soft, distant voice. 'Death is the antithesis of life. The Keeper exists to consume the living. His hatred of life has no bounds. His hatred is as eternal as his prison of death.'
CHAPTER 62
Richard was in a world of his own as he headed for the stone bridge. He had been cloistered in his room for days, thinking. When the Sisters came to give him his lessons, he put in only a halfhearted effort. He now feared he just might touch his Han.
Warren was busy day and night in the vaults, checking what Richard had told him and looking for more information. There had to be at least some truth to what the Prelate had told him - why else would the Keeper not yet have used the gateway, if he could.
He needed to go for a walk. He felt as if his head were about to burst. He just wanted to be away from the palace for a while.
Pasha suddenly appeared at his side. 'I've been looking for you.'
He stared ahead as he walked. 'Why?'
'I just wanted to be with you.'
'Well, I'm going for a walk in the country.'
She shrugged. 'I wouldn't mind a walk. May I come along?'
Richard looked over. She was in her wispy maroon dress, the one with the V-shaped neckline. The day was chilly. At least she had on a useful-looking violet cloak. She was wearing big gold loop earrings. Her belt matched her necklace, with the same kind of gold medallions. She looked alluring in the outfit, but they weren't exactly hiking-in-the-country clothes.
'Are you wearing those useless slippers?'
She held a foot out to show him her tooled leather boots. 'I had them made special, just so I could go for walks with you.'
Made special, he grumbled to himself. Richard remembered how hurt she had been that time he had told her that the blue dress didn't become her. He didn't want to hurt her feelings by sending her away. She was only trying to please him. Maybe, he thought, the company of a smiling face would do him good.
'Well, all right then. I guess you can come along, as long as you don't think I'm going to entertain you in conversation.'
She grinned and took his arm. 'I'd be happy just to walk with you.'
At least having Pasha on his arm kept most of the women away from him as they passed through the city. The ones who did boldly approach earned a glare from Pasha. The ones who braved the glare earned something else: a touch of her Han. They yelped from the invisible pinch and made themselves scarce.
Richard understood, now, why the palace was breeding wizards. They were trying to get one with Additive and Sub-tractive Magic.
And now they had one.
They walked silently up into hills bathed in the golden light of the late-afternoon sun. Richard felt better out in the open, rocky hills overlooking the city. Though it was an illusion, he felt free. He suddenly wished Pasha weren't along. He hadn't come out to see Gratch in days. Gratch was probably frantic.
He was at a loss as to what he was going to do next. He didn't know if everything the Prelate had said was true, and he didn't know which he feared more - that it was a lie, or the truth.
Pasha's hand on his arm tightened in a way that brought him out of his brooding thoughts and made him draw to a halt. She glanced about nervously. He could tell by the way she was breathing through her mouth that she was frightened.
'What's wrong?' he whispered.
Her gaze searched the surrounding rocks. 'Richard, there is something out here. Please, let's go back.'
Richard drew the sword. Its unique ring filled the still afternoon air. He felt nothing, no sense of danger, but Pasha's Han obviously felt something that frightened her.
Pasha let out a little shriek. Richard spun. Gratch's head poked up above a rock. Pasha backed away.
'It's all right, he won't hurt you.'
Gratch gave a tentative grin, showing his fangs, as he stood to his full, towering height.
'Kill it!' she screamed. 'It's a beast! Kill it!'
'Pasha, calm down. He won't hurt you.'
She backed farther away. Gratch stood looking from Richard to Pasha, not knowing what to do. Richard realized she might use her power to hurt the gar, so he put himself between the two.
'Richard! Move! It must be killed! It's a beast!'
'It won't hurt you. I know him. Pasha...'
She turned and ran, her violet cloak flying behind. Richard groaned as he watched her leap from the top of one rock to another, making her way down the hill. He scowled back at Gratch.
'What's wrong with you! Did you have to scare her! What are you doing showing your face to people!'
Gratch's ears wilted. His shoulders slumped, and he began to whine. When his wings started quivering, Richard went to him.
'Well, it's too late now to be sorry. Come on and give me a hug.' Gratch cast his eyes to the ground. 'It'll be all right.'
He put his arms around the big, furry creature. Gratch finally responded. He threw his arms and wings around Richard, gurgling his happiness. In a moment, he pulled Richard off the rock and wrestled him to the ground. Richard tickled his ribs and wrestled until Gratch was giggling in glee.
After they had settled down, Gratch put a claw tip in the pocket where Richard kept the lock of Kahlan's hair. He looked at Richard from under hooded eyebrows as big as axe handles. Richard finally figured out what Gratch meant.
'No. No, that's not the same woman. It's a different person.'
Gratch frowned. He didn't understand. Richard didn't feel like trying to explain that the lock of hair he was always looking at was not from Pasha. At Gratch's urging, Richard instead wrestled with his woolly friend.
It was twilight when Richard made it back to the palace. He was going to have to find Pasha and explain to her that Gratch was his friend, and not a dangerous beast. Before he had gone far, Sister Verna found him, instead.
'Did you feed that baby gar back in the wilds, the one I told you to kill? Did you let that beast follow us!'
Richard stared at her. 'It was helpless, Sister. I couldn't kill something that was no harm to me. We've become friends.'
Muttering, she wiped a hand across her face. 'As absurd as it sounds, I suppose I can understand; you needed companionship, and you certainly didn't want it from me.'
'Sister Verna...'
'But why would you let Pasha see it!'
'I didn't. He just popped his head up. I didn't know he was there. Pasha saw him before I knew.'
She let out an exasperated sigh. 'The people around here fear beasts; they kill them. Pasha went screaming to the Sisters that there was a beast in the hills.'
'I'll explain it to them. I'll make them understand....'
'Richard! Listen to me!' He backed away a step and stood silently while he waited for her to go on. 'The palace believes that "pets" are a hindrance to learning to use your Han. They believe it diverts feelings away from them, to the creature. I think they are being foolish, but that is beside the point.'
'What is the point? You mean they will try to keep me from seeing him anymore?'
She put an impatient hand on his arm. 'No, Richard. They think it's a vile beast that could turn on you. They think you are in danger. The Sisters are forming a search party as we speak. They intend to hunt it down and kill it, for your own good.'
Richard stared at her concerned expression for only a second, and then he was running. He charged over the bridge and back into the city. People gaped as he flew past. He leapt over carts that wouldn't move out of the way fast enough. He knocked over a stand selling amulets. People hollered at him, but he ran on.
His heart thumped in his ears as he raced up the hills. Several times he stumbled over ditches or rocks, but he rolled to his feet, gasping for air, and rushed on. In the darkness, he leapt from rock to rock as he crossed ravines.
At the crest of a round-topped hill near where he had been with Gratch earlier, he yelled, between panting. His fists at his sides, he tipped his head back and screamed Gratch's name. His voice echoed off the surrounding hills. Only silence answered when the echoes died out.
Exhausted, Richard fell to his knees. They would be coming soon. The Sisters would use their Han to find the gar. Gratch wouldn't know what they intended. Even if he kept his distance, their magic could reach out and kill him. They could knock him from the air, or set him afire.
'Graaaatch! Graaaatch!'
A dark shape blackened a patch of stars. The gar thumped to the ground and folded his wings. He cocked his head and gave a purling gurgle.
Richard grabbed Gratch's fur in his fists.
'Gratch! Listen to me. You have to go away. You can't stay here any longer. They're coming to kill you. You must leave.'
Gratch let out a questioning whine that rose in pitch. His ears perked forward. He tried to put his arms around Richard.
Richard pushed him away. 'Go! You understand me, I know you do! Go! I want you to go away! They will try to kill you! Go away and never come back!'
Gratch's ears wilted as he cocked his head to the other side. Richard pounded a fist to the gar's chest. He pointed north.
'Go away!' He threw his arms out and pointed again. 'I want you to go away and never come back!'
Gratch tried to put his arms around Richard again. Richard pushed them away again. Gratch's ears lay down against his head.
'Grrratch luuug Raaaach aaarg.'
Richard wanted more than anything to hold his friend and tell him that he loved him, too. But he couldn't. He had to make him go in order to save his life.
'Well I don't love you! Go away and never come back!'
Gratch looked to the hill Pasha had run down. He looked back at Richard. His green eyes were filling with tears. He reached out for Richard.
Richard shoved him away. Gratch stood with his arms out. Richard remembered the first time he had held the furry beast. He had been so little then. He was so big now. But as he had grown, his friendship, and his love, had grown, too.
He was Richard's only friend, and only Richard could save him. If Richard really loved him, he had to do this.
'Go away! I don't want you around anymore! I don't want you to ever come back! You're just a big dumb bag of fur! Go away! If you really love me, then you'll do as I ask, and go away!'
Richard wanted to keep yelling, but the lump in his throat caught the words. He backed away. Gratch seemed to wither in the cool night air. His arms came out again with a pitiful, forlorn wail. He called with a plaintive, keening cry.
Richard took another step back. Gratch took a step toward him. Richard picked up a rock and heaved it at the gar. It bounced off his huge chest.
'Go away!' Richard cried. He threw another rock. 'I don't want you around anymore! Go away! I don't ever want to see you again!'
Tears ran from the glowing green eyes, over the wrinkles of his cheeks. 'Grrratch luuug Raaaach aaarg.'
'If you really love me then you will do this! Go!'
The gar looked again to the hill Pasha had run down, turned, and spread his wings. With a last look over his shoulder, he bounded into the air and flew off into the night.
When he could no longer see the dark shape against the stars, or hear the sweep of wings, Richard crumpled to the ground. His only friend was gone.
'I love you, too, Gratch.'
He cried in racking sobs. 'Dear spirits, why have you done this to me? He was all I had. I hate you. Every last one of you.'
----------
He was halfway back when it hit him. He froze in his tracks, his mouth hanging open. In the stillness of the night, his shaking fingers reached to his pocket.
The lights of the city flickered in the near distance. Rooftops shimmered in the moonlight. Distant sounds of the city drifted out to him at the edge of the hills.
He pulled out the lock of Kahlan's hair.
If you really love me, she had said, you will do this. That was what he had told Gratch. In a flash of understanding, it all came to him. The jolt of comprehension took his breath.
Kahlan had not been sending him away, she had been saving his life. She had done for him what he had just done for Gratch.
The pain of having doubted her took him to his knees. It must have broken her heart. How could he have doubted her?
The collar. He had been so afraid of the collar he had been blinded to it. She loved him. She didn't want to be set free, she wanted only to save his life.
She loved him.
He threw his arms open and turned his face up to the sky.
'She loves me!'
He knelt, staring at the lock of hair she had given him to remind him of her love. In his whole life, he had never felt a sense of relief this great. The world came back to life for him.
Richard's mind swirled in a confusion of conflicting emotions. He felt heartsick that he had sent Gratch away, that Gratch thought Richard didn't want him around anymore, but at the same time, he felt overwhelming joy that Kahlan loved him.
In the end, joy won out. He decided that someday Gratch might come to understand, as he had, that it had been necessary. Someday, he would have the collar off, and he would find Gratch, and make it up to him. And even if he didn't, the gar was better off living as a gar should, hunting and searching out its own kind. It would come to have its own happiness, as had Richard.
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