The First Confessor (Sword of Truth 0)

Merritt, arms still folded, stared at her with an unreadable look.

Magda finally leaned toward him and said, “I’m not going to marry him.”

He let his arms drop. “Oh. All right, then.”

Magda turned to the familiar, worn workbench. She knew how angry the very idea of marrying Lothain made her, but she was a little surprised to see how upset it made Merritt. It made her feel good, though, that he cared that she didn’t make the mistake of marrying Lothain.

Shadow jumped out from the darkness among crates and supplies stacked on the floor and up onto the workbench. The silky black cat came close and rubbed against Magda’s hand.

As Magda stroked the cat’s back, Shadow lifted her hind end, hoping to have it scratched. As she enjoyed the attention, her tail curled around Magda’s wrist.

“Who’s this?” Merritt asked.

“This is Shadow. Isidore told me that cats have some small capacity to see between worlds. She said that black cats catch glimpses of the spirit world.”

Merritt held his hand out so that Shadow could get to know him. “Isidore would know.” Shadow inspected each finger in turn.

“Shadow detected the presence of that dead man that attacked us before we knew he was there. She definitely didn’t like him.” Magda smiled. “But I see that she really likes you.”

Shadow was rubbing against Merritt, purring in response to his touch. With his black shirt, the cat matched him, looked almost part of him. Magda wondered if Merritt, too, could detect the presence of spirits. The limits of the gift were often a mystery to her.

“I now sleep with the cloth from Isidore’s maze as a blanket, and Shadow curled up beside my pillow.” Magda scratched the cat’s head. “Don’t I, little one? But now you need to move.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Merritt said. “For someone ungifted, you seem to know how to use the things of magic at your disposal.”

Magda smiled as she lifted the cat and set her to the back of the workbench, where she lay down on her side, curled a paw under, and settled in to watch as Magda pulled a piece of wood out that covered a secret compartment in the bench top.

“I have something to show you.”

Chapter 62

“This is the note Baraccus left for me,” Magda said. “You asked before about its exact wording. I thought we had better check. I know how important such little details can be to a wizard.”

Suddenly alert, Merritt stepped closer. “Would you mind if I knew what the whole note said? Context can be important in such matters. Besides that, I might be able to pick up on something you missed. I mean, only if you’d be willing. . . . Would you mind?”

Magda smiled. “No, of course not.”

She carefully unfolded the piece of paper and then held the note up in the light so that she could read it aloud.

“‘My time has passed, Magda. Yours has not. Your destiny is not here. Your destiny is to find truth. It will be difficult, but have the courage to take up that calling.’” She looked up. “I was right. It doesn’t say ‘find the truth.’ It just says ‘find truth.’”

Merritt was frowning, deep in thought. After a moment, he gestured to the note in her hands. “Is there more?”

Magda nodded and went on. “‘Look out to the rise on the valley floor below, just outside the city to the left. There, on that rise, a palace will one day be built. There is your destiny, not here.’”

She had to swallow and compose herself before she could read the last part. “‘Know that I believe in you. Know, too, that I will always love you. You are a rare, fierce flower, Magda. Be strong now, guard your mind, and live the life that only you can live.’”

The only sound was Shadow’s tail slowly, softly, slapping the top of the workbench.

“It’s a beautiful note, Magda,” Merritt said in a soft, compassionate voice as she stood staring down at the paper in her trembling fingers. “It’s clear how much you meant to him.”

Magda wiped a tear from her cheek. She hadn’t realized how shaken she would be to read it again. It brought back so much, and at the same time reminded her of how distant it had all become. Baraccus was gone. The world of life had moved on.

Magda cleared her throat. “Do you have any idea what he could mean about a palace, and my destiny being there?”

“Sorry, but I don’t. Baraccus was a prophet, though, so he must know something about the future. A possible future, anyway. Our free will makes the future sometimes uncertain, even for prophets. I think that what he means is the future is yours to decide and he is hoping you will make the right decision.”

Magda’s arm lowered. “When the dream walker was trying to kill me, I remembered what he said in this note. Alric Rahl told me that the devotion he created—the one you helped him create—is meant to guard our minds from dream walkers. When a dream walker had me, and was trying to kill me, those words in the note made me realize that I had to give the devotion to Lord Rahl in order to guard my mind and save my own life. Baraccus’s words made me choose my own future, choose life, and as a result his prophetic words proved true.”

“Prophecy is often like that,” Merritt said. He seemed to surface from deep thoughts. “It also says your destiny is to find truth, just like you said, not the truth, as I had thought when you first told me.”

“Does that mean something to you?”

Merritt gave her a meaningful look, then drew the sword at his hip. As it emerged from the scabbard, the blade made a soft ringing sound that filled the quiet storage room. Magda could see something besides the gift in his eyes when he held the sword. It was a kind of deep, distant rage, something almost alive with its power.

Merritt carefully laid the sword on the workbench. Shadow gazed with drowsy green eyes at the blade he laid before her. Merritt finally looked at Magda in a way that told her he expected something from her.

She looked from Merritt to the sword and back again. “What?”

Merritt gestured to the sword. “What does it say?”

She knew very well what it said. She hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind. Still, Magda’s eyes turned to the hilt. She let her fingers lightly glide over the raised gold letters.

“It says ‘Truth.’” She lifted a brow at Merritt. “Are you saying that Baraccus’s words in his note—‘Your destiny is to find truth’—are meant to say that my destiny is to find the Sword of Truth? You really think that’s what he meant? You really think it could be that obvious?”

Merritt shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m a maker, not a prophet. But I made the word Truth on the hilt, and you

came to me and found the sword with that word crafted into it. You are the one who named it the Sword of Truth.”

A jumble of thoughts tumbled through Magda’s mind. Was Baraccus saying that her destiny was to find Merritt and the sword with Truth on it?

Or was he saying that this was the beginning of the path to her finding truth, and that path had taken her to Merritt?

Chapter 63

Magda again ran her fingers over the letters as Merritt stepped up beside her at the workbench. His gaze scanned the tools off to the side.

“This is where Baraccus made things, then? This room, this workbench?”

Magda nodded as she gestured to the side. “I used to sit on this crate, here, and watch him work.”

Magda glanced to the ornately engraved silver box to the side of the table that held treasured memories. Baraccus seemed so distant, now. In some ways it was all like only yesterday, but in other ways it all seemed so long ago in her life. She missed him, but even that pain was gradually fading as she worried about all the immediate problems.

“Did he make that as well?” Merritt asked, gesturing to the silver box.

Magda nodded as she pulled it closer to show him. She ran her fingers over the top, much as she had done with the letters on the sword, and then opened the lid.

“It just holds some small memories of things he gave me.”

Magda lifted out the white flower to show him.

Merritt looked somewhat surprised. “That’s pretty rare. I’ve only seen one of those once before.”

Magda twirled the flower between a finger and thumb. “You know what this is, then? Baraccus said it was rare, but never mentioned the name.”

“It’s called a confession flower.”

Magda frowned. “Really? A confession flower? Why would it be called that?”

“Because a confession is a revelation of the truth. Truth is pure. White is pure. Thus the name.”

“That’s a lovely name, for a lovely flower,” she said as she replaced the flower and closed the lid.