Soul of the Fire (Sword of Truth 5)

She would be blind. She would be helpless. She would never again see Richard’s gray eyes smiling at her.

A bug wriggled in her hair, trying to free itself from a tangle. Kahlan brushed at it, failing to get it off.

Suddenly, something hit her head. She cried out. The bug was gone. The chicken had pecked it off her head. Her scalp stung from the sharp hit.

“Thank you,” she forced herself to say to the chicken. “Thank you very much. I appreciate it.”

She shrieked when the beak struck out, hitting her arm. It was a bug. The chicken hadn’t pecked at her arm, but had gobbled up a bug.

“Sorry I screamed,” she said. Her voice shook. “You startled me, that’s all. Thank you again.”

The beak struck hard on the top of her head. This time, there was no bug. Kahlan didn’t know if the chicken thing thought there was, or if it meant to peck her head. It stung fiercely.

She moved her hand back to her eyes. “Please, don’t do that? It hurts. Please don’t peck me.”

The beak pinched the vein on the back of her hand over her eyes. The chicken tugged, as if trying to pull a worm from the ground.

It was a command. It wanted her hand away from her eyes.

The beak gave a sharp tug on her skin. There was no mistaking the meaning in that insistent yank. Move the hand, now, it was saying, or you’ll be sorry.

If she made it angry, there was no telling what it was capable of doing to her. Juni lay dead above her as a reminder of the possibilities.

She told herself that if it pecked at her eyes, she would have to grab it and try to wring its neck. If she was quick, it could only get in one peck. She would have one eye left. She would have to fight it then. But only if it went for her eyes.

Her instincts screamed that such action would be the most foolish, dangerous thing she could do. Both the Bird Man and Richard said this was not a chicken. She no longer doubted them. But she might have no choice.

If she started, it would be a fight to the death. She held no illusion as to her chances. Nonetheless, she might be forced to fight it. With her last breath, if need be, as her father had taught her.

The chicken snatched a bigger beakful of her skin along with the vein and twisted. Last warning.

Kahlan carefully moved her trembling hand away. The chicken thing cackled softly with satisfaction.

Lightning flashed again. She didn’t need the light, though. It was only inches away. Close enough to feel its breath.

“Please, don’t hurt me?”

Thunder crashed so loud it hurt. The chicken squawked and spun around.

She realized it wasn’t thunder, but the door bursting open.

“Kahlan!” It was Richard. “Where are you!”

She sprang to her feet. “Richard! Look out! It’s the chicken! It’s the chicken!”

Richard grabbed for it. The chicken shot between his legs and out the door.

Kahlan went to throw her arms around him, but he blocked her way as he snatched the bow off the shoulder of one of the hunters standing outside. Before the hunter could shy from the sudden lunge, Richard had plucked an arrow from the quiver over the man’s shoulder. In the next instant the arrow was nocked and the string drawn to cheek.

The chicken dashed madly across the mud, down the passageway. The halting flickers of lightning seemed to freeze the chicken in midstride, each flash revealing it with arresting light, and each flash showing it yet farther away.

With a twang of the bowstring, the arrow zipped away into the night.

Kahlan heard the steel tipped arrow hit with a solid thunk.

In the lightning, she saw the chicken turn to look back at them. The arrow had caught it square in the back of the head. The front half of the arrow protruded from between its parted beak. Blood ran down the shaft, dripping off the arrow’s point. It dripped in puddles and matted the bird’s hackles.

The hunter let out a low whistle of admiration for the shot.

The night went dark as thunder rolled and boomed. The next flash of lighting showed the chicken sprinting around a corner.

Kahlan followed Richard as he bolted after the fleeing bird. The hunter handed Richard another arrow as they ran. Richard nocked it and put tension on the string, holding it at the ready as they charged around the corner.

All three slowed to a halt. There, in the mud, in the middle of the passageway, lay the bloody arrow. The chicken was nowhere to be seen.

“Richard,” Kahlan panted, “I believe you now.”

“I figured as much,” he said.

From behind, they heard a great “whoosh.”

Poking their heads back around the corner, they saw the roof of the place where the dead were prepared for burial go up in flames. Through the open door, she saw the floor of straw afire.

“I had a candle. It fell into the straw. But the flame went out,” Kahlan said. “I’m sure it was out.”

“Maybe it was lightning,” Richard said as he watched the flames claw at the sky.

The harsh light made the buildings all around seem to waver and dance in synchrony with the flames. Despite the distance, Kahlan could feel the angry heat against her face. Burning grass and sparks swirled up into the night.

Their hunter guardians appeared out of the rain to gather around. The arrow’s owner passed it to his fellows, whispering to them that Richard with the Temper had shot the evil spirit, chasing it away.

Two more people emerged from the shadow around the corner of a building, taking in the leaping flames before joining them. Zedd, his unruly white hair dyed a reddish orange by the wash of firelight, held out his hand. A hunter laid the bloody arrow across his palm. Zedd inspected the arrow briefly before passing it to Ann. She rolled it in her fingers, sighing as if it confessed its story and confirmed her fears.

“It’s the chimes,” Richard said. “They’re here. Now do you believe me?”

“Zedd, I saw it,” Kahlan said. “Richard’s right. It was no chicken. It was in there pecking out Juni’s eyes. It spoke. It addressed me—by title—‘Mother Confessor.’”

Reflections of the flames danced in his solemn eyes. He finally nodded.

“You are in a way right, my boy. It is indeed trouble of the gravest sort, but it is not the chimes.”

“Zedd,” Kahlan insisted, pointing back toward the burning building, “I’m telling you, it was—”

She fell silent as Zedd reached out and plucked a striated feather from her hair. He held up the feather, spinning it slowly between a finger and thumb. Before their eyes it turned to smoke, evaporating into the night air.

“It was a Lurk,” the wizard murmured.

“A Lurk?” Richard frowned. “What’s a Lurk? And how do you know?”

“Ann and I have been casting verification spells,” the old wizard said. “You’ve given us the piece of evidence we needed to be sure. The trace of magic on this arrow confirms our suspicion. We have grave trouble.”

“It was conjured by those committed to the Keeper,” Ann said. “Those who can use Subtractive Magic: Sisters of the Dark.”

“Jagang,” Richard whispered. “He has Sisters of the Dark.”

Ann nodded. “The last time Jagang sent an assassin wizard, but you survived it. He now sends something more deadly.”

Zedd put a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “You were right in your persistence, but wrong in your conclusion. Ann and I are confident we can disassemble the spell that brought it here. Try not to worry; we’ll work on it, and come up with a solution.”

“You still haven’t said what this Lurk thing is. What’s its purpose? What is it sent to do?”

Ann glanced at Zedd before she spoke. “It’s conjured from the underworld,” she said. “With Subtractive Magic. It is meant to disrupt magic in this world.”

“Just like the chimes,” Kahlan breathed with alarm.

“It is serious,” Zedd confirmed, “but nothing like the chimes. Ann and I are hardly novices and not without resource

s of our own.

“The Lurk is gone for now, thanks to Richard. Unmasked for what it is, it will not soon return. Go get some sleep. Fortunately, Jagang was clumsy, and his Lurk betrayed itself before it could cause any more harm.”

Richard looked back over his shoulder at the crackling fire, as if reasoning through something. “But how would Jagang—”