Soul of the Fire (Sword of Truth 5)

Suddenly, she fell back, breaking the connection. Kahlan caught her arm, lest she topple.

“Are you all right?”

Du Chaillu nodded. “My power. It worked. It was back.”

Kahlan looked from the woman to Richard. He seemed calmer.

“What did you do? What happened?”

“Something was trying to take his spirit. I used my ability to annul such power and kept the hands of death from him.”

“Your power is back?” Kahlan was dubious. “But how could that be?”

Du Chaillu shook her head. “I don’t know. It returned when the Caharin cried out and fell from his horse. I knew because I could again feel my bond to him.”

“Maybe the chimes have fled back to the underworld.”

Again Du Chaillu shook her head. “Whatever it was, it is passing. My power fades again.” She stared off a moment. “It is again gone. It was only there long enough to help him.”

Du Chaillu issued quiet orders for her men to stand down, that it was over.

Kahlan wasn’t convinced. She glanced again to Richard. It did look like he was calming. His breathing was evening out.

His eyes abruptly opened. He squinted at the light.

Du Chaillu leaned over him and pressed the wet cloth to his forehead, dabbing off the sweat.

“You are all right, now, my husband,” she said.

“Du Chaillu,” he muttered, “how many times do I have to tell you, I’m not your husband. You are misinterpreting old laws.”

Du Chaillu smiled up at Kahlan. “See? He is better.”

“Thank the good spirits you were here, Du Chaillu,” Kahlan whispered.

“Tell him that when he again complains I should leave him.”

Kahlan couldn’t help smiling at Richard’s frustration with Du Chaillu and with her blessed relief that he was indeed better. Tears now suddenly tried to burst forth, but she banished them.

“Richard, are you all right? What happened? What made you fall from your horse?”

Richard tried to sit up but Kahlan and Du Chaillu both pushed him back down.

“Both your wives say to rest for a time,” Du Chaillu said.

Richard stopped trying to get up. His gray eyes turned to Kahlan. She clutched his arm, again silently thanking the good spirits.

“I’m not sure what happened,” he finally said. “It was like this sound—like a deafening bell—exploded in my head. The pain was like…” His face lost some of its color. “I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

He sat up, this time brushing their restraining hands aside. “I’m all right, now. Whatever it was, it’s gone. It has passed.”

“I’m not so sure,” Kahlan said.

“I am,” he said. He looked haunted. “It was like something tearing at my very soul.”

“It didn’t get it,” Du Chaillu said. “It tried, but it didn’t get it.”

She was dead serious. Kahlan believed her.

Hide twitching, the horse stood motionless, her hooves rooted to the grassy ground. Her instinct demanded she run. Ripples of panic quivered through her flesh, but she remained unmoving.

The man was beyond the falling water, in the dark hole.

She didn’t like holes. No horse did.

He had screamed. The ground had shaken. That had been a long time ago. She hadn’t moved since then. Now it was silent.

The horse knew, though, that her friend still lived.

She let out a long, low bellow.

He still lived, but he didn’t come out.

The horse was alone.

There was no worse thing for a horse than being alone.

49

Ann opened her eyes. She was surprised, in the dim light, to see a face she had not seen for months, not since she was still the Prelate, back at the Palace of the Prophets in Tanimura, in the Old World.

The middle-aged Sister was watching her. Middle-aged, Ann amended, if you considered five hundred and a few years old to be middle-aged.

“Sister Alessandra.”

Forming the words aloud hurt. Her lip was not healing well. Her jaw still didn’t work too well. Ann didn’t know if it was broken. If it was, there was nothing for it. It would have to heal as it would; there was no magic to do it for her.

“Prelate,” the woman greeted, in an aloof tone.

She used to have a long braid, Ann recalled. A long braid she always looped around and pinned to the back of her head. Now her graying brown hair was chopped off and hung loose, not quite touching her shoulders. Ann thought it better balanced her somewhat prominent nose.

“I brought you something to eat, Prelate, if you feel up to it.”

“Why? Why did you bring me something to eat?”

“His Excellency wanted you fed.”

“Why you?”

The woman smiled just a little. “You dislike me, Prelate.”

Ann did her best to glare. The way her face was swollen, she wasn’t sure she was doing a good job of it.

“As a matter of fact, Sister Alessandra, I love you as I love all the Creator’s children. I simply abhor your actions—that you have sworn your soul to the Nameless One.”

“Keeper of the underworld.” Sister Alessandra’s smile grew a little wider. “So, you can still care about a woman who is a Sister of the Dark?”

Ann turned her face away, even though the steaming bowl did smell savory. She didn’t want to talk to the fallen Sister.

In her chains, Ann couldn’t feed herself. She unconditionally refused to accept food from the Sisters who had lied to her and betrayed her rather than have their freedom. Up until now, soldiers fed her. They disliked the duty. Their distaste for feeding an old woman had apparently resulted in Sister Alessandra’s appearance.

Sister Alessandra lifted a spoonful of soup to Ann’s mouth.

“Here, have some of this. I made it myself.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought you might like it.”

“Getting bored, Sister, pulling the legs off ants?”

“My, my, Prelate, but don’t you have the memory. I haven’t done that since I was a child, first come to the Palace of the Prophets. As I recall, you were the one who convinced me to stop doing that, recognizing I was unhappy to leave my home.

“Here, now, have a taste. Please?”

Ann was sincerely surprised to hear the woman say “please.” She opened her mouth for the spoon. Eating hurt, but not eating was making her weak. She could have refused to eat, or done something else to get herself killed, she supposed, but she did have a mission and therefore a reason to live.

“Not bad, Sister Alessandra. Not bad at all.”

Sister Alessandra smiled with what looked to be pride. “I told you so. Here, have some more.”

Ann ate slowly, trying to chew the soft vegetables gently so as not to hurt her jaw. She simply swallowed the tough chunks of meat, not even bothering to mash them flat, lest she undo whatever healing her jaw was managing to do.

“Your lip looks like it’s going to be scarred.”

“My lovers will be disappointed that my beauty is marred.”

Sister Alessandra laughed. Not a harsh or cynical laugh, but a lilting laugh of true amusement.

“You always could make me laugh, Prelate.”

“Yes,” Ann said with venom, “that was why I for so long failed to realize you had joined the side of evil. I thought my little Alessandra, my happy little Alessandra, would not be drawn to the heart of wickedness. I so believed you loved the Light.”

Sister Alessandra’s smile withered. “I did, Prelate.”

“Bah,” Ann scoffed. “You only loved yourself.”

The woman stirred the soup for a time and finally brought up another spoonful. “Perhaps you are right, Prelate. You usually were.”