Soul of the Fire (Sword of Truth 5)

As did Joseph Ander, Richard thought to try again.

“Yes, I know, and I’m not saying that doesn’t work, but he believed there was more. That magic could be taken to a higher level—to a plane beyond that which most people with the gift used.”

Now she really was frowning. “Richard, that’s madness.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He picked up the journey book.

“This is in answer to something unrelated they asked—but you have to hear this to understand the way Joseph Ander thinks.”

He read to her the crux of the translation.

“‘A wizard who cannot truly destroy cannot truly create.’” Richard tapped the book. “He was talking about a wizard like the gifted now, a wizard with only the Additive—like Zedd. Ander didn’t even consider a man to have the gift, if he didn’t have both sides. He thought of such a man as simply an aberration, and hopelessly disadvantaged.”

Richard went back to the journey book and read on.

“‘A wizard must know himself or he risks working ill magic that harms his own free will.’ That’s him talking about the creative aspects of magic beyond the structure of it. ‘Magic intensifies and concentrates passions, strengthening not only such things as joy, but ruinous passions, too, and in this way they may become obsessions, and unbearable unless released.’”

“Sounds like he’s trying to justify being destructive,” she said.

“I don’t think so. I think he’s on to something important, a higher balance, as it were.”

Kahlan shook her head, clearly not catching what he saw, but he could think of no way to get it across to her, so he read on.

“This is important. ‘Imagination is what makes a great wizard, for with it, he is able to transcend the limitations of tradition and go beyond the structure of what now exists into the higher realm of creating the very fabric of magic.’”

“That’s what you were talking about? About him thinking of it as an… an art form? A means of expression? Like he’s the Creator Himself—weaving a cloth of magic out of nothing?”

“Exactly. But listen to this. This, I believe, may be the most important thing Joseph Ander has to say. When the chimes ceased being a problem, the other wizards cautiously asked what he did. You can almost read the anxiety in their words. This is his terse reply to their question of what he had done to the chimes.

“‘A Grace might rise in obedience to an inventive spell.’”

Kahlan rubbed her arms, clearly disturbed by the answer. “Dear spirits, what does that mean?”

Richard leaned closed to her, “I think it means he dreamed up something—a new magic, outside the parameters of the original conjuring that brought the chimes into this world. Magic to suit the situation, and himself.

“In other words, Joseph Ander got creative.”

Kahlan’s green eyes cast about. He knew she was considering the depths of aberration with which they were dealing. This was the madman who had finally inflicted the chimes on them.

“The world is coming apart,” she whispered to herself, “and you’re talking about Joseph Ander using magic as an art form?”

“I’m just telling you what the man said.” Richard turned to the last page. “I skipped ahead. I wanted to see the last thing he wrote the wizards.”

Richard studied the High D’Haran words again to be certain of the translation, and then read Joseph Ander’s words.

“‘In the end, I have concluded I must reject the Creator and the Keeper both. I instead create my own solution, my own rebirth and death, and in so doing will always protect my people. And so farewell, for I shall lay my soul on troubled waters, and thus watch over for all time that which I have so carefully wrought, and which is now safeguarded and inviolate.’”

Richard looked up. “See? Do you understand?” He saw she didn’t. “Kahlan, I don’t think he banished the chimes as he was supposed to. I think he instead used them for his own purposes.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Used them? What can you use the chimes for?”

“The Dominie Dirtch.”

“What!” She squeezed the bridge of her nose between her finger and thumb. “But then how was it possible for us to follow such a well-defined, prescribed, strict outline and inadvertently call them forth? That sort of structure is exactly what you are telling me Joseph Ander thought he was beyond.”

Richard had been waiting for that exact argument. “That’s the balance. Don’t you see? Magic must be balanced. In order to do something creative, he had to balance it with something not creative, a very strict formula. That it is so strict in its requirements to free the chimes is in itself proof of the creativity of what he did.”

He knew her well enough to tell she didn’t agree, but wasn’t in the mood to argue. She said simply, “So how do we then banish the chimes?”

Richard shook his head with defeat in that much of it.

“I don’t know. I fear there is no answer to that question. The wizards of Joseph Ander’s time were equally frustrated and beaten by the man. In the end, they simply considered this place lost to them. I’m beginning to believe Joseph Ander created an unbreakable magic inside a puzzle without a solution.”

Kahlan took the book from his hands, closed it, and placed it back on the little table.

“Richard, I think you’re getting a little crazy yourself, reading the rantings of a lunatic. That’s not the way magic works.”

That’s what the wizards at the Keep had told Ander—that he couldn’t convert and control an element that was innately uncontrollable. Richard didn’t tell Kahlan that, though. She wasn’t prepared to think of magic in these terms.

Neither were the other wizards.

Joseph Ander had not been at all pleased to have his ideas so summarily dismissed, thus his final farewell.

Kahlan put her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying your best. I’m just getting nervous. The vote should be coming back soon.”

Richard put his hands on her waist. “Kahlan, people will see the truth. They have to.”

She gazed off. “Richard,” she whispered, “make love to me?”

“What?”

She looked up into his eyes. “It’s been so long. Make love to me.”

“Here? Now?”

“We can tie the tent shut. No one comes in without asking permission anyway.” She smiled. “I promise to be quiet, and not to embarrass you.” With a finger, she lifted his chin. “I promise I won’t even tell your other wife.”

That brought a brief smile, but Richard wasn’t able to keep hold of it.

“Kahlan, we can’t.”

“Well, I think I could. I bet I could change your mind, too.”

Richard lifted the small dark stone on her necklace. “Kahlan, magic has failed. This won’t work.”

“I know. That’s why I want to.” She clutched at his shirt. “Richard, I don’t care. What if we make a baby? So what?”

“You know ‘so what.’”

“Richard, would it be so bad? Really?” Her green eyes were filling with tears. “Would it be so bad if we made a child together?”

“No, no, of course not, Kahlan. It isn’t that. You know I want to. But we can’t right now. We can’t afford to see Shota in every shadow, waiting to do as she promised. We can’t afford the distraction from our duty.”

“Our duty. What about us. What about what we want?”

Richard turned away. “Kahlan, do you really want to bring a child into this world? Do you want to bring a child into the madness of this world? The madness of the chimes and a horrific war looming before us?”

“What if I said yes?”

He turned back to her and smiled. He could see he was only upsetting her. Du Chaillu being pregnant was probably making Kahlan think of having her own child.

“Kahlan, I want to, if you do. All right? Whenever you want, we will, and I’ll deal with Shota. But in the meantime could we wait until we see if there is even going t

o be a world of life—or even a world with freedom—into which we can bring our child?”

She finally smiled. “Of course. You’re right, Richard. I guess I was just getting… carried away. We have the chimes to deal with, and the Imperial Order…”

Richard took her in his arms to comfort her, when Captain Meiffert called from outside the tent. “See?” he whispered to her. She smiled.

“Yes, Captain, come on in.”

The man stepped inside reluctantly. He wouldn’t meet Richard’s gaze.

“What is it, Captain?”

“Ah, Lord Rahl, Mother Confessor… the vote in Fairfield is counted. Some of our men have returned with numbers. But not all of them,” he was quick to add. “There are more yet to come back. It will take a few days yet before they all travel back.”

“So, Captain, what are the results?”

The man handed over a slip of paper. Richard read it, but it took a moment for it to sink in.

“Seven in ten against us,” he whispered.

Kahlan gently lifted the paper from his fingers and looked at it. Without a word, she set it on the table.

“All right,” he said, “we know they were telling all those lies in the city. We just have to realize it will be different out around the land.”

“Richard,” Kahlan whispered, “they will spread the same lies around the land.”

“But we talked to those people. We spent time with them.” Richard turned to Captain Meiffert. “What about the outlying places?”

“Well—”

“What about, about, that place—” Richard snapped his fingers. “Westbrook. Where we spent time looking at Joseph Ander’s things. What about Westbrook? Is the vote back from there?”

The man had backed away a step. “Yes, Lord Rahl.”

“And what is it, then?”

Kahlan put a hand on his arm. “Richard,” she whispered, “the captain is on our side.”

Richard pressed his fingers to his temples as he took a breath. “What is the vote from Westbrook, Captain?”