Temple of the Winds (Sword of Truth 4)

Berdine made a face at him as Richard helped Kahlan up onto the well. “I heard. All three of us are to take care of things.”

Kahlan adjusted the bone knife on her arm, and the pack on her back. She took Cara’s hand as she climbed up.

“Sliph,” Richard said with a big grin, “we wish to travel.”

69

Breathe.

Kahlan let go the silken rapture and drew in a breath, and the world.

As they sat up on the edge of the sliph’s stone wall, Kahlan smacked Cara on the back.

“Breathe, Cara. Come on, let it go. Let out the sliph, and breathe.”

Cara finally bent forward and released the sliph from her lungs, reluctantly pulling a breath. Kahlan remembered how hard it was the first time, not only to breathe the sliph, but to then breathe the air again. Cara had held on tightly to Richard and Kahlan’s hands the whole time they traveled.

Cara looked up with a silly grin. “That was—wonderful.”

Richard gave them both a hand down. Kahlan adjusted the bone knife on her arm, and the small pack on her back. It felt good to be in her traveling clothes again. Cara thought that Kahlan looked odd in pants.

“This is where you wished to travel,” the sliph said. “The Jocopo Treasure.”

Richard looked around the cave, having to duck down because the ceiling was so low. “I don’t see any treasure.”

“It’s in the next room,” Kahlan told him. “Someone must be expecting us. They left a torch burning.”

“Are you ready to sleep?” Richard asked the sliph.

“Yes, master. I look forward to being with my soul.”

The thought of what the sliph was, what the wizards had made her into, gave Kahlan shivers.

“Will it make you—unhappy, when I need to wake you again?”

“No, master. I am always ready to please.”

Richard nodded. “Thank you for your help. We all are in your debt. Have a good… sleep.”

The sliph smiled at him as Richard crossed his wrists, closing his eyes, calling the magic.

The shiny silver face, reflecting the dancing torchlight, softened, melting back into the pool of quicksilver. Richard’s fists began to glow. The silver wristbands he wore brightened to such intensity that Kahlan could see the other side of them through his flesh and bone, and the way they touched, they formed into endless twin loops: the symbol for infinity.

The pool of sparkling silver took on the glow as the sliph sank down into her well, slowly at first, and then with gathering speed, until she vanished into the far darkness below.

Richard took the reed torch and the three of them moved out through a wide, low passageway, following the twisting, turning route through dark brown rock, until they came at last to an expansive room.

Kahlan gestured around the room. “The Jocopo Treasure.”

Richard held the torch up. Torchlight reflected back in thousands of golden sparkles from the room filled with gold in nearly every form, from nuggets and crude ingots to golden statues.

“Well, it isn’t hard to see why it’s called the Jocopo Treasure,” Richard said. He pointed toward the shelves. “Looks like something is missing.”

Kahlan saw what he meant. “When I was here before, those shelves were packed full of rolled vellum scrolls.” She sniffed the air. “Something else is missing, too. This room was filled with foul air before. It’s gone now.”

She remembered how it made her gag and cough, and her head spin, having to breathe the stench. On the floor of the cave was a smoldering heap of ash.

Kahlan swiped the toe of her boot across the ash. “I wonder what happened here.”

The flame of the torch whipped and fluttered as they followed the twisting tunnel up and out into a golden dawn. Thin bands of violet clouds drifted across the sunrise. Luminous gold, more stunning than the Jocopo Treasure, edged the clouds.

Verdant grasslands spread out before them, smelling clean and fresh.

“It looks like the Azrith Plains in spring,” Cara said, “before the high heat of summer bakes it barren.”

Broad swaths of wildflowers at their feet led in the general direction of the Mud People. Kahlan took Richard’s hand. It was a beautiful morning for a walk through the spring grasslands of the wilds. It was a beautiful day to be married.

Long before they reached the Mud People’s village, they could hear the sound of drums drifting out onto the plains. Laughter and song filled the morning air.

“Sounds like the Mud People are having a banquet,” Richard said. “What do you think that’s about?”

His voice sounded uneasy. She felt the same; banquets were usually held to call the spirit ancestors, in preparation for a gathering.

Chandalen met them not far from the village. He was wearing the coyote hide of an elder. His hair was slicked down with sticky mud. He was barechested and had on his ceremonial dress of buckskin pants and his finest knife, and he carried his best spear.

Grim-faced, Chandalen strode forward and slapped Kahlan.

“Strength to Confessor Kahlan.”

Richard caught Cara by the wrist. “Easy,” he whispered. “We told you about this. It’s the way they greet people.”

Kahlan returned the slap, a show of respect for a person’s strength. “Strength to Chandalen and the Mud People. It is good to be home.” She fingered the coyote hide. “You are an elder, now?”

He nodded. “Elder Breginderin died of the fever. I was named elder.”

Kahlan smiled. “A wise choice, them picking you.”

Chandalen stood before Richard, appraising him a moment. The two men had once been foes. Chandalen finally slapped Richard, harder than he had Kahlan.

“Strength to Richard with the Temper. It is good to see you again, too. I am happy that you are to marry the Mother Confessor, so that she will not pick Chandalen.”

Richard returned the slap in kind. “Strength to Chandalen. You have my gratitude, for protecting Kahlan on your journey together.” He lifted a hand. “This is our friend and protector, Cara.”

Chandalen was a protector of his people, and the term had special meaning to him. He lifted his chin as he looked into her eyes. He slapped her harder than he had slapped either Richard or Kahlan.

“Strength to protector Cara.”

It was fortunate that Cara wasn’t wearing her armored gloves. As hard as she punched him, she would have broken his jaw. Chandalen grinned when he straightened his neck.

“Strength to Chandalen,” she said to him, and then to Richard, “I like this custom.”

Cara reached out and ran a finger over a few of Chandalen’s scars. “Very nice. This one here is excellent. The pain must have been exquisite.”

Chandalen frowned at Kahlan and spoke in his language. “What does that last word mean?”

“It means that it must have been intense pain,” Kahlan told him. She had taught Chandalen her language, and he did very well, but he still had some to learn.

Chandalen grinned with pride. “Yes, it was very painful. I wept for my mother.”

Cara lifted an eyebrow to Kahlan. “I like him.”

Chandalen looked Cara up and down, taking in the red leather, and the shape of her.

“You have fine breasts.”

Her Agiel flicked up into her fist.

Kahlan put a restraining hand on Cara’s arm. “The Mud People have different customs,” she whispered. “To them, it means that you look like a healthy, strong woman, able to bear children and raise them to be healthy. To them, this is a strictly proper compliment.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice so that Chandalen couldn’t hear. “Just don’t tell him that you would like to see him with the mud washed out of his hair, or you will be inviting him to give you those children.”

Cara took in all this, considering Kahlan’s words with care. Finally, she turned and, bending over a little, lifted her red leather to expose a nasty scar.

“This one was very painful, like the on

e you have.” Chandalen grunted with knowing appreciation. “I had more, on my front, but Lord Rahl made them disappear. It is a shame; some were quite remarkable.”

Richard and Kahlan followed behind Chandalen and Cara as he showed her his weapons, and they discussed the worst place to be wounded. She was impressed with his knowledge.

“Chandalen,” Kahlan asked, “what’s going on? Why has a banquet been called?”

He looked over his shoulder as if she were deranged.

“It is a wedding banquet. For your wedding.”

Kahlan and Richard shared a look. “But, how did you know we were coming to be married?”

Chandalen shrugged. “The Bird Man told me.”

As they entered the village, they were surrounded by a flood of people. Children swept in around them, touching the wandering Mud People, as they called Richard and Kahlan. People they knew came to give them gentle slaps in greeting.

Savidlin was there, clapping Richard on the back, and his wife, Weselan, was hugging and kissing them both. Their son, Siddin, threw his arms around Kahlan’s leg, jabbering up at them in his language. It felt so good to ruffle his hair again. Richard and Cara didn’t understand any of it; only Chandalen spoke their language.

“We have come to be married,” Kahlan told Weselan. “I brought the beautiful dress you made for me. I hope you remember that I asked you to stand with me.”

Weselan beamed. “I remember.”

Kahlan saw a man with long silver hair, dressed in buckskin pants and tunic, approaching. She leaned toward Cara. “This is their leader.”