Faith of the Fallen (Sword of Truth 6)

Verna gestured under the bench. “Show him, General.”

At her urging, the general lifted out a map roll. He pulled it wide in his callused hands and laid it on the ground at his feet. The map was turned around so Zedd could read it. General Reibisch tapped the mountains to the west of Hartland.

“Right here, Zedd.”

“Right there…what?”

“Richard and Kahlan,” Verna said.

Zedd gaped at her face and then down at the map. General Reibisch’s finger hovered over a wild range of peaks. Zedd knew those mountains. They were an inhospitable place.

“There? Dear spirits, why would Richard and Kahlan be all the way up there in such a forbidding place? What are they doing there?”

“Kahlan be hurt,” Adie said in a consoling tone.

“Hurt?”

“She was at the brink of passing into the spirit world. From what we be told, maybe she saw the world on the other side of the veil.” Adie pointed to the map. “Richard took her there to recover.”

“But…why would he do that?” With a hand, Zedd flattened his wavy white hair to the top of his head. His thoughts spun in a confusing jumble while he tried to take it all in at once. “She could be healed—”

“No. She be spelled. If magic be used to try to heal her, a vile hidden spell would be unleashed and she would die.”

Understanding washed over him. “Dear spirits… I’m thankful the boy knew it in time.” Before the horror of memories of the screams could come roaring to the fore of his thoughts, Zedd slammed a mental door on them. He swallowed with the pain of those that slipped through. “But still, why would he go there? He’s needed here.”

“He certainly is,” Verna snapped. By her tone, it was a sore subject.

“He can’t come here,” Warren said. When Zedd only stared at him, he explained further. “We don’t understand it all, but we believe Richard is following a prophecy of some sort.”

“Prophecy!” Zedd dismissed it with a wave. “Richard doesn’t take to riddles. He hates them and won’t pay heed to them. There are times when I wish he would, but he won’t.”

“Well, this one he’s paying heed to.” Warren pressed his lips tight for a moment. “It’s his own.”

“His own…what?”

Warren cleared his throat. “Prophecy.”

Zedd jumped to his feet. “What! Richard? Nonsense.”

“He’s a war wizard,” Verna said with quiet authority.

Zedd passed a scowl among all the suddenly circumspect expressions. He made a sour face and, with a flourish of his robes, returned to his seat beside Adie.

“What is this prophecy?”

Warren twisted a little knot of his violet robes. “He didn’t say, exactly.”

“Here.” General Reibisch pulled some folded papers from a pocket. “He wrote me letters. We’ve all read them.”

Zedd stood and snatched the letters from the general’s big fist. He went to the table and smoothed out the pages. As everyone else sat silently watching, Zedd leaned over the table and read Richard’s words lying before him.

With great authority, Richard paradoxically turned away from authority. He said that after much reflection, he had come to an understanding that arrived with the power of a vision, and he knew then, beyond doubt, that his help would only bring about certain catastrophe.

In letters that followed, Richard said he and Kahlan were safe and she was slowly recovering. Cara was with them. In response to letters General Reibisch and others had written, Richard remained steadfast in his stand. He warned them that the cause of freedom would be forever lost if he failed to remain on his true path. He said that whatever decisions General Reibisch and the rest of them made, he would not contradict or criticize. He told them that his heart was with them, but they were on their own for the foreseeable future. He said possibly forever.

His letters basically gave no real information, other than alluding to his understanding or vision, and making it clear that they could expect no guidance from him. Nonetheless, Zedd could read some of what the words didn’t say.

Zedd stared at the letters long after he had finished reading them. The flame of the lamp wavered slowly from side to side, occasionally fluttering and sending up a coiled thread of oily smoke. He could hear muffled voices outside the tent as soldiers on patrol quietly passed along information. Inside, everyone remained silent. They had all read the letters.

Verna’s expression was tight with anxiety. She could hold her tongue no longer. “Will you go to see him, Zedd? Convince him to return to the struggle?”

Zedd lightly trailed his fingers over the words on paper. “I can’t. This is one time I can be of no help to him.”

“But he’s our leader in this struggle.” The soft lamplight illuminated the feminine grace of her slender fingers as she pressed them to her brow in vain solace. Her hand fell back to her lap. “Without him…”

Zedd didn’t answer her. He could not imagine what Ann’s reaction to such a development would be. For centuries she had combed through prophecies in anticipation of the war wizard who would be born to lead them in this battle for the very existence of magic. Richard was that war wizard, born to the battle he had suddenly abandoned.

“What do you think be the problem?” Adie asked in her quiet, raspy voice.

Zedd looked back to the letters one last time. He pulled his gaze from the words and straightened. All eyes around the dimly lit tent were on him as if hoping he could somehow rescue them from a fate they couldn’t comprehend, but instinctively dreaded.

“This is a time of trial to the depth of Richard’s soul.” Zedd slipped his hands up opposite sleeves until the silver brocade at the cuffs met. “A passage, of sorts—thrust upon him because of his comprehension of something only he sees.”

Warren cleared his throat. “What sort of trial, Zedd? Can you tell us?”

Zedd gestured vaguely as memories of terrible times flashed through his mind. “A struggle…a reconciliation…”

“What sort of reconciliation?” Warren pressed.

Zedd gazed into the young man’s blue eyes, wishing he wouldn’t ask so many questions. “What is the purpose of your gift?”

“Its purpose? Well, I…guess to…well, it just is. The gift is simply an ability.”

“It is to help others,” Verna stated flatly. She clutched her light blue cloak more tightly around her shoulders as if it were armor to defend her from whatever Zedd might throw at her in answer.

“Ah. Then what are you doing here?”

The question caught her by surprise. “Here?”

“Yes.” Zedd waved his arm, indicating a vague, distant place. “If the gift is to help others, then why are you not out there doing it? There are sick needing to be healed, ignorant needing to be taught, and the hungry needing to be fed. Why are you just sitting there, healthy, smart, and well fed?”

Verna rearranged her cloak as she squared her shoulders into a posture of firm resolve. “In battle, if you abandon the gates to help a fallen comrade, you have given in to a weakness: your inability to steel yourself to an immediate suffering in order to prevent suffering on a much greater scale. If I run off to help the few people I could in that manner, I must leave my post here, with this army, as they try to keep the enemy from storming the gateway into the New World.”

Zedd’s estimation of the woman rose a little. She had come tantalizingly close to expressing the essence of a vital truth. He offered her a small smile of respect as he nodded. She looked more surprised by that than she had by his question.

“I can certainly see why the Sisters of the Light are widely regarded as proper servants of need.” Zedd stroked his chin. “So then, it is your conviction that we with the ability—the gift—are born into the world to be slaves to those with needs?”

“Well, no…but if there is a great need—”