XXIII. EAST
Richard walked the perimeter of the camp, scanning the darkness for any sign of danger. All was quiet and untroubled, but he couldn't shake the sensation that he was being watched. He stilled and stared off into the black night, watching and listening for a long time, but as usual there was no sign of anyone about. When he started pacing again, the feeling lingered. It reminded him of the creeping sensation he got when someone snuck up on him from behind. He whirled around to find no one there – just bare trees and a dry tangle of undergrowth. The feeling had haunted him since leaving the Sisters of the Light three days before, but no harm ever came from it. Nor did he ever find a sign of someone following. If they were out there, they were even better at hiding their tracks than he was.
Slowly he worked his way back towards the warmth of the campfire, glancing over to where Kahlan slept on her side, her dark hair obscuring her face and fluttering softly with each breath. A hand rested over her swollen belly. He stood still a moment, just drinking in the sight of her, before settling down by the fire. As quietly as he could, he eased the black book from Ashkari out of his pack, smoothing his palm over the lines of the Grace on the cover. The words inside the book were becoming as familiar to him as his own name. He turned to a passage that had always confused him – the use of what the scholars called a Fatal Grace. Apparently a Fatal Grace was common knowledge to them, enough to require no explanation. He'd thought of asking Zedd, but he didn't want to be told a second time that he was foolishly risking Kahlan's life. The spirits knew that was the last thing in the world he would ever do.
After rereading the passage several times, he slammed the book shut and returned to pacing. His thoughts churned, and he was lost to them until a slight rustling behind him made his ears prick. Richard turned, a hand going for his sword. "Easy, my boy," called Zedd quietly. "It's just me."
He loosened his grip on the hilt, frowning at his grandfather. "It's not your watch yet," he said, feeling suddenly irritated by his presence. "I was going to wake you when it was time."
Zedd waved a hand. "Couldn't sleep. I thought you might like some company." Richard nodded but said nothing, staring down at the book by the fire. He wished he'd shoved it out of sight before getting up again, and then wondered at himself for hiding things from his own grandfather. It never used to be this way, but lately it seemed as if he and Zedd had grown apart. He wanted to ask his advice on so many things, not just the quest, but what it was like to be a father too. Yet anger always seemed to rise up in him instead, chasing the questions away.
Zedd settled on a fallen log, patting the space beside him. Richard sat down reluctantly. Though the book was in his line of sight, the old wizard made no mention of it for the moment. Instead, he cleared his throat. "Rather chilly night, isn't it?" Richard only nodded. "At least Kahlan looks to be sleeping well," Zedd added.
"What did you come here to say, Zedd?" he snapped. He knew it wasn't really the temperature or Kahlan's sleeping habits that had him up in the dead of night.
The wizard watched the fire, the orange glow caught in his white hair. When he spoke, his voice was soft and quiet, as weathered as his skin. "You've seemed troubled lately. But you've been awfully quiet about whatever it is that has you worried." Richard said nothing, and Zedd heaved a weary sigh, "You used to confide in me, my boy."
Richard studied the obscure darkness beyond the camp and gave in, admitting to the easiest worry. It would be worth sounding paranoid if it helped to protect Kahlan. "I feel like we're being followed," he said. "I never see any signs though. It's just a feeling." He raked a hand back through his disheveled hair and looked up at Zedd. "Can you sense anyone? Magically?"
Zedd's expression grew thoughtful and he closed his eyes, sitting so still and breathing so evenly it almost seemed like he slept where he sat. When his eyes at last popped open again, bright and pale in the firelight, it was only to shake his head. "No," he said. "If there is anyone out there, they're masking their presence with magic too subtle for me to detect. But it would take a very skilled wizard to manage that."
"Right." Richard scuffed the toe of his boot against the ground and muttered, "The Sisters of the Light are sorceresses. They're skilled with magic." The thought had plagued him for the past three days.
"And they raised Kahlan with kind, loving intentions," said Zedd. "If she trusts them, so should we." Richard scowled and tugged his cloak close against the night wind, trying his hardest to think kindly of Sister Isobel and her companions. Doubting them felt too much like doubting Kahlan, and he hated that.
Feeling restless, he got up to tend the fire and did not sit down again. He stood with his back to Zedd, considering the high, cold stars scattered across the endless blackness. He felt like the night was about to swallow him whole.
Behind him, Zedd cleared his throat, "Learning anything useful in here?" Richard looked back to find his grandfather had picked up the black book from Ashkari and was turning it over in his hands.
Another surge of annoyance shot through him, and Richard held his grandfather's gaze as he asked, "What's a Fatal Grace?" Zedd paled visibly, his brows puckering together in a heavy frown. He could tell Zedd was deciding how much to reveal to him, and that angered him. "Tell me," he demanded in a rough voice, his words backed by a sudden surge of magic from the sword.
The old wizard finally nodded. "A Fatal Grace," he began quietly, "is a Grace drawn in reverse. It is customary to start by drawing the star, and work your way out until reaching the final circle. In a Fatal Grace, you start with the outermost circle and proceed inward until the star. It is rarely used because it always results in the death of the caster. Wizards in the past used it as a particularly violent form of suicide – the body is literally torn apart by the magic summoned to the center of the Grace. Why do you ask?" he added in a voice as steely as his eyes.
"It's referenced in the book," said Richard. He sat down, taking the book from Zedd's hands, and flipping it open to the pages he'd been studying. "One of the scholars used a Fatal Grace to save his daughter's life when she was caught by the Keeper's hound. Here, I'll read it to you." He leaned forward, squinting to make out the words by the firelight, "When it was discovered that Jocelyn had journeyed to the Underworld, her father drew from his own blood a Fatal Grace, and fell on his knife before it could claim him. We thought it was an act of wild grief, but Jocelyn was recovered that next morning. She suffered less madness than the others and spoke plainly, claiming that her father appeared before her in the Underworld, holding off the Ripper long enough for her to return to the world of life. She says the fires of the Underworld had no effect on him, and, unlike the other souls, he could move freely, unbound by the Keeper of the Dead. It was as if the Creator herself was with him there. Though he is lost to us now, his body remained intact until dawn, when the Fatal Grace at last ripped him apart."
When he fell silent, Zedd sat staring into the fire, saying nothing. Richard cleared his throat. "What do you make of that?"
Zedd turned to look his way. "The scholars were dangerous people. I think you should stop trying to find hope in that book, and trust the tools we already have."
"You mean the compass," muttered Richard. It dangled from his waist like a chain. There were times when he wanted to take up the small, shining orb and hurl it as far away from him as he could, but Zedd nodded.
"Yes. It hasn't led us astray yet."
Richard shook his head, fighting against the urge to argue. It would only wake Kahlan. "You should get some sleep," he said in an empty voice. "It's not your watch."
Zedd stared at him a long time, but Richard stared past him, not wanting to see the hurt he had just put in his grandfather's eyes. At last Zedd nodded and rose, heading to his bedroll in heavy silence. Richard sat unmoving until Zedd began to snore again, and then he let his head fall forward to rest in his hands, choking on a scream he wouldn't let out, his eyes brimming with hot, frustrated tears he blinked away.
He sat there brooding a long time before he heard Kahlan call to him. "Richard?" She spoke softly from her bedroll by the fire, and Richard turned, wiping his tears hastily on his sleeve. Her expression was groggy, and she seemed to have just awoken.
"What is it?" he asked, hurrying to her side.
Kahlan gave him a sleepy smile, pushing herself up on her elbow. "Would you get me my waterskin?" she asked, tilting her head towards where it rested beside her pack.
"Of course," he said, smoothing the hair back from her brow. He knew what a struggle it had become for her to get from lying on the ground to standing on her feet, and he was more than happy to let her keep resting while he fetched whatever she needed.
When he returned and held the waterskin to her lips, Kahlan drank from it deeply. "Thank you," she murmured as she pulled away, her lips now wet and glistening. "I was so thirsty it must have woken me up. I'll put it here so I can reach it without troubling you next time," she said, taking the waterskin from him and placing it beside her bedroll.
Richard shook his head. "It's no trouble."
She smiled at that and reached up, caressing his cheek. He realized when her fingers found the lingering dampness of his tears. They stilled against his skin, and she stared at him a long time, her lips pursed together. "Is something wrong?" she asked.
"No," he said, though he knew it was useless to lie to her. "It's nothing."
"Richard," she insisted, tugging him closer. "What is it?"
He squeezed her hand, "It's nothing you need to worry about."
She frowned at that and struggled to sit up, the bulk of her belly making her flounder. Richard leaned forward and helped ease her up so they sat side by side on the ground. "I hate to watch you carry everything alone," she said, still tracing the lines of his face. "Tell me."
He wanted to say that it was enough that she carried their child, and that he would carry the rest, but she was soft and warm, and there was no resisting. "I think we need to go east," he said quietly, dropping his head to her shoulder. Her fingers combed through his hair and held him there. The thought had been in his mind ever since the compass began steering them south, away from the Great Rift, but he'd been hesitant to voice it.
"The compass isn't pointing east, is it?" she said in a knowing voice.
"No, it still points south," said Richard. "But I think we need to go to the Great Rift. It can't just be a coincidence that so many Sisters of the Dark are amassing there."
Kahlan gave a slight nod. "Sister Isobel offered to take you there," she said. Richard stared down at the ground, trying to keep his dislike for the woman from showing on his face. He doubted that he was successful, but Kahlan made no mention of it. Instead, she said, "We'll be far outnumbered in such a place."
"I know," he said, standing up and leaving her on the ground. "And Zedd will hate the idea." He looked down at Kahlan, hoping she would understand, "But I think it's where I need to go. I need to do something!" he said, feeling hopelessness rising up like a wave to drown him.
"You mean something more than follow the compass?" she asked, rubbing a hand along her belly.
"It feels like a chain, Kahlan!" he said, yanking it from where it hung on his belt. He didn't realize how loudly he'd spoken until Cara grunted in her sleep. He froze, watching as she stirred and resettled, and then he sunk to his knees. He held the compass up before Kahlan, the silver casing glinting ominously in the firelight. "I wish I could be rid of it," he admitted in a whisper. "It will never lead us to the stone."
She reached out, closing her hand around the compass. "So be rid of it."
"On nothing more than a dream and a hunch?"
"It is more than that, or it would not eat at you so."
He closed his hand around hers, both of them holding the compass. "How can I lead you east? Into a place crawling with Sisters of the Dark and D'Harans? We'd be walking into a hornet's nest."
"Don't worry about me," said Kahlan.
Richard shook his head, "You'd have better luck asking the sun not to rise."
She smiled sadly and squeezed his hand, the compass caught between them. "We'll find a way. We've made it this far."
"But the compass? How can I just stop following it? I can't, Kahlan. I'm the Seeker." The librarian's promise to him echoed in his mind, and he felt half mad with uncertainty.
If you cannot do this, the compass will cease to be a tool and become a trap, leading you forever in circles.
"Then let me do it for you," said Kahlan. He pulled back to look at her, confused by her words.
"What do you mean?" Instead of answering, she tugged the compass from his grasp and held it in her open palm. As he watched, she cast it in a long arc straight into the fire.
His mouth gaped open as the compass disappeared in the bright, orange flames. He remembered the wild, desperate feeling he'd felt when he tossed the Book of Counted Shadows into the fire well over a year ago. This felt much the same. "Why did you do that?" he asked, leaning a little towards the fire. He wondered if he should run to it and try to salvage the compass from its fiery death, but something held him still.
Kahlan stared at him, the flames reflecting in her eyes. "Because you could not," she said simply. "The compass is gone now, and you may hate me for it if you must."
He stared at her, bewildered. "Surely you know I could never hate you."
"Then perhaps you can have some peace about it," she said softly and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was brief, but his fingers still found time to tangle in her hair. Though their only tool in their quest lay melting in the fire, he felt lighter than he had in a long time. As if a heavy weight was gone from around his neck. Every crackle and hiss of the fire only reminded him how much he loved this woman. They pulled apart, and he rested his forehead against hers. "Let it burn," Kahlan murmured. "Tomorrow we go east."