Stone of Tears

The sword and the bolt of blue lightning hit the screeling at the same time. The screeling burst apart in a shower of bloodless, black pieces. Kahlan had seen the Sword of Truth do the same thing to living flesh. She didn’t know if it was the sword or the blue lightning that had done it this time.

The crack of thunder from the bolt left her ears ringing in the sudden silence.

She ran to Richard and threw her arms around him as he hunched, panting. “Are you all right?”

He hugged her with his free hand, nodding. She held him for a long minute as shouting hunters with torches circled around them. Richard slid the sword back into its scabbard. In the torchlight, she could see a ragged gash on his upper arm. She tore off a strip of his shirtsleeve and tied it around the bleeding wound.

She looked around at the hunters, all of whom held either nocked arrows or spears. “Is everyone safe?”

Chandalen stepped into the torchlight and spoke to Kahlan. “I knew you would bring trouble.”

She peered hard at his face, then merely thanked him and his men for trying to help.

“Kahlan, what was that thing? And what in the world did you do?” Richard was slumping.

She slipped her arm around his waist. “I think it’s called a screeling. And I’m not entirely sure what I did.”

“A screeling? What is a…”

His hands came to the sides of his head as his eyes winced shut. He sank to his knees. Kahlan wasn’t able to hold his weight. Savidlin was there and reached for him, but before he could get an arm around him, Richard fell forward on his face. He cried out in the dirt.

“Savidlin, help me get him back to the spirit house, and send someone for Nissel. Please, tell them to hurry.”

Savidlin shouted for one of his men to run for the healer. He and some of the others lifted Richard. Leaning on his spear, Chandalen only watched.

A torchlit procession wound its way back to the spirit house. Savidlin and the men carrying Richard went inside with Kahlan. They laid Richard in front of the fire, lowering his head to the blanket. Savidlin sent his men out, but stayed with her.

Kahlan knelt next to Richard and with trembling hands felt his forehead. He was ice cold and drenched in sweat. He appeared to be nearly unconscious. She bit her lip and tried not to cry.

“Nissel will make him well,” Savidlin said. “You will see. She is a good healer. She will know what to do.”

Kahlan could only nod. Richard mumbled incoherently as his head twisted about, as if seeking some position that brought no pain.

They sat in silence until Savidlin asked, “Mother Confessor, what was that you did? How did you make lightning?”

“I’m not sure how I did it. But it is part of the Confessor’s magic. It is called the Con Dar.”

Savidlin studied her a moment as he squatted on his feet with his sinewy arms wrapped around his knees. “I never knew a Confessor could call down lightning.”

She glanced over. “I have known for only a few days myself.”

“And what was the dark thing?”

“I think it may be a creature from the underworld.”

“From the place the shadows came from, before?” Kahlan nodded. “Why would it come now?”

“I’m sorry, Savidlin; I don’t have an answer. But if any more come, tell the people to walk away from them. Don’t stand still, and don’t run. Just walk away, and come get me.”

In silence he contemplated what she had said. At last the door squeaked open and a stooped figure flanked by two men with torches entered.

Kahlan sprang up and ran to her, taking her hand. “Nissel, thank you for coming.”

Nissel smiled and patted her shoulder. “How is the arm, Mother Confessor?”

“Healed, thanks to you. Nissel, something is wrong with Richard He has terrible headaches.

Nissel smiled. “ Yes, child. We will have a look at him.”

One of the men with Nissel handed her a cloth bag as she knelt beside Richard. The objects in the bag clinked against one other as she set it on the ground. She told the man to bring the torch around. She took off the bloody bandage and, with her thumbs, pressed open the wound. Nissel glanced to Richard’s face to see if he felt it. He didn’t.

“I will tend to the wound first, while he sleeps.”

She cleaned the gash and stitched it while Kahlan and the three men watched in silence. The torches spit and hissed, lighting the inside of the nearly empty spirit house with harsh, flickering light. On the shelf, the skulls of ancestors watched along with the rest of them.

Sometimes talking to herself as she worked, Nissel finished sewing, packed the wound with a poultice that smelled of pine pitch, and wrapped the arm with a clean bandage. Rummaging around in her bag, she told the men they could leave. As he went past, Savidlin touched Kahlan’s shoulder sympathetically and told her he would see them in the morning.

After they were gone, Nissel halted her pawing in the bag and looked up at Kahlan. “I hear you are to be mated to this one.” Kahlan nodded. “I thought you couldn’t have a love, because you are a Confessor, that your power would take him… when you make babies.”