The pillars of creation

In the silence, none of it seemed to matter. It was too hard for Friedrich to fathom just then. Besides, it changed nothing for him. Death had come to take Althea's precious life. Her life was all the value he had had. His anguish poured back in to flood everything else. For Friedrich, it had already all ended. There was nothing ahead but blackness.

"I came for another reason," Wizard Rahl said in a quiet voice. "I must call upon you to help in this struggle."

Too tired to stand anymore, too grief-stricken to care, Friedrich sank back to the ground beside Althea's grave. "You have come to the wrong person.»

"Do you know where Lord Rahl is?"

Friedrich looked up, squinting against the bright sky. "Lord Rahl?"

"Yes, Lord Rahl. You are D'Haran. You should know."

"I guess I can feel the bond." Friedrich gestured off to the south. "He's that way. But it's weak. He must be a great distance. Greater than I've ever felt of a Lord Rahl in all my life."

" That's right," Nathan said. "He's in the Old World. You must go to him.»

Friedrich grunted. "I've no money for a j ourney. " It seemed the easiest reason.

Nathan tossed down a leather pouch. It hit the ground before Friedrich with a heavy muffled clunk. "I know. I'm a prophet, remember? This is more than was taken from you."

Friedrich tested the weight of the bag. It was indeed heavy. "Where did all this come from?"

"The palace. This is official business, so D'Hara will supply you with the money you will need."

Friedrich shook his head. "I thank you for coming and offering your sympathy. But I'm the wrong man. Send another."

"You are the man who is to go. Althea would have known it. She would have left you a letter, telling you that you are needed in this struggle. She would have asked you to accept when called upon. Lord Rahl needs you. I am calling upon you."

"You know of the letter?" Friedrich asked as he rose to his feet once more.

"It's one of the precious few things I know about in this matter. From prophecy, I know you are the one to go. But you must do so of your own free will. I am calling upon you to do so."

Friedrich shook his head, this time with more conviction. "I'm not the one to do this. You don't understand. I'm afraid that I just don't care anymore.»

Nathan drew something out from under his cloak. He held it out. Friedrich saw then that it was a small book.

"Take it," the wizard commanded, his voice suddenly full and rich with authority.

Friedrich did so, letting his fingers roam the ancient leather cover as he inspected words embossed with gold leaf. There were four words on the cover, but Friedrich had never seen the language before.

"This book is from the time of a great war, thousands of years ago," Nathan said. "I only just discovered it in the People's Palace after a frantic search among the thousands of tomes there. As soon as I located it, I rushed here. I haven't had time to translate it, so I don't even know what's written in it."

"It's all written in a different language."

Nathan nodded. "High D'Haran, a language I helped teach Richard. It's vitally important he get this book."

"Richard?"

"Lord Rahl."

The way he said those two words gave Friedrich a chill. "If you've not read it, how do you know it's the right book?"

"By the title, there, on the front."

Friedrich ran his fingers lightly over the mysterious words. The gilding was still good after all this time. "May I ask the book's title?"

"The Pillars of Creation.»

CHAPTER 41

Oba opened his eyes, but for some reason that didn't seem to help; he couldn't see. Dismay stiffened him. He was lying on his back, on something like rough cold stone. It was a complete mystery to him as to where he could be or how he had gotten there, but his first and most important concern was that he had somehow gone blind. Trembling from head to foot, Oba blinked, trying to clear his vision, but still he could not see.

A thought worse by far was what really ignited his panic: he wondered if he was back in the pen.

He feared to move and prove the suspicion true. He didn't know how they had done it, but he despaired that those three conniving women-the troublesome sorceress sisters and his lunatic mother-had somehow managed to once again lock him in his dark, childhood prison. They had probably been plotting from beyond the grave, and in his sleep, they had pounced.

Paralyzed by his plight, Oba couldn't gather his wits.

But then, he heard a noise. He turned his eyes toward the sound and saw movement. He realized as things came into focus that it was only some dark room and not his pen, after all. Relief washed through him, followed by chagrin. What had he been thinking? He was Oba Rahl. He was invincible. It would serve him well to remember that.