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"So that is why the Sisters of the Light can make it through? Because they have the gift?"
"Yes. But only twice at most. The magic learns to find you. Long ago, Sisters who went through to the New World and returned were sent again, but none ever returned a second time." Her gaze left his, seeking the distant emptiness. "They are in there, never to be found, or saved. The Towers of Perdition and its storms of magic claimed them."
Richard waited until her eyes came back no him. "Perhaps, Sister, they became disaffected, and chose not to return. How would you know?"
Her face sobered. "We know. Some who have been through have seen them" —she inclined her head toward the shimmering distance— "in there. I myself, saw several."
"I'm sorry, Sister Verna." Richard thought about Zedd. Kahlan might find him, and tell him what had happened. He had to push away the painful memory of Kahlan. "So, a wizard could make it through."
"Not a wizard of his full power. After we teach those with the gift to control it, they must be allowed to return before their power is fully developed. The whole propose of the line is to prevent wizards from getting through. The fully developed power of a wizard would draw the spells as a magnet draws iron filings. It is they that the magic seeks; it is for them that the towers were built. They would be lost, just as would anyone who didn't have some use of the gift to feel the gaps in the spells. Too little, or too much, and you are lost. That is why those who created the line could not complete it; the domain of the spells from the other side prevented them from entering. Their creation ended in deadlock."
Richard felt his hopes sag. If Kahlan carried out his request to seek out his old friend, Zedd could not do anything to help him. Swallowing back the numbing loss of hope, he reached up and felt the dragon's tooth hanging on the leather thong at his chest. "What about going over? Could something fly over?"
She shook her head. "The spells extend up into the air, as they extend out into the sea. Anything that can fly cannot fly high enough."
"What about by sea? Could you sail far enough out to go around?"
Sister verna shrugged. "I have heard tell that a few times throughout the ages it has been accomplished. In my life I have seen ships leave to attempt it, but I have never seen one return."
Richard glanced back over his shoulder, but saw nothing. "Could... someone follow you through?"
"One or two, if they stayed close enough, as you must. Greater numbers would surely be lost. The pockets between spells are not large enough to allow many to follow."
Richard thought in silence, at last asking, "Why hasn't anyone destroyed the towers, so the spells could dissipate?"
"We have tried. It cannot be done."
"Just because you have not found a way, Sister, that does not mean it cannot be done."
She gave him a sharp look. "The towers, and the spells, were created with the aid of not only Additive, but also Subtractive Magic."
Subtractive Magic! How could the wizards of old have learned to use Subtractive Magic? Wizards didn't have command of Subtractive Magic. But then, Darken Rahl did. Richard gentled his tone. "How can the towers keep the spells from dissipating?"
Sister Verna worked her thumbs on the reins. "Each tower has a wizard's Life Force in it."
Despite the heat, Richard felt a chill. "You mean to say that a wizard gave his Life Force into the towers?"
"Worse. Each tower contains the life force of many wizards."
Richard stared in numb shock at the thought of wizards giving up their lives to invest the towers with their Life Force. "How close are the towers?"
"It is said some are miles apart, some only yards. They are spaced according to the fabric of lines of power within the earth itself. We don't understand the sense of this alignment. Since entering the line to find them would be death, we don't even know how many tower there are. We know of only the few in this valley."
Richard squirmed in his saddle. "Will we see any of the towers when we cross?"
"There is no way to tell. The gaps shift constantly. Occasionally, on the way through, the openings take you close to a tower. I saw one on my first journey through. Some Sisters never saw one. I hope never to see another."
Richard realized he was gripping the hilt of his sword with his left hand. The raised letters of the word Truth bit into his flesh. He relaxed his hand, releasing the hilt.
"So, what can we expect to see?"
Sister Verna broke her gaze into the distance and redirected it to him. "There are spells of every sort. Some are spells of despair. To be snared in one is to have your soul wander in despair for all time. Some are spells of joy and delight, in which one is lost in enchantment for all time. Some are pure destruction, and will tear you apart. Some will show you things you fear, to make you run into the clutches of things that lurk behind. Some tempt with things you hope for. If you give in to the desire..." She leaned closer to him. "You must stay close to me, keep going. You must ignore any desire you have, both fear and longing, to do otherwise. Do you understand?"
Richard finally nodded. Sister Verna returned her gaze to the shimmering forms. She sat motionless, watching. In the distance, beyond the wavering light, he though he saw thunderheads, dark and ominous, drifting across the horizon. He felt, more than heard their thunder. Somehow, he knew it wasn't clouds, but magic. When Bonnie tossed her head, Richard gave her a reassuring pat on her neck.
After watching a while, he looked over to the Sister. She sat still and tense.
"What are you waiting for Sister? Courage?"
She answered without moving. "Exactly. I am waiting for courage, child."
He felt no anger this time at her calling him "child," but rather, that it might be an appropriate characterization, as far as his abilities were concerned.
In a whisper, and still without looking away from the sunbaked inferno ahead, she went on. "You were still in swaddling clothes when I came through, but I remember every detail as if it happened yesterday. Yes, I am waiting for courage."
He gave Bonnie a squeeze with his legs, urging her ahead. "The sooner we start, the sooner we are through."
"Or lost." She walked her horse after him. "So anxious to be lost, Richard?"
"I am already lost, Sister."
29
They were confronted by steps, twenty strides wide, that revealed themselves for what they were only at the far right, where the wind had funneled down next to the sweeping, pink marble balustrade and kept the snow clear. Pausing for only a moment as she realized they had reached her destination, Kahlan set her snowshoes firmly into the snowdrift that covered the steps, and ascended to the portico, its fascia decorated with a row of statues swathed in cut stone that mimicked the drape of cloth so well it seemed as if it might move in the light breeze. Ten white columns to each side held the massive entablature at a dizzying height above the arched entrance. Bodies fallen in a desperate battle were sprawled atop one another all over the snow covered lawns, and sat as if in repose against the walls of the domed, exterior entrance hall.
The ornate doors, displaying delicately carved royal shields of the House of Amnell, held aloft by twin mountain lions, lay in splinters on the floor of the vestibule. Flanking the rope-carved, stone arch at the far end stood life-size statues of Queen Bernadine and King Wyborn, each holding a spear and shield in one hand, the Queen a sheaf of wheat in the other, and the King a lamb. The Queen's breasts were broken away; flakes of stone and stone dust littered the rust colored marble tiles. Both statues were without their heads.
With nearly numb fingers, Kahlan untied the bindings of her snowshoes and leaned them against the Queen's statue. Chandalen followed her example before following her into the reception hall lined with broken mirrors and torn tapestries. She pulled her mantle tight around herself as clouds of their breath rose lazily into dead still air that was somehow much colder than that outside.
"What is this place used for?" Chandalen asked in a whisper, as if afraid he might wake the spirits o
f the dead.
She had to force herself not to whisper. "It is the home of the Queen of this land. Her name is Cyrilla."
