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“Zedd told us we had to get to Aydindril in order to reverse the problem. He may have called it by another name, but the problem is much the same. If doing as he asked will stop the chimes, then we must do it. We have a duty to act in our best judgment to the benefit of all.”
“I know.” The millstone of responsibility could be unnerving. They needed to go both places. “There’s just something about this whole thing that’s bothering me, and I can’t figure it out. Worse, I fear the lives it will cost if we make the wrong choice.”
Her fingers closed around his arm. “I know, Richard.”
He threw up his hands and turned away. “I really need to take a look at that book, Mountain’s Twin.”
“But didn’t Ann say she wrote in her journey book to Verna, and Verna said it had been destroyed?”
“Yes, so there’s no way—” Richard spun back to her. “Journey book.” A flash of realization ignited. “Kahlan, the journey books are how the Sisters communicate when one goes on a long journey away from the others.”
“Yes, I know.”
“The journey books were made for them by the wizards of old—back in the time of the great war.”
Her face twisted with a puzzled frown. “And?”
Richard made himself blink. “The books are paired. You can only communicate with the twin of the one you have.”
“Richard I don’t see—”
“What if the wizards used to do the same thing? The Wizard’s Keep in Aydindril was always sending wizards off on missions. What if that’s how they knew what was going on everywhere? How they coordinated everything? What if they used them just like the Sisters of the Light used them? After all, wizards of that time created the spell around the Palace of the Prophets and created the journey books for the Sisters to use.”
She was frowning. “I’m still not sure I understand—”
Richard gripped her shoulders. “What if the book that was destroyed, Mountain’s Twin, is a journey book? The twin to Joseph Ander’s journey book?”
33
Kahlan was speechless.
Richard squeezed her shoulders. “What if the other, Joseph Ander’s half of that pair, still exists?”
She wet her lips. “It’s possible they might keep something like that in Anderith.”
“They must. They revere him—after all, they named their land in his honor. It seems only logical that if it still existed they would keep such a book.”
“It’s possible. But that isn’t always the way, Richard.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes a person isn’t appreciated in his own time. Sometimes they aren’t recognized as important until much later, and sometimes then only to promote the contemporary causes of those currently in power. Evidence of a person’s true thoughts can be an inconvenience in such cases, and sometimes is destroyed.
“Even if that isn’t the case, and they did respect his thinking, the land changed its name to Anderith since Zedd left the Midlands. Sometimes people are revered because not enough remains of their philosophy for people to find objectionable, and so the person can become valuable as a symbol. Most likely nothing of Joseph Ander’s remains.”
Taken aback by the logic of her words, Richard rubbed his chin as he considered.
“The other unknown,” he finally said, “is that words written in journey books can be wiped away, to make room for new communications. Even if everything I’m thinking is true, and he wrote back to the Keep with the solution to the chimes, the book still exists, and it’s actually in Anderith, it still might do us no good, because that passage could easily have been wiped clean to make room for a future message.
“But,” he added, “it’s the only solid possibility we have.”
“No, it isn’t,” Kahlan insisted. “Another choice, and the one with more weight of credibility on its side, is what we must do back at the Wizard’s Keep.”
Richard felt himself drawn inexorably toward Joseph Ander’s legacy. If he had any proof that his attraction to it wasn’t simply his imagination, he would have been convinced.
“Kahlan, I know…”
His voice trailed off. The hairs at the back of his neck began rising, prickling his neck like needles of ice. His golden cloak lifted lethargically in the lazy breeze. The slow wave billowing through it cracked like a whip when it reached the corner. The skin on his arms danced with gooseflesh.
Richard felt the gossamer fingers of wickedness slipping up his spine.
“What’s the matter?” Kahlan asked, consternation chilling her expression.
Without answering, gripped by dread, he turned and scanned the grassland. Emptiness stared back. Verdant waves rippled before him, painted with bold strokes of sunlight. In the distance knots of dark clouds at the horizon boiled from within with flickering light. Even though he couldn’t hear the thunder, every now and again he could feel the drumbeat underfoot.
“Where’s Du Chaillu?”
Cara, standing a few paces away as she kept an eye on the idle men, pointed. “I saw her off that way a few minutes ago.”
Richard searched but didn’t see her. “Doing what?”
“She was crying. Then I think she looked like she might have been going to sit down for a rest, or maybe to pray.”
That was Richard had seen, too.
He called out Du Chaillu’s name over the grasslands. In the distance, a meadowlark’s crystalline song warbled across the vast silence of the plains. He cupped his hands beside his mouth and called again. The blade masters, when there was no answer the second time, sprang to action, fanning out into the grass to search.
Richard trotted off in the direction Cara had pointed, the direction he, too, remembered last seeing her. Kahlan and Cara were right on his heels as he picked up speed, cutting through the tall grass and splashing through puddles. The blade masters and hunters searched as they ran, and with no reply as all called Du Chaillu’s name, their search became frantic.
Th
e grass, a singular, undulating, sentient thing alive with mocking contempt, teased them with bowing nods to draw the eye first here, and then there, hinting but never divulging where it hid her.
Out of the side of his vision, Richard caught sight of a dark shape, distinct from the mellow green of new grass rising and falling above the washed-out tan of the lifeless stalks beneath the waves. He cut to the right, muddling leadenly through a spongy area where the mat of grass, as if it floated on a sea of mud, kept giving way beneath his feet.
The ground firmed. He spotted the out-of-place dark shape and altered his course slightly as he splashed through an expanse of standing water.
Richard came suddenly upon her. Du Chaillu reposed in the grass, looking like she might be sleeping, her dress smoothed down to the backs of her knees, her legs below it a pasty white.
She was facedown in water only inches deep.
Racing through the wet grass, Richard dove over her to avoid falling on her. He snatched the shoulders of her dress and yanked her back, rolling her onto her back on the grass beside him. The front of her sodden dress plastered itself across her pronounced pregnancy. Strings of wet hair lay across her bloodless face.
Du Chaillu stared up with dark dead eyes.
She had that same odd, lingering look of lust in her eyes Juni had had when Richard found him drowned in the shallow stream.
Richard shook her cold limp body. “No! Du Chaillu! No! I saw you alive only a minute ago! You can’t be dead! Du Chaillu!”
Her mouth slack, her arms splayed clumsily, she exhibited no response. There was no response to show. She was gone.
When Kahlan put a comforting hand on his shoulder, he fell back with an angry cry of anguish.
“She was just alive,” Cara said. “I just saw her alive only moments ago.”
Richard buried his face in his hands. “I know. Dear spirits, I know. If only I’d realized what was happening.”
Cara pulled his hands away from his face. “Lord Rahl, her spirit might still be with her body.”
Blade masters and Mud People hunters were tumbling to their knees all around.
