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A roar of voices rose as everyone agreed with King Philippe.
Queen Orneta, not keen to cede her informal leadership role in arguing their position, swept a skeletal arm back at the crowd, calling for silence. “Prophecy must be obeyed. What we want, Mother Confessor, is for you to reveal what prophecy says so that we may see for ourselves that you are heeding it.”
“But I have just spent a great deal of time with all of you, listening to your concerns and explaining why prophecy is not meant for the uninitiated.”
The queen smiled in that patronizing manner that for some queens seemed to be an inborn ability bordering on theatric gift.
“So you have,” she said, glancing over at King Philippe as if telling him that he should let her do the talking. “Yet we have all heard the dark warnings from various diviners back in our homelands, those with a bit of prophetic talent. That is one reason we were all so eager to come here for this gathering. Something significant is happening— the signs are all there.
“We want to know what dark foretelling prophecy holds so that when this storm ends we might send word home to our people so they can prepare for looming dangers. Prophecy can be of no value if it is kept secret.”
Kahlan straightened her back. She let the smile slip away as she put on her Confessor’s face. The queen’s talent at presenting an intimidating presence was no match for Kahlan’s.
The crowd fell into an uneasy quiet.
“I’m not at all sure that you really want to hear prophecy.”
Queen Orneta did not take the chance Kahlan had just given her to withdraw her challenge.
“Mother Confessor, every one of us here appreciated the fine meal you just served us. You are an adroit hostess, but what we really want, what we demand, is to be informed of what prophecy has to say so that we can make sure that you and Lord Rahl bow to what it tells us must be done.”
“That’s right.” King Philippe lifted a fist to punctuate the point. “We must know that you and Lord Rahl follow what prophecy says must be done.”
“Ah, so you think that we must bow to prophecy, regardless of what action prophecy calls for, even though I have explained that it is not nearly so easy to understand prophecy from the words alone? You still insist that it’s the words themselves that define prophecy and that they must be heeded? Is that it? And you fear that we won’t have the strength to do just that?”
A few people throughout the room shouted their agreement. Others nodded insistently. Many more all tried to speak up at the same time, saying that that was their whole point.
Kahlan nodded sorrowfully. “So, is this everyone’s conviction?”
It was apparent from the outcry that it was.
“Prophecy must be served,” the queen said when the clamor had died down. “It must be revealed and obeyed.”
King Philippe, standing not far from Queen Orneta, folded his arms with finality, making clear his agreement.
Kahlan’s glare moved from Queen Orneta to the pregnant Queen Catherine. “You, too, would choose prophecy for your unborn child? After you have seen what prophecy did to those other, innocent children? How it brought them only pain and a terrifying death?”
Catherine cast a concerned look at her husband before she stiffened her resolve and gave Kahlan a single nod. “The Creator has given us prophecy. It must be heeded, Mother Confessor.”
Kahlan’s gaze rose again to sweep across the crowd.
“Are you all quite sure of this?”
Everyone spoke up impatiently that they were. Some shook their fists again to reaffirm their conviction.
“Well,” Kahlan said as she slowly, sorrowfully, shook her head, “I had hoped to convince you that prophecy and action based on it should be left to the experts in prophecy, but since you all insist, I am left no choice but to bow to your wishes.”
The representatives were obviously pleased to finally have gotten their way, even if their enthusiasm was somewhat tempered by the weight of responsibility they were so willingly assuming.
“You shall have what you demand,” Kahlan said. “You shall hear what prophecy holds in store for you.”
CHAPTER 21
Everyone inched forward, eager to finally hear what none of them had ever heard before: real prophecy from one of the books of prophecy.
Kahlan looked back over her shoulder at the grim sorceress who had been quietly observing. All eyes went to the woman, who possessed powers most of these people had never seen unleashed and could not imagine. Nicci’s unapproachable beauty, and her icy-cold confidence, only added to the air of danger about her.
“Nicci, would you please bring the book you have with you and read the prophecy we recently discovered that speaks to the issue of our immediate future and the role that all these people here today have to play in it?”
Nicci bowed her head. “Of course, Mother Confessor.”
The woman’s smoldering, silken voice only confirmed her displeasure with what she had heard from those gathered. While everyone was excited by the gravity of what they were witnessing, and by the prospect of hearing real prophecy that was rarely uttered outside of tightly guarded rooms, they were also cautious of the menace that Nicci represented. While Cara was intimidating enough, Nicci was a forbidding presence on a whole other level. In her revealing black dress she looked every bit of her former persona of Death’s Mistress, a title everyone in the room knew even if not one of them ever mentioned it except perhaps in whispered gossip among themselves.
Their desire to hear prophecy, though, overwhelmed their concern. No one looked like they wanted to change their mind.
“Please read to these good people exactly what it says.” Kahlan shot a glare out at the crowd. “Don’t hold anything back. I’m afraid that they have made it quite clear that they want prophecy to be revealed to them just as it has been laid down, and they want it to be followed.”
“You did your best to warn them, Mother Confesso
r.”
Kahlan nodded. “So I did.”
Nicci picked the book up off the table. She held it in the crook of her arm as she stepped up beside Kahlan. She wasn’t smiling. There was something about her posture, her cool expression, that made most everyone watching unconsciously retreat a half step from the dais.
“What I have here,” Nicci said, briefly lifting the book for them to see, “is a core book of prophecy, written by a renowned prophet from an age when the gift of prophecy was at its height. As all of you suspected, it contains dark prophecy of the most serious nature that has direct relevance for us all in this room.”
Everyone inched closer again.
Nicci opened the book, holding it in one hand, about to read, but then looked up again. “Since this is such an ancient text, it is in High D’Haran, the language of that time. Do any of you speak High D’Haran?”
Most people shook their heads as they looked around to see if anyone else could understand the ancient, nearly forgotten language. No one could, of course. Richard had learned it, but other than him, there were only a handful of people left alive who understood High D’Haran. Nicci was one of them.
“Well,” Nicci said with a cool smile, “I am fluent in High D’Haran, so I will translate what it says here for you, rather than speak the prophecy in its original language, if that’s all right with everyone.”
“Well of course we want it translated,” Queen Orneta snapped as she folded her arms again, sounding like she was scolding a lowly servant. “Just get on with it.”
Nicci’s cold blue eyes turned to the queen in a way that made the queen lose a little color.
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
Kahlan wished she had a voice as soft, as silken, as beautiful as Nicci’s. The woman’s voice fit her perfectly. It was as flawless and arresting as everything else about her. It also had that rare quality that, while it was usually painfully alluring, with the slightest change in pitch it darkened to deadly.
