Terry Goodkind - The Pillars of Creation

Jennsen stepped over the candles.

She had to do this. She had to end the rule of Richard Rahl.

Thankfully, the center of the whole careful arrangement at least looked dark. Jennsen was mortified being naked in front of strangers, even if they were women, but that was the least of her fears at the moment.

As she stepped across the circle of glimmering white sand, it felt frighteningly colder, as if she were stepping into the grip of living winter. She shivered and shook, hugging herself, as she made her way to the center of the circle of women.

In the middle was a Grace made of the same white sand, sparkling in the moonlight. She stood staring down at it, a symbol she herself had drawn many times, but her hand was not guided by the gift.

“Sit,” Sister Perdita said.

Jennsen started with a gasp. The woman was standing right behind her. When she pressed on Jennsen’s shoulders, Jennsen sank to the ground, sitting cross-legged in the center of the eight-pointed star in the center of the Grace. She noticed, then, that each of the Sisters sat at the extension of a ray coming from each point of the star, save one directly in front. That spot was empty.

Jennsen sat naked, shivering, in the center of the circle as the Sisters of the Light began their soft chanting again.

The woods were dark and gloomy, the trees bare of leaves. The branches clacked together in the wind like the bones of the dead Jennsen feared the Sisters were calling forth.

The chanting suddenly halted. Rather than sit in the single empty spot remaining in the circle of Sisters, as Jennsen had expected, Sister Perdita stood behind her and spoke short, sharp words in the strange language.

At points in the long, singsong speech, Sister Perdita stressed a word Grushdeva— and cast her arm out over Jennsen’s head, flinging out dust. The dust ignited with a roaring whoosh that made Jennsen jump each time she did it, the harsh light bathing the Sisters briefly in the light of the rolling flame.

As the fire ascended, the seven Sisters spoke as if with one voice. “ Tu vash misht. Tu vask misht. Grushdeva du kalt misht. ”

Not only were those words she knew, but Jennsen realized that the voice was speaking the words in her head along with the Sisters. It was both frightening and comforting to have the voice back. The anxiety when the voice had gone strangely silent had been unbearable.

“ Tu vash misht. Tu vask misht. Grushdeva du kalt misht. ”

Jennsen was lulled by the sound of the chanting, and as it went on, calmed, too. She thought about what it was that had brought her to this point, about the terror her life had been, from the time when she was six and she fled the People’s Palace with her mother, to all the times that Lord Rahl had come close and they’d run for their lives, to that awful rainy night when Lord Rahl’s men were in her house. Jennsen felt tears coursing down her cheeks as she thought about her mother there on the floor dying. As she thought about Sebastian fighting valiantly. As she thought about her mother’s last words, and having to run and leave her mother there on the bloody floor. Jennsen cried out with the terrible anguish of it.

“ Tu vash misht. Tu vask misht. Grushdeva du kalt misht. ”

Jennsen cried in racking sobs. She missed her mother. She was afraid for Sebastian. She felt so terribly alone in the world. She had seen so many people die. She wanted it to end. She wanted it to stop.

“ Tu vash misht. Tu vask misht. Grushdeva du kalt misht. ”

When she looked up, through her watery vision, she saw something dark sitting in the spot before her that had moments before been empty. Its eyes glowed like the candlelight. Jennsen stared into those eyes, as if staring into the voice itself.

“ Tu vash misht , Jennsen. Tu vask misht , Jennsen,” the voice before her and in her head said in a low, growling voice. “Open yourself to me, Jennsen. Open yourself for me, Jennsen.”

Jennsen could not move in the glowing glare of those eyes. That was the voice, only not in her head. It was the voice in front of her.

Sister Perdita, behind her, cast out her dust again, and this time, when it ignited, it lit the person sitting there with the glowing eyes.

It was her mother.

“Jennsen,” her mother cooed. “ Surangie .”

“What?” Jennsen whimpered in shock.

“Surrender.”

Tears flooded forth in an uncontrollable torrent. “Mama! Oh, Mama!”

Jennsen started to rise, started to go to her mother, but Sister Perdita pressed down on her shoulders, keeping her in place.

As the rolling flames lifted and evaporated, as the light faded, her mother vanished into the darkness, and before her was the thing with the glowing candlelight eyes.

“ Grushdeva du kalt misht ,” the voice growled.

“What?” Jennsen wept.

“Vengeance is through me,” the voice growled in translation. “ Surangie , Jennsen. Surrender, and vengeance will be yours.”

“Yes!” Jennsen wailed in inconsolable agony. “Yes! I surrender to vengeance!”

The thing grinned, like a door to the underworld opening.

It rose up, a wavering shadow, leaning forward toward her. Moonlight glistened on knotted muscles as it stretched out, coming toward her, almost catlike, smiling, showing those heart-stopping fangs.

Jennsen was beyond knowing what to do, except that she had had all she could take, and wanted it to end. She could take none of it any longer. She wanted to kill Richard Rahl. She wanted vengeance. She wanted her mother back.

The thing was right before her, shimmering power and form that was there, but not, partly in this world and partly in another.

Jennsen saw then, beyond the thing, beyond the ring of Sisters and sparkling white sand and candles, huge shapes out in the shadows—things on four legs. There were hundreds of them, their eyes all glowing yellow in the darkness, breath steaming up from snarls. They looked like they could have come from another world, but were most definitely now wholly in this one.

“Jennsen,” the voice hovering close over her whispered, “Jennsen,” it cooed, “Jennsen.” It smiled a smile as dark as Emperor Jagang’s eyes, as dark as a moonless night.

“What . . .” She whispered through her tears. “What are those things out there?”

“Why, the hounds of vengeance,” the voice whispered intimately. “Embrace me, and I shall unleash them.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“Surrender to me, Jennsen. Embrace me, and I shall unleash the hounds in your name.”

Jennsen couldn’t blink as she sank back away from the thing. She could hardly breathe. A low sound, a kind of purring rattle, came from the throat of the thing as it stretched over her, looking down into her eyes.

She was trying to think of that little word, that important little word. It was somewhere in her mind, but as she stared up into those glowing eyes, she couldn’t think of it. Her mind felt frozen. She wanted that word, but it wasn’t there.

“ Grushdeva du kalt misht ,” the voice cooed in that throaty, echoing growl. “Vengeance is through me.”

“Vengeance,” Jennsen whispered numbly in answer.

“Open yourself to me, open yourself for me. Surrender. Avenge your mother.”

The thing passed a long finger over her face, and she could feel where Richard Rahl was—as if she could feel the bond that told others where he was. To the south. Distant, to the south. She could find him, now.

“Embrace me,” the voice breathed, inches from her face.

Jennsen was flat on her back. The realization both surprised and alarmed her. She didn’t recall lying back. She felt like she was watching someone else do these things. She realized that the thing that was the voice was kneeling between her open legs.