Terry Goodkind - Soul of the Fire

The streets of Fairfield were dark, but there were still people going about their business. Kahlan knew that when the Imperial Order came, the business of their lives would be soon turned inside out.

At that moment, though, she had trouble caring. She decided she would do it before she got back. She feared Richard finding the vial, and having to explain it to him. Richard would never let her do this, but since he didn’t know about her condition, she had been able to get his true feelings and wishes.

He was right. They had the rest of the people to worry about. They couldn’t let their personal problem bring harm to everyone. Shota would keep her word about such a thing, and then they wouldn’t be able to see to their duty. This would be best.

On the way out of the city, she saw Dalton Campbell coming up the street on horseback, so she turned down a dark street. He always seemed to be a man of careful thought. As he rode by, Kahlan thought he looked as if he was in another world. She wondered what he was doing in a part of the city that had a reputation for ill repute.

She waited until he passed before she went on her way.

As she reached the road back to the Minister’s estate, where their men were camped, she saw the glint of moonlight off the top rail of a carriage in the far distance. It would be some time before the plodding carriage reached her, but she turned off the road just the same. She didn’t want to meet anyone along the road, especially someone who might recognize her.

The lump in her throat was near to choking her as she walked into the field of wheat. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. Off the road a ways, she finally sank to her knees, giving in to the tears.

As she stared at the vial resting in her palm, moonlight reflecting off the wavy glass, she couldn’t recall ever feeling much lower in her life. She sobbed back a cry, stifling her weeping, reminding herself this was for the good of everyone. It was. She was sure of it.

She pulled the stopper, letting it fall from her fingers. She held the vial up, trying to see it in the watery moonlight. She pressed her other hand over their child: her child; Richard’s child.

Swallowing back the tears, she put the vial to her lips. She paused, waiting until she could get control of her breathing. She didn’t want to empty it into her mouth, and then not be able to swallow.

Kahlan pulled it away from her lips. She stared at it in the moonlight, again, and thought of everything this meant.

And then she turned it over, emptying the liquid out on the ground.

Immediately, she felt a wave of relief, as if her life had been spared and hope had returned to the world.

When she stood the tears were a distant memory, already drying on her cheeks. Kahlan smiled with relief, with joy. Their child was safe.

She threw the empty vial out into the field. When she did so, Kahlan saw a man standing out in the wheat, watching her. She froze.

He started toward her, purposefully, quickly. Kahlan looked to the side and saw other men coming. Behind, yet more were closing on her. Young men, she saw, all with red hair.

Not waiting an instant for the situation to get any worse, she reacted instinctively and broke into a dead run toward their camp.

Rather than trying to go between the men, she headed directly toward one. He hunkered down, feet spread, arms out, waiting.

Kahlan raced up to him and seized his arm. She looked into his eyes, recognizing him as a messenger named Rowley. Without effort of thought, and in that instant, she released her power into him, bracing for the jolt that would take him.

The same instant nothing happened, she realized it was because the chimes had caused her magic to fail. She thought she felt it within her as always, but it was gone.

In that same instant of realization, recognition, and failure, she suddenly did feel magic. Kahlan knew the tingling invasion of magic, overpowering in its onrushing surge, snaking into her like a viper down a hole, and just as deadly. She jerked her arm back, but too late, she knew. Men closed in from both sides, less concerned now that they had her. Men behind were still running toward them.

Only an instant had passed since she first grabbed Rowley and let him go. In that time she made the only decision she could. She had only one chance: fight or die.

Kahlan kicked the man to her right in the sternum. She felt the bone snap under her boot heel. He went down with an indrawn gasp. She kneed Rowley in the groin. She gouged at the eyes of the man on her left.

It bought her an opening. She raced for it, only to be brought up short when a man behind got her by the hair, jerking her violently back. She spun, kicking him in the side, using her elbows as men closed in.

It was the last strike she landed. They caught her arms. A heavy blow slammed into her middle. She instantly knew it had done something terrible to her. Another to her face, and then another, took her senses. She couldn’t get her wind. She didn’t know up from down. She couldn’t breathe. She tried to cover her face, but they had her arms. She gasped as more fists hammered her middle. More snapped her head this way and that. She tried to swallow the blood in her mouth before it choked her. She heard the men growl, like a pack of dogs, and grunt with the effort of hitting her as hard as they could. The fierce panic of helplessness seized her.

The blows rained down. She hung helpless. The pain was stunning. They pounded her toward the ground.

Blackness, like death itself, swallowed her.

And then the pain ebbed away into nothingness, and the merciful peace of the Light enveloped her.

In a daze, Richard walked through the field of moonlit wheat. Everything was such a mess. He felt as if so much was piled on top of him he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know what to do. The chimes, the Imperial Order, none of it was going right.

Yet everyone depended on him, whether or not they knew it. The people of the Midlands counted on him to repel the Imperial Order. The D’Harans depended on him for leadership. Everyone was in danger from the chimes, and they were growing stronger by the day.

On top of that, to have worked and sacrificed so much for these people of Anderith, only to have them turn away from him, was crushing.

The worst of it, though, was that he and Kahlan had to put it all before a child. Richard was willing to risk Shota, if Kahlan was. He knew the danger a child could pose, but he was willing to fight for their right to their own future. But how could they worry about a child now, with the chimes and the Order both ruthlessly bearing down on the world? Adding Shota into the mix would be beyond reason. Kahlan saw that, too, but he knew it was hard for her, putting duty first her whole life.

But if they didn’t do their part, their duty, the world would fall to Jagang’s tyranny, into slavery. If the chimes didn’t kill them all first. Before any of the rest of it, they had to stop the chimes. The chimes were nobody’s fault but his. He was responsible for banishing them.

Still, even if he could figure out what Joseph Ander had done, they had Jagang to deal with before they could think about having a child. Kahlan understood that. He thanked the good spirits for that one thing good in his life: Kahlan.

He realized he must be close to Fairfield. He should turn back. Kahlan would be worried. He had been gone a long time. He didn’t want to worry her. She had enough worries. He hoped she wouldn’t be too distraught about not having a child right now.

As he turned, he thought he heard something. He straightened and listened. He didn’t know how long the noise had gone on because he hadn’t been paying much attention to anything but trying to think of solutions to their problems. Now he cocked his head to hear. It sounded oddly like muffled thuds.