Terry Goodkind - Temple of the Winds

“At the ceremony, when I was being married to Drefan, I said the words aloud that they demanded, but in my mind, in my heart, I was saying the oath of marriage to you.”

Richard wiped a tear from her chin. “I did the same.”

She squeezed his arms. “Richard, what are we going to do now?”

“There is nothing to do now. You are sworn to Drefan.”

She touched her fingers to his face. “But what about you? What about you and me?”

His smile left. He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I have what I needed—what I came for. You have returned my heart.”

“But, how can we go on like this? Not only that, but we have to do something, and fast. Drefan wants to withdraw the troops back to D’Hara and make a stand against the Order there.”

Anger flashed in Richard’s eyes. “No. You can’t let him do that, Kahlan. If you let Jagang divide the New World, he will take it one piece at a time, with D’Hara the last to fall. You can’t let Drefan do that. Promise me you won’t.”

“I don’t need to promise. You are Lord Rahl. You can stop it, now. I am the Mother Confessor. We’ll do it together.”

“You must do it, Kahlan. I can’t help you.”

“But why not? You’ve returned. Everything will work out. We’ll think of something—find a way. You are the Seeker, you always find a way.”

“I’m dying.”

Ice flashed through her. “What? What . . . do you mean, you’re dying? Richard, you can’t die, not now. Not after . . . No, Richard, no, it’s all right now. You’re back. Everything is going to be all right.”

She saw it then, the pain in his eyes, and realized, when he slumped to a hip, that he was unable to stand.

“In order for me to return, the spirits demanded a price.” He coughed, wincing in pain.

She clutched at him. “What are you talking about? What price?”

“When I was there, at the Temple of the Winds, I gained all the knowledge there. I understood my power. I could use it. I used it to stop the plague. I somehow interrupted the flow of power from the winds that made the book of magic work in this world.”

“You mean that you no longer know how to do it? You mean the plague will come back?”

He lifted a hand to allay her fear. “No, the plague will not return. But as the price of returning to this world, I was not allowed to keep the knowledge of the winds. I had to come back as I was before.”

“But . . . you mean that you are simply mortal, like before?”

“No. They demanded more. They demanded that if I was to return, I had to take the magic of the stolen book into myself to keep it from the rest of the world of life.”

“What?” Kahlan breathed, wide-eyed. “You don’t mean—”

“I have the plague.”

She gripped his shoulder with one hand, and felt his forehead with the other. He was burning with fever.

“Richard, why didn’t you tell me before?”

He smiled through the pain. “Forgiveness was all I needed, all I wanted, but I had to know it was true, and not granted out of pity.”

“Richard, you can’t die. Not now. Dear spirits, you can’t die!”

“The dear spirits had nothing to do with this. It was Darken Rahl who chose Drefan to be your husband, as the price of the path into the winds, and Darken Rahl who demanded this as the price of my return.”

“Your return. Don’t tell me that you only came back to die? Oh, Richard, why would you do such a foolish thing?”

“If I had stayed at the Temple of the Winds, I would eventually have died, but without your forgiveness. I chose, instead, to return and hope that a part of you still loved me enough to forgive me, so I could die with that much at least. With your love back. I couldn’t go on, knowing what I had done to you, knowing how I had hurt your heart.”

“And you don’t think this hurts my heart! Richard, there has to be something we can do. What can we do? Please, you must have known!”

Richard fell onto his side, holding his stomach. “I’m sorry, Kahlan. There is nothing. I am absorbing the magic from the book that was stolen. When I die, the magic will die with me.”

Kahlan crouched over him, clutching at him, as the tears overwhelmed her. “Richard, please don’t do this. Please don’t die.”

“I’m sorry, Kahlan. I can’t stop it. I gladly paid the price. My heart is at peace, now.” He reached up and touched the Agiel hanging from the chain at her throat. “There was never a moment’s hesitation, once I understood. Denna helped me to understand.”

Kahlan hugged him as he rolled onto his back. “Richard, there must be something. You would have known what to do, before they took the knowledge from you. Try to remember. Please, Richard, try to remember.”

His eyelids drooped. “I need . . . to rest. I’m sorry. I used all my strength. I need to rest a bit.”

Kahlan gripped his hand in both others as she wept. It was all too overwhelming to endure. To have him back, only to lose him was too crushing to endure. She opened his limp hand, to press it to her cheek, and saw something in his palm. She pulled back his fingers, and through the tears, she saw writing in the palm of his hand. It said, Find book, destroy it to live.

Kahlan sprawled over his unconscious form and grabbed his other hand. It, too, had writing in it. Pinch of white sorcerer’s sand on third page. One grain of black sorcerer’s sand tossed on.

There were three other words, but in her mind’s state of chaotic disorder, she couldn’t think of how pronounce them.

He knew he was going to forget, and before he did, he wrote a message to himself. He had even forgotten that he had written it. The book. She had to have the book. And then she was running, screaming as she went. “Cara, Berdine! Help me! Cara! Berdine!”

Both women dashed out of the sliph’s room, out onto the walkway beside the inky pool, when they heard Kahlan screaming their names as she raced into the tower room.

Kahlan grasped at their leather as she tried to explain. They each seized one of Kahlan’s arms and pressed her up against the wall. “Slow down,” Berdine said.

“We can’t understand you,” Cara said. “Get your breath. Stop crying and get your breath.”

“Richard—” She tried to point but they held her arms. “Richard has the plague . . . I need the book.”

Berdine leaned in close. “Lord Rahl . . . has the plague?”

Kahlan nodded frantically. “I have to get the book. The book that was stolen from the Temple of the Winds. I have to get it or he will die.” Kahlan tore her arms away from them. “Please help me. Richard has the plague.”

“What do you need us to do?” Cara asked.

“I’m going to the Old World. Protect him.”

“The Old World!” Berdine gasped. “Do you know where the book is? Did he tell you where to find it? Did he give you any hint?”

Kahlan shook her head. There wasn’t time. She had to hurry. She had to go. “I don’t know where it is! But it’s the only chance he has. He took on the magic of the plague in order to return to this world. In order to beg my forgiveness. He wanted to tell me he was sorry for hurting me. If we don’t destroy the book, he’ll die—just so he could say he was sorry. He’ll die! I have to go!”

“But, Mother Confessor,” Berdine said, “the Old World is a big place. If Richard has the plague . . . how can you hope to find the book?”

In time. That was what she meant. How could she hope to find the book in time? Before Richard died.

Kahlan gripped a fistful of red leather. “I have to try! Protect Richard. Don’t let Drefan know that Richard is back. I don’t know what Drefan would do. Don’t tell him!”

Cara was shaking her head. “Don’t worry about that. We won’t tell Drefan. We’ll take care of Richard while you’re gone. We’ll hide him here in the Keep. But hurry. If you can’t find it, please come back before—”