Terry Goodkind - Temple of the Winds

Richard closed his eyes and opened his heart, his need, his soul. He released himself into the current of empathy. He wanted nothing but to make Cara whole again. She had given her all for them. He didn’t know if he had strength enough, but he gave all of himself over to it.

He descended into the swirl of her agony. He felt everything she felt, suffered with her. He gritted his teeth, held his breath, and pulled her pain into himself, onward, ever onward, without sparing anything to protect himself.

He shook with the suffering, and his mind wailed with it. He absorbed it into himself, and then asked for more. He asked for all of it. He demanded it.

The world was liquid, twisting, coursing pain. He was swept away in a molten river of it. Its fiery heat consumed his being. Time lost all meaning. There was only the pain.

When he felt it all gathered into himself, he let flow his empathy, his power: healing strength; healing heart.

He didn’t know how to direct it, he just let it flow into her. It felt as if his whole self drained away into her need. She was baked, barren earth, soaking in life-giving rain.

When at last he opened his eyes and lifted his head, his arms were lying across the smooth skin of her midriff. She was whole again. Though she seemed still unaware of it, she was whole.

Richard turned. Kahlan was lying on her side, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. Her face was ashen and covered with sweat and blood, her eyes half closed.

“Richard,” she whispered when he bent to her, “free my hands. I want to be hugging you, when . . .”

When she died. That was what she was going to say.

Richard snatched up a knife lying nearby, and sliced through the ropes. The anger was back, but only as a distant glow now. He could hardly see the room anymore. Hardly hear her. Hardly see her.

Her wrists finally free, she threw an arm over his neck and drew him to her. Richard struggled to keep from falling on her.

“Richard, Richard, Richard,” she whispered. “I love you.”

Richard went to embrace her, and saw the pool of blood spreading under her. His rage ignited anew. His need ignited anew. He took her up in his arms, begging the spirits to spare her. “Please give me the strength to heal this loved one,” he whispered in choking tears. “I have done everything required of me. I have sacrificed everything. Please, losing this loved one should not be part of it. I’m dying. Give me the time. Help me.”

It was all he wanted, all he needed, as he held her to him. He wanted her to live, to be well, to be whole.

Holding her in his arms, he once again released himself into the torrent. He pulled the pain onward, heedless of it, welcoming it, drawing it with all his might. At the same time, he let flow his love, his warmth, his compassion. Kahlan gasped.

Richard could see that his arms were glowing, as if a spirit were sharing his body with him. Perhaps, he was already a spirit, but he didn’t care. He cared only that he would heal her, and cared not at what cost. He would pay any price. Kahlan gasped with the feel of it, the feel of the power surging into her. Her legs began to tingle. It was the first time she had felt anything in them since Drefan had stabbed her.

Richard seemed to glow around her as he hugged her in his arms, held her in his warm, loving embrace.

The rapture of the sliph, by comparison, was torture. This was beyond anything she had ever felt in her life. She could feel his warm, healing magic coursing through every fiber of her.

It was like being born anew. Life and vitality welled up in her. Tears of bliss flooded from her eyes as she hung in Richard’s arms, his magic completely overwhelming her.

When at last he parted from her, she moved without pain. Her legs moved. She felt whole. She was healed.

Richard wiped the blood from her lips as he gazed into her eyes. Kneeling on the floor together, Kahlan kissed him, tasting their salty tears. She parted, gripping his arms, looking into his eyes, seeing him as if in a new light. She had just shared something with him that was beyond words, beyond comprehension.

Kahlan stood, holding out her hand to help him up. Richard lifted his hand toward hers.

And then he toppled over onto his face. “Richard!” She dropped down, rolling him over onto his back. He was hardly breathing. “Richard. Please, Richard, don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me!”

She clutched at his shoulders. He was burning with fever. His eyes were closed. He struggled for each shallow breath.

“Oh, Richard, I’m so sorry. I lost the book. Please, Richard, I love you. Don’t die and leave me alone.”

“Here,” came a voice that echoed around the room.

Kahlan’s head came up. The voice seemed unreal. She couldn’t understand it. Then realization hit her.

Kahlan spun around and saw the quicksilver face of the sliph looking down at her. A liquid silver arm held out the black book. “Master needs this,” the sliph said. “Take it.”

Kahlan snatched the book. “Thank you! Thank you, sliph!”

Kahlan dropped down to get the sorcerer’s sand that Richard carried in the leather packs, but he wasn’t wearing his big over-belt.

She rushed to Cara, still tied in the ropes. Cara’s head rolled from side to side as she mumbled, as if she didn’t know that Richard had healed her. She was still lost in a prison of her own private terror.

Zedd had told Kahlan that the gift couldn’t heal maladies of the mind.

“Cara! Cara, where were you keeping Richard? Where are his things?”

Cara didn’t respond. Kahlan snatched the knife off the floor and sliced through the ropes. Cara just lay there.

Kahlan pressed her hands to Cara’s face, making the woman look at her. “Cara, it’s all right, now. The rats are gone. They’re gone. You’re safe. Richard healed you. You’re all right.”

“Rats,” Cara mumbled. “Get them off me. Please. Please . . .”

Kahlan hugged her. “Cara, they’re gone. I’m your sister of the Agiel. I need you. Please, Cara, come back to me. Please.”

Cara only mumbled.

“Cara,” Kahlan wept, “Richard will die if you don’t help me. There are thousands of rooms in the Keep. I need to know where you kept him. Please, Cara, Richard helped you. Now he needs your help—or he will die. There’s no time. Richard needs you.”

Cara’s eyes focused, as if she were coming awake. “Richard?”

Kahlan wiped the tears from her face. “Yes, Richard. Hurry, Cara. I need the belt Richard wears. I need it or he will die.”

Cara brought her hands down, rubbing her wrists, now smooth where they had been cut before. She felt her stomach. Even the old scars were gone. “I am healed,” she whispered. “Lord Rahl healed me.”

“Yes! Cara, please, Richard is dying. I have the book, but I need the things he keeps in his belt.”

Cara abruptly sat up, pulling the red leather across her chest. She buttoned two of the buttons to hold it closed.

“His belt. Yes. You stay with Lord Rahl. I will get it.”

“Hurry!”

Cara stood, swaying for a moment as she steadied herself, and then she dashed from the room. Kahlan hugged the inky black book to herself. She bent over Richard.

He was hardly breathing. She knew that any one of those breaths could be his last. He had given them, Cara and Kahlan, the rest of his strength.

“Dear spirits, help him. Give him just a little more time. Please. He has suffered so much. Please just give him a little time, until I can destroy this vile book.”

Kahlan bent over him and kissed his lips. “Hold on, Richard. Hold on for me, please. If you can hear me, we have the book. I know how to destroy it. Please, just hold on.”

Kahlan knelt down on a clear spot closer to the door and laid open the book to the third page so she would be ready when Cara returned.