Terry Goodkind - Stone of Tears

She stood. “Good night, Nathan.” She closed the cover on the book and started to pick it up.

“Sit down, Sister Margaret,” came his voice, again full of power and menace.

“You have nothing to tell me. I am returning to my bed.”

“I did not say I had nothing to tell you. I said I had no prophecy to give.”

“If you have had no vision and have no prophecy, what could you possibly have to tell me?”

He withdrew his hands from his sleeves and placed his knuckles on the desk, leaning close to her face. “Sit down, or I won’t tell you.”

Margaret contemplated using her power, but decided that it was easier, and quicker, to simply make him happy and sit down. “All right, I’m sitting. What is it?”

He leaned over even more, his eyes going wide. “There has been a fork in the prophecies,” he whispered.

She felt herself rising out of the chair. “When?”

“Just today. This very day.”

“Then why have you called me in the middle of the night?”

“I called out as soon as it came to me.”

“And why have you not waited until the morning to tell us this? There have been forks before.”

He slowly shook his head as he smiled. “Not like this one.”

She didn’t relish telling the others. No one was going to be happy about this. No one but Warren, that is. He would be in a state of glee to have a piece to fit into the puzzle of the prophecies. The others, though, would not be pleased. This meant years of work.

Some prophecies were “if” and “then” prophecies, bifurcating into several possibilities. There were prophecies that followed each branch, prophecies to foretell events of each fork, since not even the prophecies always knew which events would come to pass.

Once one of these kind of prophecies came to pass and resolved which fork was to be true, and one of the alternatives took place, a prophecy had forked, as it was called. All the prophecies that followed down the path that had been voided now became false prophecies. These themselves multiplied, like the branches of a tree, clogging the sacred prophecies with confusing, contradicting, and false information. Once a fork had occurred, the prophecies they now knew to be false had to be followed as far as could be traced, and pulled out.

It was a formidable task. The further the event in question was from the fork, the more difficult it was to know if it was of the false fork, or of the true. Worse, it was difficult to tell if two prophecies, one following another, belonged together or if they were to happen a thousand years apart. Sometimes the events themselves helped them to decipher where it was to be placed chronologically, but only sometimes. The further in time from the fork, the more difficult was the task of relating them.

The effort would take years, and even then, they could be sure only of accomplishing part of it. To this day, they could not know with confidence if they were reading a true prophecy, or the descendant of a false fork in the past. For this reason, some considered the prophecies unreliable at best, useless at worst. But if they now knew of a fork, and more importantly, knew the true and the false branches, they would have a valuable guide.

She sank back into the chair. “How important is the prophecy that forked?”

“It is a core prophecy. There could be none more important.”

Decades. It wouldn’t take years, it would take decades. A core prophecy touched almost everything. Her insides fluttered. This was like going blind. Until the tainted fruit of the false fork could be culled, they couldn’t trust anything.

She looked up into his eyes. “You do know which it was that forked?”

He smiled proudly. “I know the false fork, and the true. I know what has come to pass.”

Well, at least there was that. She felt a ripple of excitement. If Nathan could tell her which fork was true, and which was false, and the nature of each branch, it would be valuable information indeed. Since the prophecies were not in chronological order, there was no way to simply follow a branch, but this would be a very good start: they would know right where to begin. Better yet, they had learned of it as it happened, and not years later.

“You have done well, Nathan.” He grinned like a child who had pleased his mother. “Bring a chair close, and tell me of the fork.”

Nathan seemed drawn up in the excitement as he pulled a chair to the side of the desk. He flounced down in it, squirming like a puppy with a stick. She hoped she wouldn’t have to hurt him to get this stick out of his mouth.

“Nathan, can you tell me the prophecy that has forked?”

His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Are you sure you want to know, Sister Margaret? Prophecies are dangerous. The last time I told one to a pretty lady, thousands died. You said so yourself.”

“Nathan, please. It’s late. This is very important.”

The mirth left his face. “I don’t remember the words, exactly.”

She doubted the truth of that; when it came to prophecies, Nathan’s mind saw the words as if they were written on a stone tablet. She put a reassuring hand on his arm. “That is to be understood. I know it is difficult to remember every word. Tell it as best you can.”

“Well, let’s see.” He looked at the ceiling as he stroked his chin with his thumb and fingertips. “It is the one that says something about the one from D’Hara who would shadow the world by counting shadows.”

“That’s very good, Nathan. Can you remember more?” She knew he probably remembered it word for word, but he liked to be coaxed. “It would be a tremendous help to me.”

He eyed her a moment and then nodded. “By winter’s breath, the counted shadows shall bloom. If the heir to D’Hara’s vengeance counts the shadows true, his umbra will darken the world. If he counts false, then his life is forfeit.”

“A forked prophecy indeed. This had been the first full day of winter’s season.” She didn’t know what the prophecy meant, but she knew of it. This one was the matter of much study and debate down in the vaults, and worry over which year this prophecy might come to pass. “And which fork has the prophecy taken?”

His face turned grim. “The worst one.”

Her fingers fumbled with a button. “We are to fall under the shadow of this one from D’Hara?”

“You should study the prophecies closer, Sister. The following prophecy goes on to say: Should the forces of forfeit be loosed, the world will be shadowed yet by darker lust through what has been rent. Salvation’s hope, then, will be as slim as the white blade of the one born True.” He leaned closer and whispered, “The only one of darker lust, Sister Margaret, would be the Lord of Anarchy.”

She whispered a prayer. “May the Creator shelter us in his light.”

His smile was mocking. “The prophecy says nothing about the Creator coming to our aid, Sister. If it is protection you seek, you had better follow the true fork. It is in that way He has offered you a glimmer of hope for defense from what will be.”

She smoothed the folds of her dress on her lap. “Nathan, I don’t know what this prophecy means. We can’t follow the true and false forks if we don’t know what it means. You said you know those forks. Can you tell me? Can you tell me a prophecy on each fork, one that leads each way, so we may follow their path?”

“Vengeance under the Master will extinguish every adversary. Terror, hopelessness, and despair will reign free.” He peered at her intently with one eye. “This one leads down the false fork.”

She wondered how it was possible for the true prophecy to be worse. “And one of the true fork?”

“A close prophecy after the true fork says: Of all there were, but a single one born of the magic to bring forth truth will remain alive when the shadow’s threat is lifted. Therefore comes the greater darkness of the dead. For there to be a chance at life’s bond, this one in white must be offered to her people, to bring their joy and good cheer.”