Terry Goodkind - Wizard's First Rule

“Zedd,” he whispered, “what in the name of everything good is a Seeker?”

With the aid of a hand to his knee, Zedd rose to his feet, rearranged his robes around his bony body, and held his hand out to Kahlan, who was staring at the ground. Noticing the hand, she took it, coming to her feet as well. Her face bore a distressed expression. Zedd considered her for a moment, and she nodded that she was all right.

Zedd turned to Richard. “What is a Seeker? A wise first question in your new capacity, but not one swiftly answered.”

Richard gazed down at the gleaming sword in his hand, not at all sure he wanted anything to do with it. He slid it back into its scabbard, glad to be free of the feelings it invoked, and held it in both hands before him. “Zedd, I’ve never seen this before. Where have you kept it?”

Zedd smiled proudly. “In the cabinet, in the house.”

Richard eyed him skeptically. “There’s nothing in the cabinet but dishes and pans and your powders.”

“Not that cabinet,” he said, lowering his voice as if to thwart anyone who might be listening, “in my wizard’s cabinet!”

Richard straightened with a frown. “I’ve never seen any other cabinet.”

“Bags, Richard! You’re not supposed to see it! It’s a wizard’s cabinet—it’s invisible!”

Richard felt more than a little stupid. “And how long have you had this?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe a dozen years or so.” Zedd swept his slender hand in the air as if trying to brush the question away.

“And how did you come to have it?”

Zedd’s tone hardened. “The naming of the Seeker is a wizard’s task. The High Council wrongly took it upon itself to name the person. They didn’t care anything about finding the right person. They gave the post to whoever suited them at the time. Or whoever offered the most. The sword belongs to the Seeker as long as he is alive, or as long as he chooses to be Seeker. In between, while a new Seeker is sought, the Sword of Truth belongs to the wizards. Or more precisely, it belongs to me, as naming Seekers is my responsibility. The last fellow who had it became . . .” His eyes turned up, as if searching the sky for the right word. “. . . entangled, with a witch woman. So, while he was distracted, I went into the Midlands and retrieved what is mine. Now it is yours.”

Richard felt himself being drawn into something not of his own choosing. He looked to Kahlan. She seemed to have shed her anguish and was unreadable again. “This is what you came here for? This is what you wanted the wizard to do?”

“Richard, I wanted the wizard to name a Seeker. I did not know it would be you.”

He was beginning to feel trapped as he looked from one to the other. “You two think I can somehow save us. That’s what you both are thinking: that somehow I’m to stop Darken Rahl. A wizard can’t do it, but I’m to try?” Terror rose with his heart into his throat.

Zedd came and put a reassuring arm around his shoulder. “Richard, look up in the sky. Tell me what you see.” Richard looked and saw the snakelike cloud. He didn’t need to answer the question. Zedd pressed his strong, bony fingers into Richard’s flesh. “Come. Sit, and I will tell you what you need to know. Then you decide, for yourself, what it is you will do. Come.” He put his other arm around Kahlan’s shoulder and guided them both to the bench at the table. He went to his place opposite them and sat. Richard laid the sword on the table between them to signify that the matter was yet to be decided.

Zedd pushed his sleeves up his arms a little. “There is a magic,” he began, “an ancient and dangerous magic of immense power. It’s a magic spawned from the earth, from life itself. It is held in three vessels called the three boxes of Orden. The magic is dormant until the boxes are put into play, as it is called. To do so is not easy. It requires a person who has knowledge gained from long scholarship and who can call upon considerable power on his own. Once a person has at least one of the boxes, the magic of Orden can be put in play. He then has one year from that time to open a box, but he must have all three before any will open. They work together—you can’t simply have one and open it. If the person who puts them in play fails to acquire all three, and to open one within the allotted time, he forfeits his life to the magic. There is no going back. Darken Rahl must open one of the boxes, or die. On the first day of winter, his year is up.”

Zedd’s face was tight with hard wrinkles and determination. He leaned forward a little. “Each box holds a different power, which is released upon its opening. If Rahl opens the correct one, he gains the magic of Orden, the magic of life itself, power over all things living and dead. He will have unchallenged power and authority. He will be a master with immutable dominion over all people. Anyone he doesn’t like, he will be able to kill with a thought, in any manner of his choosing, wherever that person is, no matter how far away.”

“Sounds like a terribly evil magic,” Richard said.

Zedd leaned back, taking his hands from the table. He shook his head. “No, not really. The magic of Orden is the power of life. Like all power, it simply exists. It’s the user who determines what use it will be put to. The magic of Orden can just as easily be used to help crops grow, to heal the sick, to end conflict. It’s all in what the user wants. The power is neither evil nor good—it simply exists. It is up to the mind of man to put it to use. I think we all know which use Darken Rahl would choose.”

Zedd paused, as was his way, to let Richard ponder the meaning of what he had been told. His thin face fixed in resolve as he waited. Kahlan, too, had a look that told him she was determined to have him fully understand the ominous nature of what Zedd was saying.

Richard, of course, didn’t need to ponder it, since he knew it all from the Book of Counted Shadows . The book was explicit. From the book, he knew Zedd was barely touching on the full extent of the cataclysm that would sweep the land if Darken Rahl opened the correct box. He knew, also, what would happen if one of the other boxes was opened, but he couldn’t reveal his foreknowledge, and so had to ask anyway. “And if he opens one of the others?”

Zedd came forward against the table in a blink. He had expected that this would be the next question. “Open the wrong box, and the magic claims him. He’s dead.” Zedd snapped his fingers. “Just like that. We are all safe—the threat is removed.” He leaned closer, his brow furrowed, and gave Richard a hard look. “Open the other wrong box, and every bug, every blade of grass, every tree, every man, woman, and child, every living thing, is incinerated into nothingness. It would be the end of all life. The magic of Orden is twin to the magic of life itself, and death is part of everything that lives, so the magic of Orden is tied to death, as well as life.”

Zedd sat back, seeming to be overwhelmed by the telling of the choices of catastrophe. Though Richard already knew it all, he still swallowed hard at hearing it out loud. Somehow it seemed more real to him like this, more real when there was a name put to it. When he had learned the book, it was all so abstract, so hypothetical, that he had never given any thought to the possibility that it would come to pass. His only concern had been that the knowledge be preserved so as to be returned to its keeper. He wished he could tell Zedd what he knew, but his oath to his father prevented him from saying anything. It also required him to keep up the pretense by asking another question to which he already knew the answer.

“How will Rahl know which box to open?”