Terry Goodkind - Wizard's First Rule

When she was finished, Nissel wiped the sweat from Kahlan’s face with a cold, wet cloth. Kahlan was so dizzy and nauseated she couldn’t even sit up. Nissel kept her lying down as she applied the brown paste and wrapped the arm with clean bandages.

“You should sleep for a while. I will wake you before the banquet.”

Kahlan put her hand on the old woman’s arm, and made herself smile. “Thank you, Nissel.”

She woke to the feel of her hair being brushed. It had dried while she slept. Nissel smiled at her.

“You will find it hard to brush your pretty hair until your arm is better. Not many have the honor to have hair such as yours. I thought you would like it brushed for the banquet. It starts soon. A handsome young man waits for you outside.”

Kahlan sat up. “How long has he been out there?”

“Almost the whole time. I tried to chase him away with a broom.” Nissel frowned. “But he would not go. He is very stubborn. Yes?”

“Yes.” Kahlan grinned.

Nissel helped her put on her clean clothes. Her arm didn’t hurt as much as before. Richard was leaning impatiently against the outside wall and stood up straight when she came out. He was washed and clean and fresh-looking, the mud all gone, and was dressed in simple buckskin pants and tunic, and of course his sword. Nissel was right: he did look handsome.

“How are you doing? How’s the arm? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She smiled. “Nissel has made me well.”

Richard kissed the top of the old woman’s head. “Thank you, Nissel. I forgive you the broom.”

Nissel smiled at the translation, leaned closer, and gave him a deep look he found uncomfortable.

“Shall I give him a potion,” Nissel asked, turning to her, “to give him stamina?”

“No,” Kahlan said bristling. “I am sure he will do just fine.”

Laughter and the sound of drums drifted from the center of the village as Richard and Kahlan walked among the huddled, dark buildings. Black skies held back their rain, and the damp, warm air brought in the smell of the wet grasses that surrounded the village. Torches lit the platforms of the pole buildings, and large fires set about the open area snapped and popped, throwing off fluttering shadows. Kahlan knew it was a lot of work to haul in wood for cooking and kiln fires, and most were kept small. This was an extravagance the Mud People rarely witnessed.

Wonderful aromas from the cooking fires drifted to her through the night air, but failed to spark her appetite. Women dressed in their brightest dresses rushed around, with young girls at their sides, tending to errands, seeing to it that all went well. The men wore their finest skins, ceremonial knives hung at their waists, and their hair was slicked down with sticky mud in traditional fashion.

Cooking went on nonstop as people wandered by, sampling the fare, talking, sharing stories. Most people, it seemed, were either cooking or eating. There were children everywhere, playing and running and laughing, overflowing with excitement at the unexpected nighttime, firelit gathering.

Under grass roofs, musicians pounded drums and scraped paddles up and down ripples carved on boldas, long bell-shaped hollow tubes. The eerie strains, music meant to call ancestors spirits to the banquet, carried far out into the grasslands. Other musicians sat on the opposite side of the open area, the sound of the two groups sometimes joining, sometimes separating, calling to one another in haunting and occasionally frantic beats and knells. Men in costume, some dressed as animals, others painted as stylized hunters, jumped and danced, acting out stories of Mud People legends. Gleeful children surrounded the dancers imitating them and stamping their feet in time with the drumming. Young couples off in darker areas watched the activities as they nuzzled close together. Kahlan had never felt so alone.

Savidlin, his freshly cleaned coyote hide around his shoulders found her and Richard, and dragged them off, slapping Richard’s back the whole way, to sit with the elders under their shelter. The Bird Man was dressed in his usual, plain buckskin pants and tunic. He was important enough not to have to wear anything more. Weselan was there, as were the wives of the other elders and she came to sit next to Kahlan, taking her hand and asking with sincere concern how her arm was. Kahlan wasn’t used to having people care about her. It felt good to be one of the Mud People, even if it was only pretense. Pretense, because she was a Confessor, and as much as she wished it otherwise right now it was not, and no decree could make it so. She did as she had learned to do at a young age: she put her emotions away, and thought about the job that lay ahead, about Darken Rahl and how little time they had left. And she thought about Dennee.

Richard, resigned to the fact that they would have to wait an other day for the gathering, tried to make the best of it, smiling and nodding at chattered advice he couldn’t understand. People streamed past the elders’ shelter in a steady procession, to greet the newest Mud People with gentle slaps. In all fairness, Kahlan had to admit that they paid as much regard to her as to Richard.

Woven trays and pottery bowls filled with various foods lay on the floor in front of where they sat cross-legged, greeting people, some of whom sat with them for a time. Richard sampled most of the food, remembering to use his right hand. Kahlan nibbled on a piece of tava bread so as not to appear impolite.

“This is good,” Richard said, taking another rib. “I think it’s pork.’’

“It is wild boar,” she said, watching the dancers.

“And the venison, it’s good too. Here, have a piece.” He tried to hand her a strip.

“No. Thank you.”

“You all right?”

“Fine. I’m just not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten any meat since we’ve been with the Mud People.”

“I’m just not hungry, that’s all.”

He shrugged and ate the venison.

After a time, the crowd of people greeting them thinned out, finally going off to other activities. From the corner of her eye, she saw the Bird Man raise his hand in a signal to someone in the distance. Kahlan put a brake to her feelings, and made her face betray nothing of the effort, as her mother had taught her: a Confessor’s face.

Four young women, all with shy smiles and short hair slicked down with mud, timidly approached. Richard greeted them with smiles and nods and gentle slaps, as he had the other people. They stood, pushing against each other, giggling, whispering how fine he was to look upon. Kahlan glanced back at the Bird Man. He gave her a single nod.

“Why aren’t they leaving?” Richard asked out of the side of his mouth. “What do they want?”

“They are for you,” she said in an even voice.

The flickering firelight lit his face as he looked blankly at the four women. “For me. And what am I to do with them?”

Kahlan took a deep breath as she looked at the fires for a moment. “I am only your guide, Richard. If you need instruction in this, you will have to seek it elsewhere.”

There was a moment of silence.

“All four? For me?”

She turned back to him and saw a mischievous grin spreading on his face. She found his smile irritating.

“No, you are to pick one.”

“Pick one?” he repeated, the stupid grin still on his face.

She consoled herself with the fact that at least he wasn’t going to cause trouble over this part. He looked from one girl to another.

“Pick one. Now that will be hard. How long do I have to decide?”

She looked off at the fire again and closed her eyes for a moment, then turned to the Bird Man. “The Seeker wishes to know when he must decide which woman to pick.”