fic: storm born - chapter thirty-nine
Yeah, no excuses this time. I just suck at updating. I'm reallyyyy sorry about the wait.
Title: Storm BornAuthor: Morgen
Summary: It was supposed to be their one chance to be together. Instead it plunged them straight into a nightmare.
Disclaimer: I don't own LOTS or profit from it in any way. Just worship it from afar.
Rating: PG-14
XXXIX. DELIVERANCE
Richard remembered this. It had happened before. The all consuming sensation of being filled by a mind, an essence, a life other than his own. He could not move. He could only stand there as it poured through him, filling the spaces in his mind, pumping through his veins along with his blood. He had felt fear the last time this had happened, fear that was swiftly obliterated by mindless adoration. He could not feel fear now. Not when the Other pouring through him was Kahlan. He breathed in deeper, resisting nothing. If there was a better way to love her, he would gladly learn it.
He hid nothing from her. Before, the struggle to cling to who he was, even as he’d felt it being ripped away by Annabelle, had been as reflexive as it had been futile. And yet this time, nothing. There was no desire to fight back. Her magic was like a warm embrace, filling him with a sensation of love as if she held him in her arms. It was absolute, he had never known her more fully, and then it was over. The magic bled from him, and he stared down at her, her head cradled in his lap, her eyes blue once more. Tears trickled freely down her cheeks.
“No,” cried Rahl. He came closer as if to tear them apart, only to stop a few steps back, his eyes blazing. Richard glanced his way, vaguely aware that something was odd about that, but unable to think on it further. He was still too stunned; Kahlan had tried to confess him.
He knew beyond all doubt that it hadn’t worked. His memories of the days spent as Annabelle’s puppet were too vivid to allow for any confusion. But Kahlan hadn’t noticed. She was using him for leverage, reaching out desperately for something. He leaned with her instinctively, helping her, and a moment later, she was pressing the cold weight of a dacra into his hand.
Richard looked down at the weapon, then back at her. “What?” he said, uncomprehending.
She struggled to speak, her voice coming out faint but determined. “Kill me.” She curled his fingers around the dacra, guiding him down to her belly. “And the baby. You have to kill us both.”
Disbelief washed over him. “No.” He pulled his hand from hers and let the dacra clatter to the ground. “I won’t.”
Kahlan’s mouth gaped open. “You have to,” she stammered. “You’re confessed! You can’t refuse me!”
“It didn’t work, Kahlan.”
“Indeed,” Rahl interjected, peering down at them. “That is curious.”
“But…” She blinked, fat tears spilling down her cheeks. He could tell this was too much for her to process at the moment. “You have to,” she trembled, panting hard. The dark circles beneath her eyes had tinged a sickly shade of green. She clutched at him with both hands. “Kill me,” she begged. “Kill me. Kill me, please, kill me.” It was like a chant, and over and over she mumbled it.
“No,” he said, running his fingers through her tangled hair, as he listened to her weep and beg for death. It hurt far more to hear her than it had to die with the Sword of Truth buried in his belly.
He glanced up at Rahl. Although he had returned to his perch on the rock, there was a new alertness about him, a sudden tension to the way he sat and how he tracked them with his eyes. Richard frowned. It was almost as if his brother feared he’d do as Kahlan asked. But the prophecy promised that her death would play right into the Keeper’s hands. He ran over the words again in his mind. The child. Kahlan had insisted he kill the child too. That had to be the explanation. The Keeper needed their daughter alive.
And yet Rahl did nothing to gain the infant. The hairs on the back of Richard’s neck prickled, giving him a niggling, uneasy feeling. There was something he was missing, and perhaps if he could just figure it out, he’d have a chance of saving Kahlan.
He glanced down at her again. She was no longer agitated, but lay limply in his lap, her eyes closed. It had taken her last reserves of strength to confess him. She mumbled now and then, as if in a fitful sleep, and always her words were begging for her death. He thought of the thousands of souls in the Keeper’s pits, and the visions he had seen. Of one thing he was certain; her suffering would not end with death.
Blood still spread beneath her. His own hands were sticky with it. He had no doubt that their daughter would soon die inside her if nothing changed. If Rahl wanted the child so desperately, he ought to simply carve it out of her, stabbing her in the belly like countless banelings had to mothers throughout the Midlands. There was no reason not to; it was obvious Rahl was untroubled by her pain.
Unless he could not touch her. The thought came to him unbidden, and Richard knew not what to make of it. He was dead too, and he could touch her. Except that wasn’t quite true. He wasn’t wholly dead. Not yet. He was in some strange limbo, caught between realms, unburned by the Keeper’s fire, free to walk away from the visions Rahl sent him. He was not fully of the Underworld the way Rahl was. And Kahlan… He pressed a hand against her enormous belly; she had never been so literally filled with life before. Perhaps the two could not touch, could not meet. Life incompatible with death. It made sense.
Richard rocked back on his heels. He would have to gamble. “You want me to deliver the child, and give it to the Keeper?”
“You must.” Rahl leaned forward, blue eyes boring into him. “Don’t you want her to live?”
“A life at the Keeper’s mercy?”
“As her death will be if she dies. Only then there will be no end to her young soul’s torment. Deliver the child, and spare them both the eternity of suffering that otherwise awaits them.”
“And what will the Keeper do with my daughter if I give her to him?” He wondered if Rahl could even hear him over the sound of his pounding heart. And then he wondered how it was he heard it beating, when his real heart lay still inside his corpse, somewhere high overhead.
But Rahl just smiled and went on, apparently pleased that he was asking. “The Keeper, in his infinite wisdom, will use her to bring about a new world order. Her will and his shall be fused, to become one and the same. And through her unique…talent, every soul shall share the Keeper’s desires. Even the most fervent supporters of the Creator will come to love him instead in their deaths. The Underworld will spread to the realm of life until there is no above and below. He will be all that remains.”
So the Keeper wanted to turn their child into a monster, an abomination. Richard understood now why Kahlan had pushed the dacra into his hand and begged for death.
“If I do this,” he said, trying to ignore how Kahlan’s eyes fluttered open to stare up at him in wild panic. “Will Kahlan and my daughter suffer?”
“No. This is the only way you can buy them any measure of peace. You must do this, brother.”
Richard hesitated a moment and then nodded. “All right. I’ll do it.”
Kahlan shifted in his lap, her fear giving her strength. “No,” she said in a hoarse voice. “You must kill her. Please, Richard. Please.” Her lower lip trembled and tears streamed down her cheeks.
He cradled her face in his hands, wiping away tearstains with his thumbs. “Trust me.” He hoped his words conveyed to her that he was doing more than simply caving to Rahl’s demands, but he couldn’t waver. Rahl had to believe him, or this would never work. He forced himself to look away from her and say in a grim, determined voice, “This is for the best.”
Carefully he settled Kahlan’s head back on the ground and leaned over her. “I need you to help me hold her,” he called to Rahl, trying to keep his nerves from his voice. If he came over and took hold of Kahlan without difficulty, then his whole gamble was lost, and the Keeper had won. He stared at Kahlan’s belly and waited for his answer.
Rahl didn’t move. “This is your task to complete, not mine.” His voice was one of practiced nonchalance, but Richard felt a faint glimmer of hope. Surely their daughter was too important for Rahl to sit idly by as she came near to perishing unless he had no choice. He really couldn’t touch her.
Richard nodded, schooling his face to look forlorn. He had to get the rift open before he went any further. “I can’t,” he murmured, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I can’t, I can’t do this.”
“Sure you can, Richard,” wheedled Rahl. Richard kept rocking and muttering to himself. “You know what must be done. Now pick up that dacra, and help the child out any way you can.”
Richard swallowed the shudder of horror that passed through him and picked up the blade. He held it in a shaking hand and whirled around to look at Rahl, keeping his body curled tight. “Open the rift,” he hissed, putting all the madness he could muster into his voice.
Rahl laughed. “Not until the child is born.”
Richard only shouted louder. “I said, open the rift! You want me to give my firstborn to the Keeper? Then you give me a sign. Open the rift! Show me where I get to carry what’s left of the woman I love when this is through.”
Rahl stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Why should I listen to you?”
He pressed the blade against Kahlan’s belly and held it steady. “Because if you don’t, I’ll do as Kahlan asks and kill them both.” He was no longer sure himself if he was bluffing. He hoped he never had to find out.
Rahl said nothing. He looked at him a long time, blue eyes like glass, and then the air filled with a low, groaning sound like the rending of rock. A jagged break appeared far away in the cavern wall, running about as high as a man. The ground trembled as it widened, letting in a dim glow that told him dawn was fast approaching. And then, as abruptly as it had started, it stopped. Richard was left staring at a narrow chasm in the rock, perhaps just wide enough for a person to slip through. He glanced down at Kahlan’s swollen belly. It would have to be big enough.
“Get on with it or the rift closes back up,” said Rahl in a cold, oily voice. He still stood several paces back from Kahlan, and seemed to have no intention of coming closer. Richard nodded several times, trying to keep any hint of a plan from showing on his face.
He had to get the two of them to touch. He had no idea what would happen when they did, but it was his only chance. There had to be a reason Rahl refused to be near her. Kahlan was so full of new life, perhaps the Creator could somehow act through her. And if that failed, he would use the dacra to end her life and their daughter’s. Cara was forbidden from reviving him before Kahlan’s return, and so he would stay dead and join them in their suffering in the Underworld. At least the world would be safe. He looked down at Kahlan’s sweat streaked face. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, her eyes now closed, her lips blue, and he wondered if he would have the strength to do as she’d asked after all.
“Hurry up, Seeker,” called Rahl in a taunting, singsong voice.
Richard looked around desperately. He needed an excuse to lift her. “I’m going to move her to that flat rock,” he declared, gesturing to a large, flattened stone to the left and a little behind Rahl. It would allow him to pass near his brother. “It’ll be easier to get at the baby there,” he said, hoping the explanation sounded plausible.
Rahl just sat waiting, a look of mild irritation on his face as Richard bent and hefted Kahlan in his arms. Her gown was heavy with blood and she went limp in his grasp, her head lolling against his chest.
“I love you, Kahlan.” He bowed his head forward so he was talking into her ear. “I’m sorry. I love you so much.” He lowered his voice, hoping Rahl would think he was still just whispering his love for her in her ear. “I don’t know if you can hear me, Kahlan, but I need you to listen if you can. Don’t move; save your strength. I have a plan, but I need you to touch Rahl. Just touch him. Our baby, she needs you to do this. When I squeeze your arm, he’ll be right there. You reach out and touch him.” He kissed the top of her head and straightened up to better watch his steps. He thought she stirred slightly, but beyond that she gave no sign of having heard him.
Slowly they moved closer to Rahl, step by step. A tear ran down his cheek. His arms burned with the effort of carrying Kahlan’s dead weight across the uneven stones. Rahl waited there, oblivious, his fingers tracing idle patterns over the red velvet of his robes. When he reached where his brother sat, Richard stopped and turned to face him. “Don’t do this to us,” he begged. “Please, let us go.”
It was as he’d hoped. The temptation to gloat was too much for Rahl to pass up. He got to his feet, bringing himself that much closer to Kahlan’s dangling arm. “I offered you the chance to hand her over before. I warned you waiting would only make it worse. The prophecy promises the Keeper will have them both in the end.” Richard remembered the night Rahl had visited him in his sleep. He’d been so mad at the prophecy. At Zedd, at everything. It seemed a lifetime ago.
“That’s not all the prophecy says.” Richard tightened his grip on Kahlan, curling his fingers around her shoulder and squeezing hard. He waited. A moment seemed to stretch and fill a thousand lifetimes. He prayed that she would wake up and save him from murder. And then without warning, she stirred in his arms.
Her head lifted and her arm reached out with all the deadly speed of a Confessor moving for her prey.
Rahl’s eyes widened, but her palm was already pressed against the red velvet covering his chest. His head flung back, and he let out an agonizing scream. All around Kahlan’s hand, the fabric of his robes burned away, consumed by flames as white as the Underworld was green. They spread across his skin as he shook violently.
Kahlan’s hand fell away, spent even from that small exertion, and Richard saw for a moment, there upon his brother’s chest, a mark rather like the one he bore. Only this was a woman’s hand, and the small, slender fingers left a mark that burned brightest white against his flesh. Richard thought of an old woman sweeping up secrets and cobwebs with withered hands, and a young mother’s grasping fingers, reaching out with all she had to save her child. This woman’s wrath upon a monster’s chest. Mark of the Creator. The white flames rippled, Rahl caught screaming inside them, and then, in a white flash of fury, he was gone. The cavern echoed his screams, and the light faded fast.
Richard looked down at Kahlan; her eyes were open, looking back. “You did it,” he said.
She gave a slight shake of her head. “Not me.” And then she went limp in his arms again, drawing in desperately faint, shallow breaths.
He took off at a run. The crack in the Underworld was so far away, and he barreled towards it, clutching Kahlan to his chest. “Hold on,” he pleaded. “Just a little bit longer.”
The closer he got, the slower he ran. It felt as if the air had thickened, and he was pushing headlong against an invisible barrier. His heart pounded wildly. He struggled forward step by step. The Underworld was claiming him at last; it would not release him to the world above. He looked down at Kahlan helpless in his arms, and by sheer will alone, he kept moving forward. If he set her down, she would die where he put her. At this point, he knew she could not so much as crawl.
At last, he reached the rough wall of the Underworld. The jagged crack to freedom loomed before him. It ran narrow and long. Richard paused a moment, gathering strength. He did not know what would happen when he attempted to set foot in the world of life, but he had to try.
Slowly he lifted his foot and struggled to bring it forward, but it would not move any farther. Not even a hair’s breadth. He was trapped. Despite himself, he let out a sob of defeat and sunk to his knees, cradling Kahlan in his arms as he began to weep.
And then through the gloom, he heard a familiar voice call. “Richard? Is that you?”
He straightened up, crying back, “Cara? I’m here.” He clutched at Kahlan. “We’re here! Can you follow my voice? Cara?”
“Richard! We’re coming.”
There was a scuffle of footsteps, and then two figures appeared, squeezing their way through the tunnel. He watched bewildered as Zedd and Cara moved towards him through the foul green fog. Their clothes were ragged and streaked with black dirt.
“We heard the rift opening up,” said Cara. “We’ve been searching for the opening everywhere. It’s almost dawn!”
Richard ignored her implied warning, turning to Zedd. He wondered how his grandfather had found Cara, but time to ask was a luxury he didn’t have. “Kahlan,” he choked out. “She was in labor, but I think it stopped… I don’t, I don’t know.” Another tear ran down his cheek. “You have to help her. She’s…she’s dying, and I can’t carry her any farther. This place won’t let me.”
“Give her here, my boy,” said Zedd, stepping into the Underworld, and lifting Kahlan in her bloody dress up out of his arms, leaving him empty and naked and alone.
“Get her out of here,” he begged. Zedd nodded solemnly.
“I’m giving you the breath of life now!” called Cara, already sprinting back through the rift before the wizard. “The sun’s almost up.”
He nodded. “Just take care of Kahlan,” he pleaded. Zedd nodded once more, and then he too turned and edged through the narrow opening in the rock.
Richard slipped back from the rift. Already he could feel the Underworld tugging him towards the pit where he’d first awakened. His time was almost up. Soon, so soon, his body would be torn to bits at the very center of the Fatal Grace. He wondered how fast Cara could run, and settled down on a rocky ledge to wait for his answer.