It was as good a background as any to put the sword on. After all, he was trying to use magic. If his mind wanted to use it, it made no difference to him; he would let it be. At that thought, the image of the sword and a square black background with white around it solidified and became still.
Richard concentrated on the mental image of the sword against the black square with the white border. He concentrated as hard as he could. Something began to happen.
The sword, the black square, and the white border all began to shimmer as if seen through heat waves. The solid form of the sword softened. It became transparent, and then it was gone. The background dissolved. He was looking into a place he knew.
The Garden of Life, at the Peoples' Palace.
Richard thought it odd, and somewhat annoying, that he wasn't able to hold his concentration enough to keep the image of the sword in his mind. The memory of the place where he killed Darken Rahl must have been so strong that it forced its way into his mind while he was relaxed.
He was about to try to force the image of the sword to come back when he smelled something. Burned flesh. The stench made his nostrils flare. He almost gagged. His stomach turned sickeningly.
He searched the image of the Garden of Life. It was like looking through a dirty windowpane. There were bodies lying over the short walls, fallen, partly hidden, in bushes, and sprawled on the grass. All were hideously burned. Some held weapons, swords or battle axes, in charred fists. Others lay with open hands, their weapons resting where they had tumbled as their owners fell dead. Choking apprehension swelled in Richard's chest.
Richard saw the back of a white, glowing figure standing before the stone altar, before the three boxes of Orden. One of the boxes stood open, as Richard remembered. The white figure with long blond hair lifted his face away from the boxes.
Darken Rahl turned and looked right into Richard's eyes. His blue eyes glowed. A smile spread slowly on his lips. It seemed as if Richard was helplessly pulled closer. Closer to the grinning face.
Darken Rahl lifted a hand to his mouth and licked the tips of his fingers. "Richard," he hissed. "I'm waiting for you. Come watch while I tear the Veil."
Unable to draw a breath, Richard slammed the image of the sword back into his mind, like slamming a door. He held it there, rigidly, without the background, as he tried to make himself breathe.
It was just a stray memory, and his fear, making him see the image, he told himself. He concentrated on the sword as he finally decided that what he had seen wasn't real, but maybe a manifestation of his heartache over Kahlan, and his lack of sleep.
That's what it had to be. It couldn't have been real. That would be impossible. He would have to be insane to believe it had been real.
He opened his eyes. Sister Verna was sitting calmly watching him. She gave a heavy sigh. He thought maybe out of displeasure.
Richard swallowed. "I'm sorry. Nothing happened."
"Don't be discouraged, Richard. I did not expect anything to happen. It takes a long time to learn to touch the Han. It will happen when it happens. There is no way to rush it. It does no good to push too hard; it comes from finding the inner peace and not by force. That is long enough for today."
"A few minutes? That's all you want me to try?"
She lifted an eyebrow. "You have had your eyes closed for over an hour."
He stared at her, and then glanced to the sun. It seemed to have jumped up into the sky. Over an hour. How was that possible? A tingle of apprehension spread through him.
She cocked her head. "It seemed only a few minutes to you?"
Richard stood. He didn't like the frown on her face. "I don't know. I wasn't paying any attention. I guess it did feel like an hour."
*****
He started packing the few things he had taken out. The more he thought about what he had seen, the more unreal it seemed. It began to feel like a dream after waking, the fear, the hard edges, the reality, fading. He began to feel foolish for being so frightened by a dream.
A dream? He hadn't been sleeping. How could he have been dreaming when he was awake.
Maybe he hadn't been awake. He had been dead tired. Maybe while he was sitting there concentrating on the sword, he had fallen asleep. That's how he went to sleep, sometimes: by concentrating on something until he drifted off. That was the only explanation for the time going so fast. He was asleep, and the rest of it had been a dream.
He let out a heavy breath. He felt silly for having been so frightened, but he felt relieved, too. When he turned, Sister Verna was still watching him.
"Do you wish to shave now? Now that I have shown you I only wish to help you."
Richard straightened. "I told you: prisoners don't shave."
"You are not a prisoner, Richard."
He stuffed his blanket into his pack, tucking in the corners to make it fit. "Will you remove the collar?"
Her answer was slow in coming, but firm. "No. Only when it is time."
"May I leave, and go where I wish?"
She gave an impatient sigh. "No. You must go with me."
"And if I don't, if I try to leave you?"
Her eyes narrowed a little. "Then I would be forced to prevent it. You would find you did not like that."
Richard nodded solemnly. "That fits my definition of a prisoner. As long as I'm a prisoner, I will not shave."
The horses nickered at his approach, their ears pricking toward him. Sister Verna eyed them suspiciously. He returned the greeting with gentle words and a stiff scratch to the side of each horse's neck. Taking out the brushes, he gave each a quick grooming, paying particular attention to their backs.
Sister Verna folded her arms. "Why are you doing that? You groomed them last night."
"Because horses like to roll in the dirt. They could have something under where the saddle goes. Feels kind of like walking around with a rock in your boot, only worse; it could give them a sore, and then we won't be able to ride them. So, I like to check them over before I put their saddles on."
When he finished, he cleaned the brushes against each other. "What are their names?"
Sister Verna gave a sour frown. "They don't have names. They are just horses. We don't give names to dumb animals."
He pointed with the curry brush at the chestnut gelding. "You don't even give your own a name?"
"He is not my own. They all belong to the Sisters of the Light. I ride whichever one is available. The bay you rode yesterday is the one I rode before you came with me, but it makes no difference. I simply ride whichever one is available."
"Well, from now on, they're going to have names. Avoids confusion. Yours is the chestnut, and he will be Jessup, my bay will be Bonnie, and the other bay will be Geraldine."
"Jessup, Bonnie, and Geraldine," she huffed. "No doubt from The Adventures of Bonnie Day."
"Glad to hear you read something other than prophecies, Sister Verna."
"As I told you before, ones with the gift who come to the Palace are brought when they are young. One boy brought The Adventures of Bonnie Day with him. I read it to see if it was appropriate for young minds, and to see if it was of good moral teachings. I found it to be a preposterous story of three people who would have had no troubles if a one of them had been blessed with brains."
Richard smiled a little. "Perfect names for 'dumb animals' then."
She scowled at him. "It was a book of no intellectual value. No value of any kind. I destroyed it."
Richard's smile tried to fade, but he didn't let it. "My father... well, the man who raised me as his son, and who I think of as my father, George Cypher, well, he traveled often. One time, when he came home, he brought me The Adventures of Bonnie Day, as a gift for learning to read. It was the first book I ever had. I read it many times. It brought me pleasure, and made me think, each time I read it. I, too, thought the three heros did foolhardy things, and I always vowed not to repeat the same mistakes they made. You may have seen no value in it, but it taught me things. Things of