Blood of the Fold

"First, while you can block my Han, you can't block it fast enough for me not to touch just the tiniest flow first. From my experience, I judge that that would be enough. If I touch my Han, you will be dead instantly.

"Secondly, for you to block my Han, you must link with it through the collar. That gives you the ability to manipulate it; that's how it works. Do you suppose that the act of blocking my Han by touching it would in itself power the dacra and kill you? I'm not sure myself, but I must tell you that from my end, the handle end, I'm willing to put it to the test. What do you think? Do you want to put it to the test, Leoma?"

There was a long silence in the dimly lit room. Verna could feel warm blood oozing over her hand. At last Leoma's small voice filled the quiet. "No. What do you want me to do?"

"Well, first of all, you are going to take this Rada'Han off me, and then, since I appointed you as my advisor, we are going to have a little talk — you are going to advise me."

"After I take the collar off, then you will remove the dacra, and I will tell you what you want to know."

Verna looked up at the panicked eyes watching her. “You are hardly in a position to make demands. I ended up in this room because I was too trusting. I've learned my lesson. The dacra remains where it is until I'm finished with you. Unless you do as I say, you have no value to me alive. Do you understand that, Leoma?"

"Yes," came the resigned reply.

"Then let's begin."

Like an arrow he shot ahead with blistering speed, yet at the same time he glided with the slow grace of a turtle beneath still waters on a moonlit night. There was no heat, no cold. His eyes beheld light and dark together in a single, spectral vision, while his lungs swelled with the sweet presence of the sliph as he breathed her into his soul.

It was rapture.

Abruptly, it ended.

Sights exploded about him. Trees, rocks, stars, moon. The panorama gripped him in terror.

Breathe, she told him.

The thought horrified him. No.

Breathe, she told him.

He remembered Kahlan, his need to help her, and let out the sweet breath, emptying his lungs of the rapture.

With a reluctant yet needful gasp, he sucked in the alien air.

Sounds rushed in around him — insects, birds, bats, frogs, leaves in the wind, all chattering, whooping, clicking, whistling, rustling — painful in their omnipresence.

A comforting arm set him up on the stone wall as the night world around him settled into a familiar presence in his mind. He saw his mriswith friends scattered about in the dark woods beyond the stone ruins around the well. A few sat on scattered blocks, and a few stood among the remains of columns. They seemed to be at the edge of an ancient, crumbling structure.

"Thank you, sliph."

"We are where you wished to travel," she said, her voice echoing oat through the night air.

"Will you… be here, when I want to travel again?"

"If I am awake, I am always ready to travel."

"When do you sleep."

"When you tell me, master."

Richard nodded, not sure at all what he was nodding to. He looked out on the night as he stepped away from the sliph's well. He knew the woods, not by sight, but by their manifest feel. It was the Hagen Woods, though it had to be a place much deeper in their vast tract than he had ever ventured, because he had never seen this place of stone. By the stars he knew the direction of Tanimura.

Mriswith were coming in numbers from the somber, surrounding woods to the ruins. Many passed him with a "Welcome, skin brother." As they passed, the mriswith tapped their three-bladed knives to his, causing both to ring. "May your yabree sing soon, skin brother," each said as they tapped.

Richard didn't know the proper response, and so said only, "Thank you."

As the mriswith slunk past him to the sliph, tapping his yabree, the humming ring lasted longer each time, its pleasant purr warming his whole arm. As other mriswith approached, he altered his course so that he might tap his yabree to theirs Richard looked to the rising moon, and the position of the stars. It was early evening, with a faint glow still in the western sky. He had left Aydindril in the dead of night. This couldn't be the same night. It had to be the next night. He had spent almost a full day in the sliph.

Unless it was two days. Or three. Or a month, or even a year. He had no way to tell; he knew only that it was at least one day. The moon was the same size; maybe it was only a day.

He paused to let another mriswith tap his yabree. Behind, mriswith were entering the sliph. A whole line of them stood waiting their turn. Only seconds passed before the next stepped off the wall to drop into the shimmering quicksilver.

Richard stopped to feel his yabree sending a warming purr all though him. He smiled with the singing hum, the soft song pleasant in his ears, and in his bones.

He felt a disturbing need that interrupted the joyful song.

He stopped a mriswith. "Where am I needed?"

The mriswith pointed with its yabree. "She will take you. She knows the way."