Confessor: Chainfire Trilogy Part 3

Richard took a few steps to lay a hand on Verna's shoulder. "It was Warren who gave me the spark of the idea. It was he who first told me that the boxes of Orden were a gateway, a conduit through the underworld. I couldn't have done it without Warren. He helped us all with his knowledge."

Verna, her eyes brimming with tears, rubbed Richard's back affectionately in appreciation.

Richard lifted the amulet he wore around his neck, the one once worn by wizard Baraccus.

"This amulet illustrates the dance with death. It's about more than just fighting with the sword, or even about living life. This emblem also contains what I needed to go to the underworld, the world of the dead. This is part of what Baraccus intended for me to understand.

"But this amulet also represents that final movement of the dance with death, the killing thrust, that was needed to use the boxes of Orden."

Kahlan circled her arm around his waist. "You have done wizard Baraccus proud, Richard."

"You have done us all proud," Zedd said.

Nicci's blue eyes sparkled with her smile. "He certainly has."

Zedd smiled in a manner Richard had not seen in a very long time. It was the old Zedd, Richard's grandfather, advisor, and friend. Zedd spoke with quiet pride.

"What all those ancient wizards tried to do with the great barrier to the south, and what I, as First Wizard, tried to do with the boundaries, you actually did, Richard.

"You eliminated the threat to prevent them from ever harming us again, but you left life for the future. All those children of those people will have a chance to learn from the mistakes of their parents and, possibly, they will learn and grow and rise above hatred of others as a way of life. You have given them a world to live out their hatred of life, a world to take into a thousand years of darkness, but you have also given future generations the chance for a rebirth of mankind there, who hopefully will embrace life and the nobility of the human spirit.

"You have given both worlds the gift of life, and you did it through strength without hate."

CHAPTER 64

The balmy breeze lifted Jennsen's red hair as she stared at the ornate letter "R" engraved on the silver handle of her knife.

"Thinking about your brother?" Tom asked as he walked up to her, bringing her out of her memories.

She smiled up at her husband as she hugged him with one arm. "Yes, but only good thoughts."

"I miss Lord Rahl, too."

He pulled out his own knife to gaze at it. It was the twin of Jennsen's. His had the same ornate letter "R" for the House of Rahl. Tom had spent the better portion of his young adult life as a member of the special forces that served covertly to protect the Lord Rahl. That was how he had earned the right to carry that knife.

Jennsen leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. "It seems you only just got a Lord Rahl worth serving when you gave it all up to come here with me."

"You know," he said, smiling as he slipped his knife back in its sheath, "I rather like my new life with my new wife."

She hugged her arms around the bear of a man. "You do, do you?" she asked in a teasing way.

"I like my new name, too," he added. "I'm finally used to it. You know, comfortable with it."

When they married, Tom had taken her name, Rahl, so that they could carry it on in the new world. It seemed only fitting that the man who had given them their new life should be remembered in some fashion.

In every other way he was vanishing from memory.

It was surprising to Jennsen how so many people no longer even remembered the place they came from, their old world. It was just as Richard said: the Chainfire spell was taking their memory and those blank places were being rebuilt with new memories, new beliefs, about who they were. Since the Chainfire spell and the taint within it were both Subtractive magic, it had affected even the pristinely ungifted, so even they were con­tinuing to lose track of who and what they had been.

For the most part, magic had become no more than superstition. Wiz­ards and sorceresses were even less important. They had become no more than tales told around campfires to scare people for a good laugh. Dragons were becoming only folklore. In this world there were no dragons.

Any who possessed magic were fading away. Their ability was dying out, smothered by the taint from the chimes. Day by day they became more powerless. Eventually they would merely be old hags living by themselves in swampy places and considered crazy by most folk.

Any trace of the gift that survived, if not withered away by the taint of the chimes they'd brought with them into their world, would eventually be completely eliminated by descendants of the pristinely ungifted. It would be only a matter of generations before there was no trace of the gift left in mankind-just the way the Order had once said they wanted it.