The Pillars of Creation (24 page)

“I’m at the mercy of those things out there that are given life by my own gift, a gift to which I no longer have access. I could never drag myself out by my arms alone, but even if I were to try, or if I had the help of another, those beasts, created from my own power, would rip me apart. I can’t call them back even to save myself.

“He left a path, in the front, so that provisions and supplies could be brought in, so I would be sure to have the things I needed. Friedrich had to build a home for us, here, because I cannot ever leave. Darken Rahl wished me a long life—a life I could spend suffering for displeasing him.”

Jennsen trembled as she listened, unable to say anything. Althea lifted a hand to point with one long graceful finger toward the back room.

“That man, who loves me, had to witness it all. Friedrich was thus condemned to a life of tending to a crippled wife he loved, who could no longer be a wife to him in ways of the flesh.”

She ran a hand over her bony limbs, tenderly, as if seeing them as they once were. “I have never again had the joy of being with my husband as a woman is with a man. My husband never again was able to share and enjoy the intimate charms of the woman he loves.”

She paused to regain her composure before going on. “As part of my punishment, Darken Rahl left me with the power to use my gift in the one way which would haunt me every day: prophecy.”

Jennsen could not help herself from asking, thinking that this must be one thread of possible comfort left to the woman. “It’s part of your gift—can’t it bring you some joy?”

Dark eyes fixed on her again. “Did you enjoy the last day with your mother—the day before she died?”

“Yes,” Jennsen finally said.

“Did you laugh and talk with her?”

“Yes.”

“What if you had known that the next day she was to be murdered? What if you saw it all, long before it happened? Days, weeks, or even years before? Knew what was to happen, when, every ghastly detail? Saw, by the power of your magic, the horrifying sight of it, the blood, the agony, the dying. Would that please you? Would you still have experienced that joy, that laughter?”

Jennsen answered in a small voice. “No.”

“So you see, Jennsen Rahl, I cannot help you, not because I am selfish, as you put it, but because even if I were willing, I have no power left to cast you a spell. You must find within yourself the ability to help yourself, the free will to accomplish what you must. Only in that way can you truly succeed in life.

“I cannot give you a spell to solve your problems. I have spent a good deal of my life suffering for the last spell I cast for you. Were it only me, I would endure it willingly, for I was doing what I believe in; this is the fault of an evil man, not the fault of an innocent child. Yet I suffer each day because it was not just my life forfeit, but Friedrich’s, too. He might have—”

“I might have nothing.” He had come up behind Jennsen. “I have considered each day of my life a privilege because you are in it. Your smile is the sun, gilded by the Creator Himself, and brightens my small existence. If this is the price for all of that I have gained, then I paid it willingly. Don’t devaluate the quality of my joy, Althea, by minimizing it or trivializing it.”

Althea looked back down at Jennsen. “You see? This is my daily torture: knowing what I have not been able to be, to do, for this man.”

Jennsen withered, sobbing, at the woman’s feet.

“Magic,” Althea whispered from above, “is trouble you don’t need.”

Jennsen’s thoughts were lost in a forlorn fog. The swamp was only there because it was beneath her feet, around her, above her, but her mind was in a more confused and tangled jumble than all the twisted things around her. So much of what she believed had turned out to be wrong. That meant that not only were many of her hopes lost, but her solutions, too.

Worse yet, Jennsen had come face-to-face with the misery, hardship, and heartbreak her existence had ended up causing others who had tried to help her.

Through the tears she could hardly see her way. She moved almost blindly through the mire.

She stumbled at times, crawled when she fell, sobbing in racking agony when she paused, supported by the limb of an old, gnarled tree. It was like the day of her mother’s murder all over again—the anguish, the confusion, the insanity of it all, the bitter despair—but this time for Althea’s tortured life.

Staggering through the dense growth, Jennsen grasped vines for support as she wept. Since her mother’s death, finding the sorceress and getting her help had given Jennsen’s life a direction, a goal. She didn’t know what to do, now. She felt lost, in the midst of her life.

Jennsen wound her way through an area where steam rose from fissures. All about her, angry vapor bellowed as it was unleashed from underground in billowing clouds. She plodded past the stench of the boiling vents and back into the thick growth. Thorny bushes scratched her hands, broad leaves slashed at her face. Reaching a dark pool she vaguely remembered, Jennsen shuffled along the ledge, gripping rocks for handholds, weeping as she made her way along the brink. Rock crumbled and came away in her hand. She fought to keep her balance as she snatched for another handhold, catching on just in time to keep herself from falling.

She gazed over her shoulder, through blurry vision, at the dark expanse of water. Jennsen wondered if it might be better were she to fall, better to be swallowed into the depths and be done with it. It looked a sweet embrace, a gentle end to it all. It looked like the peace she sought. Peace at last.

If she could just die there, on the spot, the impossible struggle would be over. The heartache and sorrow would be ended. Maybe, then, she could be with her mother and the other good spirits in the underworld.

She doubted, though, that the good spirits took people who murdered themselves. To take a life, except to defend life, was wrong. If Jennsen were to give up, all that her mother had done, all her sacrifices, would be for nothing. Her mother, waiting in eternity, might not forgive Jennsen for throwing her life away.

Althea, too, had lost nearly everything to help her. How could Jennsen ignore such bravery—not just Althea’s, but Friedrich’s, too? Despite how miserably responsible she felt, she could not throw her only life away.

She felt, though, as if she had stolen Althea’s chance at life. Despite what the woman had said, Jennsen felt a sense of burning shame for what Althea had suffered. Althea would be imprisoned in this miserable swamp forever, every day paying the price of having tried to hide Jennsen from Darken Rahl. Jennsen’s mind might have been telling her that it was Darken Rahl’s doing, but her own heart said otherwise. Althea would never have her own life back, be free to walk, free to go where she would, free to have the joy of her own gift.

What right had Jennsen to expect others to help her, anyway? Why should others forfeit their life, their freedom, for her sake? What gave her the right to ask such sacrifice of them? Jennsen’s mother was not the only one to suffer because of her. Althea and Friedrich were chained to the swamp, Lathea had been murdered, and Sebastian was now held prisoner. Even Tom, waiting for her up in the meadow, had set aside earning his living to come to her aid.

So many people had tried to help her and paid a terrible price. Where had she ever gotten the idea that she could shackle others to her wishes? Why should they have to relinquish their lives and needs for hers? But how could she go on without their help?

Free of the ledge and deep pool, Jennsen trudged on through an endless tangle of roots. They seemed to deliberately catch her feet. Twice, she fell sprawling. Both times she got up and continued on.

The third time she fell, she hit her face so hard the pain stunned her. Jennsen ran her fingers over her cheekbone, her forehead, thinking something surely must be broken. She found no blood, nor protruding bone. Lying there among the roots like so many snakes coiled all about her, she felt shame for all the trouble she had brought to people’s lives.

And then she felt anger.

Jennsen
.

She recalled her mother’s words: “Don’t you ever wear a cloak of guilt because they are evil.”

Jennsen pushed herself up on her arms. How many others might have tried to help those like Jennsen, the offspring of a Lord Rahl, and paid with their lives? How many more would? Why should they, like Jennsen, not have their own lives?

It was the Lord Rahl who bore the responsibility for lives ruined.

Jennsen. Surrender
.

Would it never stop?

Grushdeva du kalt misht
.

Sebastian was only the latest. Was he being tortured that very moment because of her? Was he paying with his life, too, for helping her?

Surrender
.

Poor Sebastian. She felt a pang of longing for him. He had been so good to help her. So brave. So strong.

Tu vash misht. Tu vask misht. Grushdeva du kalt misht
.

The voice, insistent, commanding, echoed around in her head, whispering the words that made no sense. She staggered to her feet. Could she never have her own life—not even her own mind? Must she always be pursued, by Lord Rahl, by the voice?

Jenn—

“Leave me be!”

She had to help Sebastian.

She was moving again, putting one foot in front of the other, pushing vines and leaves and branches aside, cutting through the underbrush. The thick mist and dense canopy of leaves made it dark as dusk. She had no idea how late in the day it was. It had taken a lot of time to reach Althea’s place. She had been there a long time. For all Jennsen knew, it might be near dusk. At best, it could be no earlier than late afternoon. She had hours left before she made it back to the meadow where Tom waited.

She had come for help, but that help had been an illusion invented in her own mind. She had relied on her mother her whole life, and then she had expected Althea to help her. She had to accept that it was up to her to do what was necessary to help herself.

Jennsen. Surrender
.

“No! Leave me alone!”

She was so very tired of it all. Now she was angry, too.

Jennsen plunged onward through the swamp, splashing through water, stepping along roots and rocks when they were available. She had to help Sebastian. She had to get back to him. Tom was waiting. Tom would take her back.

But what then? How was she going to get him out? She had depended on Althea to help her with some kind of magic. Now she knew there could be no such help.

Panting from the effort of running through the swamp, she halted when she came to the expanse of water where the snake had been before. Jennsen gazed out at the silent, still expanse of water, but didn’t see anything. No roots that were really a snake protruded above the surface. It was getting gloomy. She couldn’t tell if anything lurked in the dark shadows beneath leaves drooping over the banks.

Sebastian’s life hung in the balance. Jennsen waded into the water.

Halfway in, she remembered that she had promised herself that she was going to take a staff to help keep her balance when she returned through the open water. She paused, debating whether or not she should go back to cut a staff. Going back was just as far as going on, so she kept going. Feeling with her feet, she found a firm bottom of roots, real roots, and stepped carefully along them. Surprisingly, as long as she stayed on the roots the water came up only to her knees and she was able to hold up her skirts to keep them dry as she waded through the murky water.

Something bumped her leg. Jennsen flinched. She saw the flash of scales. Her foot slipped. She saw with heady relief that it was only a fish darting away.

Trying to get her balance, to regain her footing, Jennsen stepped heavily into the bottomless black depths. She only had time for a short gasp before she was under the water.

Darkness surrounded her. She saw a whirl of bubbles as she went under. Surprised, she kicked frantically, trying to find bottom, something, anything, to stop her descent. There was nothing. She was in deep water, weighted down by wet clothes. Rather than support her, now, her heavy boots dragged her under.

Jennsen flailed her arms, splashing at the surface just long enough to gasp a breath before she was under again. The shock of it was startling. With all her strength, she moved her arms, trying to swim to the surface, but her clothes were like a net around her, dampening and hampering any effective action. Eyes wide in fright, red hair floating, she could see shafts of the dim light wavering and glittering, piercing the murky depths around her.

It was all happening so shockingly fast. In spite of how she was trying to seize life, it was slipping through her fingers. It didn’t seem real.

Jennsen
.

Shapes moved closer around her. Her lungs aching for air, Althea said that no one could come through the swamp by the back way. There were beasts back here that would tear people apart. Jennsen had been lucky once. In the grip of terror, she saw a dark shape moving closer. She was not to be lucky twice.

She didn’t want to die. She knew she had thought that she did, but she knew now that she didn’t. It was her only life. Her precious life. She didn’t want to lose it.

She tried to swim toward the surface, toward the light, but everything seemed so slow, so thick, so heavy.

Jennsen
.

The voice sounded urgent.

Jennsen
.

Something bumped her. She saw flashes of iridescent green.

It was the snake.

Could she, she would have screamed. Struggling, but unable to get away, she could only watch as the dark length of the thing underneath rolled up around her.

Jennsen was too exhausted to fight. Her lungs burned for air as she saw herself sinking down through the shafts of light, getting farther and farther from the surface, from life. She tried to swim to that light and air, but her leaden arms merely waved, like weed drifting in the water. It was surprising to her, since she could swim.

Jennsen
.

Now, she was going to drown.

Dark coils surrounded her.

With all her clothes on, her heavy cloak, her knife, her boots, and as weary as she had been, not to mention her surprise and her half breath before going under, her ability to swim had been overwhelmed.

It hurt.

She had thought drowning would be the sweet embrace of gentle waters. It was not. It hurt worse than anything had ever hurt. The feeling of helpless suffocation was horrifying. The pain crushing her chest was sharp and unbearable. She desperately wanted it to stop. She struggled in the water against the pain, the panic, consumed with the urgent need of air. Her throat was locked tight, terrified she might gasp in water, so badly did she need a breath.

It hurt.

Jennsen felt the coils of the snake under her, touching her, caressing her. She wondered if she should have tried to kill it when she’d had the chance. She supposed she could pull her knife, now. But she was so weak.

It hurt.

The coils pushed against her. In the silent darkness, she had stopped struggling. There was no reason.

Jennsen
.

She wondered why the voice didn’t ask her to surrender, the way it always did. She thought it ironic, since she was at last resigned, that the voice didn’t ask, but only called her name.

Jennsen felt something bump her shoulder. Something hard. Another bumped her head. Then her thigh.

She was being pushed against the bank where the roots went down into the water. Almost without realizing what she was doing, she seized the roots and pulled with sudden desperation. The thing under her continued its gentle push up.

Jennsen broke the surface. Water sluiced off her head in a sudden rush of sound. Mouth open wide, she gasped wildly at the air. She pulled herself up enough to throw her shoulders up onto the knotted roots. She couldn’t drag herself the rest of the way out of the water, but at least her head was up, and she could breathe. Her legs dangled, drifting, floating in the water,

Panting, with her eyes closed, Jennsen clung to the roots with trembling fingers to keep herself from slipping back into the water. The desperate pulls of air felt wonderful as they filled her lungs. With each breath, she could feel her strength returning.

Finally, inch by inch, hand over hand, pulling against the roots, she managed to drag herself up onto the bank. She flopped on her side, panting, coughing, shivering, watching the water lapping only inches away. She felt giddy with the simple joy of breathing air.

She saw then the snake’s head break the surface, easily, gracefully, silently. Yellow eyes in the black band watched her. They stared at each other for a time.

“Thank you,” Jennsen whispered.

The snake, having seen her there on the bank, seen her breathing, seen her living, slipped back into the water.

Jennsen had no idea what it had thought, or why it hadn’t tried to kill her, again, when it had an easy chance at it. Maybe, after the first time, it thought she might be too big to eat, or might suddenly fight back.

But why help her? Could it be a sign of respect? Maybe it simply viewed her as competition for food, and wanted her out of its territory but didn’t want to fight her again. Jennsen had no idea why it had pushed her to the surface, but the snake had saved her life. She hated snakes, and this one had saved her from drowning.

One of the things that she had feared most had been her salvation.

Still trying to catch her breath, to say nothing of recovering her wits after coming so close to passing through the veil into death, she began moving again, on her hands and knees, crawling up higher. Water ran from her clothes and hair. She couldn’t get to her feet, yet, didn’t trust her legs, yet, so she crawled. It felt good just to be able to move. Before long, she had recovered enough to stagger her feet. She had to keep going. Her time was running out.