Richard looked down at the ground, thinking. With his finger, he pushed some dirt into one of the puddles where the rain dripped.

“Kahlan,” he asked quietly, “do you know of anyone else who would have the power to tell us where to look for the box?”

Kahlan had been giving this consideration all day. “I do. But of all the ones I know of, I do not know of any who would be any more eager to help us than the Mud People are. Some would kill us just for asking.”

“Well, of the ones who wouldn’t kill us just for asking, how far away are they?”

“Three weeks, at least, north, through very dangerous country controlled by Rahl.”

“Three weeks,” Richard said out loud with a heavy tone of disappointment.

“But Richard, the Bird Man is able to promise us precious little. If you could find a way to help them, if it pleases the elders, if they ask the Bird Man to name you one of the Mud People, if the council of seers can get an answer, if the spirits even know the answer… if, if, if. Many opportunities for a wrong step.”

“Was it not you who told me I would have to win them over?” he asked with a smile.

“It was.”

“So, what do you think? Do you think we should stay and try to convince them to help, or we should go to find the answers elsewhere’?”

She shook her head slowly. “I think you are the Seeker, and you will have to decide.”

He smiled again. “You are my friend. I could use your advice.”

She hooked some hair behind her ear. “I don’t know what advice to give, Richard, and my life, too, depends upon you making the right choice. But as your friend, I have faith that you will decide wisely.”

“Will you hate me,” he grinned, “if I make the wrong choice?”

She looked into his gray eyes, eyes that could see into her, eyes that made her weak with longing. “Even if you choose wrong, and it costs me my life,” she whispered, swallowing back the lump in her throat, “I could never hate you.”

He looked away from her, back down at the dirt awhile, then once again up to the Bird Man. “Do your people like having roofs that leak?”

The Bird Man raised an eyebrow. “Would you like it if water dripped on your face when you were asleep?”

Smiling, Richard shook his head. “Then why don’t you make roofs that don’t leak?”

The Bird Man shrugged. “Because it cannot be done. We have no materials at hand to use. Clay bricks are too heavy and would fall down. Wood is too scarce—it must be carried long distances. Grass is all we have, and it leaks.”

Richard took one of the pottery bowls and turned it upside down under one of the drips. “You have clay from which you make pottery.”

“Our ovens are small, we could not make a pot that big, and besides, it would crack, then it too would leak. It cannot be done.”

“It is a mistake to say something cannot be done simply because you don’t know how to do it. I would not be here otherwise.” He said this gently, without malice. “Your people are strong, and wise. I would be honored if the Bird Man would allow me to teach his people how to make roofs that do not leak, and also let the smoke out at the same time.”

The Bird Man considered this without showing any emotion.

“If you could do this, it would be a great benefit to my people, and they would give you many thanks. But I can make no promises beyond that.”

Richard shrugged. “None asked for.”

“The answer may still be no. You must accept that, if that is the answer, and bring no harm to my people.”

“I will do my best for your people, and hope only that they judge me fairly.”

“Then you are free to try, but I cannot see how you will make a roof of clay that will not crack and leak.”

“I will make you a roof for your spirit house that will have a thousand cracks, but will not leak. Then I will teach you to make more for yourselves.”

The Bird Man smiled and gave a nod.

“I hate my mother.”

The Master, sitting cross-legged on the grass, looked down at the bitter expression on the boy’s face and waited a moment before he answered in a quiet voice. “That is a very strong thing to say, Carl. I would not want you to say something you would come to regret when you had thought it over.”

“I’ve thought it over plenty,” Carl snapped. “We’ve talked about it a long time. I know now how they’ve twisted me around, deceived me. How selfish they are.” He squinted his eyes. “How they are enemies of the people.”

Rahl glanced up at the windows, at the last tinge of fading sunlight turning the wisps of clouds a beautiful deep reddish purple, frosted with tips of gold. Tonight. Tonight, at long last, would be the night he returned to the underworld.

For most of long days and nights he had kept the boy awake with the special gruel, allowing him to sleep for only brief spells, kept him awake to hammer away at him until his mind was empty, and could be molded. He had talked to the boy endlessly, convincing him how others had used him, abused him, and lied to him. Sometimes he had left the boy to think over what he had been told, and used the excuse to visit his father’s tomb and read the sacred inscriptions again, or to snatch some rest.

And then, last night, he had taken that girl to his bed, to get some relaxation—a small, momentary diversion. An interlude of gentleness to feel another’s soft flesh against his, to relieve his pent-up excitement. She should have been honored, especially after he had been so tender with her, so charming. She had been anxious enough to be with him.

But what did she do? She laughed. When she saw the scars, she laughed.

As he thought of it now Rahl had to strain to control his rage, strain to show the boy a smile, strain to hide his impatience to get on with it. He thought of what he had done to the girl, the exhilaration of his violence unleashed, her ripping screams. The smile came more easily to his lips. She would laugh at him no more.

“What’s the big grin for?” Carl asked.

Rahl looked down at the boy’s big brown eyes. “I was just thinking about how proud I am of you.” His smile widened as he remembered the way her hot sticky blood pumped and spurted as she screamed. Where was her haughty laughter then?

“Me?” Carl asked, smiling shyly.

Rahl’s blond head nodded. “Yes, Carl, you. Not many young men of your age would be intelligent enough to see the world as it really is. To see beyond their own lives to the wider dangers and wonders all about. To see how hard I work to bring safety and peace to the people.” He shook his head sadly. “Sometimes it hurts my heart to see the very ones for whom I struggle so hard turn their backs to me, reject my tireless efforts, or worse yet, join with the enemies of the people.

“I have not wanted to burden you with worry for me, but right now, as I speak with you, there are evil people who plot to conquer us, to crush us. They have brought down the boundary that protected D’Hara, and now the second boundary too. I fear they plot an invasion. I have tried to warn the people of the danger from Westland, to get them to do something to protect themselves, but they are poor and simple people, they look to me for protection.”

Carl’s eyes widened. “Father Rahl, are you in danger?”

Rahl brushed the matter away with a wave of his hand. “It’s not me I fear for, it’s the people. If I were to die, who would protect them?”

“Die?” Carl’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Father Rahl! We need you! Please don’t let them get you! Please let me fight at your side. I want to help protect you. I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt.”

Rahl’s breathing quickened, his heart raced. The time was near. It would not be long now. He smiled warmly at Carl as he remembered the girl’s hoarse screams. “I could not stand the thought of you being in danger for me. Carl, I have come to know you these last days—you are more to me than simply a young man who was chosen to help me with the ceremony, you have become my friend. I have shared my deepest concerns with you, my hopes, my dreams. I don’t do that with many. It’s enough to know you care.”