Faith of the Fallen

CHAPTER 59

Nicci sat at the table, the knife under her fingers, forever. She watched his back. His chest slowly expanded with his breath of life, and sank again. There was time enough to slip the knife into his back, between his ribs, to pierce his heart.

There was time enough yet before dawn.

Death was so final. She wanted to watch him for a while. Nicci never tired of watching Richard.

After she did it, she wouldn't be able to watch him anymore. He would be gone forever. With the damage the chimes had done to the worlds and their interco

In her numb state, she had lost track of time.

When she glanced out the window that Richard had had installed with the money he had earned, she noticed that the sky had taken on a the color of a week-old bruise.

Linked as she was to Kahlan, Nicci couldn't accomplish the deed with her magic. As much as she abhorred the idea of it, and knowing how gruesome it would be, she had to use the sharp blade.

Nicci curled her fingers around the wooden handle of the stout knife.

She wanted it to be quick. She couldn't bear to think of him suffering. He had suffered enough in life, she didn't want him to suffer in death, too.

He would struggle briefly, but then it would be over.

Richard abruptly rolled onto his back and then sat up. Nicci froze, still sitting in her chair. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Could she kill him when he was awake? Could she look into those eyes of his as she plunged the knife into his chest?

She would have to.

It was for the best.

Richard yawned and stretched. He sprang to his feet.

"Nicci. What are you doing? Haven't you gone to bed?"

"I. . I guess I fell asleep in the chair."

"Oh, well, I-there it is. I need that."

He snatched the knife out of her hand. "Mind if I borrow this? I need to use it. I'm afraid I'll have to sharpen it for you later. I won't have time before I have to leave. Can you make me something to eat? I'm in a hurry. I have to go see Victor before I start to work."

Nicci was dumbfounded. He was suddenly revived. In the lamplight, and the faint dawn coming in the windows, he had that look in his eyes. He looked. . resolute, determined.

"Yes, all right," she said.

"Thanks," he called over his shoulder while hurrying out the door.

"Where are you-?"

But he was gone. She decided he must be going out back to get some vegetables. But why would he need the big knife for that? She was confused, but she was revived, too. Richard seemed himself again.

Nicci pulled from the pantry some eggs she had been saving, along with an iron skillet, and hurried out back to the cooking hearth. The coals were still glowing from the cook fires of the evening before, providing a little light. She carefully fed in some small twigs and kindling, then stacked a bed of finger-thick branches on top. She simply set the iron skillet atop the wood as it caught, rather than set up the rack-eggs were quick.

As she waited for the skillet to get hot, she heard an odd scraping noise. In the flickering light of the fire, she didn't see Richard in the garden. She couldn't imagine where he had gone, or what he was up to. She broke the eggs into the hot skillet and tossed the shells in the compost bucket at the side of the hearth. With a wooden spoon she scrambled the eggs around as they cooked.

As Nicci stood, using her skirt to hold the hot handle of the skillet, she was surprised to see Richard coming out from behind the broad cooking hearth.

"Richard, what are you doing?"

"There are some loose bricks back here. I was just seeing to it before I went to work. I cleaned out the joints. I'll bring some mortar home and fix it later."

He pulled a handful of thick-bladed grass and used it as a potholder to take the skillet from her. With his other hand, he flipped the knife into the air, caught it by the point, and held the handle out to her. Nicci took the heavy knife, now scratched and dulled from scraping the bricks clean. He ate standing, using the wooden spoon.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Fine," he said around a hot mouthful of eggs. "Why?"

Nicci gestured toward the house. "Well, last night. . you seemed so

. . defeated."

He frowned at her. "So, I've no right to feel sorry for myself now and again?"

"Well, yes, I suppose. But now. .?"

"Now I've thought it over."

"And. .?"

"It's to be my gift to the people, is it? I shall give the people a gift they need."

"What are you talking about?"

Richard waved the wooden spoon. "Brothers Narev and Neal said this will be my gift to the people, and so it shall be." He shoveled more eggs into his mouth.

"So you are going to carve the statue they want?"

He was already ru

"I have to get the model of the statue and be off to work."

Nicci raced after him up the stairs. He was still eating the eggs as he went. He stood in their room, peering down at the small statue on the table as he finished the eggs. She couldn't make sense of ithe was smiling.

He set the skillet on the table and scooped up the model. "I'll probably be home late. I have to get started on my penance for the Order, if I can. I may have to work all night."

In astonishment, she watched him hurry off to work.

She could hardly believe that he had once again somehow evaded death.

Nicci couldn't recall ever being so grateful about anything. She couldn't understand it.

-]--

Richard reached the blacksmith's shop shortly after Victor had opened up for the day's work. His men had not yet arrived. Victor wasn't surprised to see him; Richard sometimes came early and the two of them would sit and watch the sun come up over the site.

"Richard! I'm glad to see you."

"And I you, Victor. I need to talk to you."

He let out a gruff grunt. "The statue?"

"That's right," Richard said, a little taken aback. "The statue. You know?"

With Richard following behind, Victor made his way through the dark shop, weaving among the clutter of benches, work, and tools. "Oh, yes, I heard." Along the way, he stooped to pick up a hammer here, a bar of iron there, and set them on a table, or shoved them in a bin, as if one could tidy a mountain by arranging a few pebbles and picking up a fallen limb.

"What did you hear?"

"Brother Narev paid me a visit last evening. He said there is to be a dedication of the Retreat, to show our respect to the Creator for all he provides for us." He glanced back over his shoulder as he strode past his huge block of Cavatura marble. "He told me you are to carve a statue for the entrance plaza-a big statue. He said it is to be done for the dedication.

"From what I hear from people, from Ishaq and others, the Order credits the uprising to the drain of building such a monumental project as the Retreat in addition to waging the war. They have armies of men working for the construction-not just here, but from quarries far and wide, to mines for the gold and silver, to forests where they cut the wood. Even slaves must be fed. The purge of officials, leaders, and skilled workers after the uprising was expensive. With a dedication, I think Brother Narev wants to show people the progress, to inspire them, to involve outlying lands in the celebration, believing this will head off further troubles."

In the blackness of the room, only the skylight in the high ceiling above let light cascade down over the stone. The marble took the light deep into its fine crystalline structure, and gave it back as a loving gift.