Terry Goodkind - The First Confessor

The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you without Digital Rights Management software (DRM) applied so that you can enjoy reading it on your personal devices. This e-book is for your personal use only. You may not print or post this e-book, or make this e-book publicly available in any way. You may not copy, reproduce, or upload this e-book, other than to read it on one of your personal devices.

Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the authors copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy .

To one of my best friends, Rob Anderson, whose support and encouragement have been invaluable in making this book possible. Besides being one of the smartest people Ive ever known, he is also a man of tremendous integrity, scrupulous honesty, and boundless enthusiasm. His considerable talents have brought stunning visual imagery to my words and a beautiful social environment for friends of my books and visitors alike. His deep appreciation for both my work and my readers keeps him working tirelessly behind the scenes to create cool things that bring people closer to me and the books than was ever possible before. We are all indebted to him.

This ones for you, Rob.

I have heard it told, the old woman confided, that there be those walking among us who can do more than merely speak with the dead.

Coming out of her distracted thoughts, Magda Searus frowned up at the woman leaning in close over her shoulder. The womans intent expression drew heavy creases across her broad, flat brow.

What are you talking about, Tilly?

The womans faded blue eyes turned to check the shadowed corners of the gloomy room. Down in the lower reaches of the Keep, where those with exceptional talents go about their dark work, it is said that there be gifted among them who can speak with souls beyond the veil of life, those souls now in the world of the dead.

Magda placed her trembling fingers on the creases in her own brow. Tilly, you should know better than to believe such gossip.

Tillys gaze again lifted to search the somber room lit only by thin streamers of light coming in the slits between the ill-fitting, warped shutters. The narrow slices of light revealed specks of dust floating almost motionless above the heavy wooden worktable set hard up against the stone wall.

The table bore the age-softened evidence of dark stains, cuts, and scars collected over centuries of varied use. The edges of the thick top had been irregularly rounded over and worn smooth by the touch of countless hands that had over the passage of time given the wood a polished, chestnut-colored patina.

Sitting at the table, facing the shuttered windows, Magda stared down into memories held in a small silver box sitting alone before her as she thought of all that was lost to her.

Everything was lost to her.

Not mere gossip, Tilly said softly, compassionately. A friend I trust works in the nether reaches of the Keep. She knows things, sees things. She says that some of those whose work it is to know about the world of the dead have not merely spoken to those passed on, but have done more.

More? Magda couldnt bring herself to look up from the memories in the box. What are you saying?

My friend says that the gifted down there may even have ways to bring people back from the world of the dead. What Im saying is that maybe you could have him brought back.

Elbows on the table, Magda pressed her fingertips to her temples as she struggled to keep the tears from springing anew. She stared down at a dried flower he had once given her, a rare white flower he had climbed all day to retrieve. He had called her his young, fierce flower and said that only such a rare and beautiful thing befit her.

So why would he choose to abandon her in this way?

Brought back? From the dead? Magda slowly shook her head as she sighed. Dear spirits, Tilly, what has gotten into you?

The woman set down her wooden pail and let the washrag she was holding slip into the soapy water. She leaned down a bit more, as if to make sure that no one could hear, even though there was no one else in the cluttered, rarely used storage room.

You have been kind to me, Mistress, Tilly said as she laid a gentle, wash-wrinkled hand on Magdas shoulder. More kind than most folk, even when you had no need to be. Most ignore me as I go about my work. Even though Ive worked here most of my life, many dont even know my name. Only you have ever asked after me, or offered me a smile, or a bite to eat on occasion when I was looking haggard. You, of all people.

Magda patted the warm, comforting hand on her shoulder. Youre a good woman, Tilly. Most people dont see the simple truth in front of them. I have offered you nothing more than common decency.

Tilly nodded. Common decency is what most of your standing would offer only a woman born noble.

Magda smiled distantly. We are all noble, Tilly. Every life is

Magda had to swallow, fearing that another word would put her over the edge.

Precious, Tilly finished for her.

Magda managed a smile for the woman. Precious, she agreed at last. Maybe I see things differently because I wasnt born noble. She cleared her throat. But when a life is over, it is over. That is the way of life. We all are born, we live, we die. There is no coming back from beyond the veil.

Magda considered her own words and realized that they werent entirely accurate.

It occurred to her for the first time that it might have been that he had brought death back with him, that even though he had succeeded in returning from his perilous journey to the world of the dead, perhaps he had never really escaped its grasp. Perhaps he couldnt.

Tilly fussed with the end of her apron strings as she mulled something over for a moment.

I dont wish to upset you, Mistress, she said at last. It is only because you have been kind to me and always treated me with respect, that I would tell you that which I would dare not speak of to another. But only if you wish to hear it. If you dont, you have but to say the word and I will never again speak of the matter.

Magda let out a deep breath. Tell me then.

Tilly ran the side of a finger along her lower lip as she took a final glance around the somber room before speaking.

Down in the burial vaults, Mistress, down in the tunnels running far underground near where some of the departed are placed and most visitors arent allowed, my friend says that the wizards working for the war effort have found a way to bring the dead back to life. Though I admit that I have not seen such things with my own eyes, she swears on her soul that it be true.

If it be true, then perhaps perhaps there be a way to have Master Baraccus brought back. Tilly arched an eyebrow. You are one with the standing to ask for such indulgences.

Do you forget so soon exactly who my husband was, Tilly? Take it from me, wizards are masters of deception. They can conjure all sorts of illusions and make them seem real.

No, Mistress, I have not forgotten who your husband was. He was loved by many people, me included. Tilly picked up her bucket. She paused to consider Magdas words. It must be as you say. You would know of such illusions far better than I. She dipped her head respectfully. I must be on to my work, Mistress.

Magda watched the old woman make her way toward the door. She moved with an ever so slight, rocking, hitched stride, the result of a fall the past winter. Apparently, the broken hip had never healed properly.