Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind [160]
Tears in his eyes, Carl looked up at the Master. “Father Rahl,” he whispered, “I’d do anything for you. Please let me stay? After the ceremony, let me stay and be with you? I’ll do anything you need, I promise, if I could just stay with you.”
“Carl, that’s so like you, so kind. But you have a life, parents, friends. And Tinker, don’t forget your dog. Soon you will be wanting to go back to all that.”
Carl slowly shook his head while his eyes stayed on Rahl. “No I won’t. I only want to be with you. Father Rahl, I love you. I’d do anything for you.”
Rahl considered the boy’s words, a serious look on his face. “It would be dangerous for you to stay with me.” Rahl could feel his heart pounding.
“I don’t care. I want to serve you, I don’t care if I might get killed. I only want to help you. I don’t want to do anything else but help you in your fight with those enemies. Father Rahl, if I got killed helping you, it would be worth it. Please, let me stay, I’ll do whatever you ask. Forever.”
To help control his rapid breathing, Rahl took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. His face was grave. “Are you sure of what you are saying, Carl? Are you sure you really mean it? I mean, are you really sure you would give your life for me?”
“I swear. I’d die to help you. My life is yours, if you’ll have it.”
Rahl leaned back a little, put his hands on his knees, and nodded slowly, his blue eyes riveted on the boy.
“Yes, Carl. I will have it.”
Carl didn’t smile, but shook slightly with the excitement of acceptance, his face set in determination. “When can we do the ceremony? I want to help you and the people.”
“Soon,” Rahl said, his eyes getting wide and his speech slow. “Tonight, after I have fed you. Are you ready to begin?”
“Yes.”
Rahl rose, feeling the surge of blood through his veins; he strained to control the flush of arousal. It was dark outside. The torches gave off a flickering light that danced in his blue eyes, gleamed on his long blond hair, and made his white robes seem to glow. Before going to the forge room, he placed the feeding horn near Carl’s mouth.
Inside the dark room, his guards waited, their massive arms folded across their chests. Sweat rolling from their skin left little trails in the light covering of soot. A crucible sat in the fire of the forge, an acrid smell rising from the dross.
Eyes wide, Rahl addressed his guards. “Is Demmin back?”
“For several days, Master.”
“Tell him to come and wait,” Rahl said, unable to manage more than a whisper. “And then I would like you two to leave me alone for now.”
They bowed and left through the back door. Rahl swept his hand over the crucible, and the smell changed to an appetizing aroma. His eyes closed as he offered silent prayers to the spirit of his father. His breathing was a shallow pant. In the fervor of his emotions he was unable to control it. He licked his shaking fingertips and rubbed them on his lips.
Affixing wooden handles to the crucible so as to lift it without burning himself, he used the magic to make its weight easy to maneuver, and went back through the door with it. The torches lit the area around the boy, the white sand with the symbols traced in it, the ring of grass, the altar set on the wedge of white stone. Torchlight reflected off the polished stone block that held the iron bowl with the Shinga on its lid.
Rahl’s blue eyes took it all in as he approached the boy. He stopped in front of him, by the mouth of the feeding horn. There was a glaze in his eyes as he looked down to Carl’s upturned face.
“Are you sure about this, Carl?” he asked hoarsely. “Can I trust you with my life?”
“I swear my loyalty to you, Father Rahl. Forever.”
Rahl’s eyes closed as he drew a sharp breath. Sweat beaded on his face, stuck his robes to his skin. He could feel waves of heat