Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind [91]
Green light began. With each step it became more intense, but it was different from when Richard had watched Chase go in by himself. Then, the light had been to Chase’s sides and above him, now it was all about. There was a buzzing sound, like a thousand bumblebees. With each step the sound became deeper, but not louder. The green light became deeper, too, and the surrounding wood darker, as if night were falling. Then the sheet of green was in front of them, materializing out of nothing, with the green glow everywhere else. Richard could hardly see the woods anymore; he looked back and couldn’t see Zedd or Kahlan at all.
“Easy now,” Chase warned. They pushed against the green sheet as they stepped slowly ahead. Richard could feel the pressure of it against his body.
Then everything else blacked out, as if he were in a cave at night, with a green glow around Chase and himself. Richard held Chase’s arm tighter. The buzzing felt like it was vibrating his chest.
With the next step the green sheet of the wall changed suddenly. “Far enough,” Chase said, his voice echoing. The wall had become darkly transparent, as if Richard were looking into a deep pond in the dark woods. Chase stood still, watching him.
There were forms on the other side.
Inky black shapes wavered in the gloom on the other side of the wall, specters floating in the deep.
The dead in their lair.
Something closer and faster moved nearer to them. “The hounds,” Chase said.
Richard felt an odd sensation of longing. Longing for the blackness. The humming wasn’t a sound, he realized, it was voices.
Voices that murmured his name.
Thousands of distant voices called out to him. The black shapes were gathering, calling to him, holding their arms out to him.
He felt a sudden, unexpected stab of loneliness, felt the solitude of his life, of all life. Why did he need the pain when they were waiting, waiting to welcome him? Never alone again. The black shapes drifted closer in the gloom, calling to him, and he began to see their faces. It was as if he were looking through murky water. They came closer. He longed to step through. To be there with them.
And then he saw his father.
Richard’s heart pounded. His father called out to him mournfully in a long sorrowful cry. His arms thrust out, trying desperately to clutch for his son. He was just beyond the wall. Richard’s heart felt as if it were going to rip with yearning. It had been so long since he had seen his father. He wailed for him, hungered to touch him. He wouldn’t have to be afraid ever again. He had only to reach his father. Then he would be safe.
Safe. Forever.
Richard tried to reach out to his father, tried to go to him, tried to step through the wall. Something was holding his arm. Irritated, he pulled harder. Someone held him from his father. He screamed for whoever held him to let go. His voice sounded hollow, empty.
Then he was being pulled away from his father.
His anger roared to life. Someone was trying to drag him back by his arm. In a rage he grabbed his sword. A big hand clamped over his with an iron grip. Screaming in unrestrained fury, he struggled mightily to free the sword, but the big hands held tight, dragging him, stumbling, from his father. Richard struggled, but was hauled away.
The green wall came up suddenly in place of the darkness as he was pulled back. Chase was dragging him away from it, through the green light. The world returned with a sickening jolt. The dry, dead bog returned.
Suddenly aware, Richard was appalled at what he had almost done. Chase released his sword hand. Shaking, Richard put it on the big man’s shoulder for support, struggling to catch his breath as they stepped out of the