Light ignited between his fists. That was it — the call — he knew it, he felt it, he understood it. He knew, too, what to do. The softly glowing mass rotated between his wrists as lacy veins of light twisted up his arms, flowing into the pulsing force between.

When he felt the power reach its peak, he cast his hands downward. With a howl, the orb of light shot away, down into the blackness.

As it descended, its light illuminated the stone in a ring around it. The ring of light and the glowing mass became smaller and smaller, the howl diminishing in the far distance, until he could neither hear nor see what he had unleashed.

Richard hung over the stone wall, looking into the bottomless abyss, but all was silent and dark. He could hear only his own panting. He stood and glanced over his shoulder. The mriswith watched, but made no move to help; what was needed was up to Richard. He hoped it would be enough.

In the stillness of the Keep, in the quiet of the mountain of dead stone towering around him, there came a distant rumbling.

A rumbling of life.

Richard leaned back over the wall, looking down, but saw nothing. Yet, he could feel something. The stone beneath his feet quaked. Stone dust floated in the jittering air.

Richard looked down in the well again and saw a reflection. The well was filling — not filling as water fills, but something was racing up the shaft with impossible speed, roaring with a howling shriek of velocity as it came. The howl grew as the thing rushed upward.

Richard flung himself back from the stone wall, scarcely fast enough. He was sure it would shoot out of the well and blast through the ceiling. Nothing moving that fast could stop in time. Yet it did.

All was abruptly still. Richard sat up, propping himself up with his arms behind on the floor.

A lustrous metallic hump slowly mounded above the edge of the stone wall surrounding the well. It drew up into a bulk, rising impossibly of its own accord, like water standing in the air, only it wasn't water. Its glossy surface reflected everything about it, like polished armor, distorting the images reflected off its surface as it grew and moved.

It looked like living quicksilver.

The lump, joined to the body of it in the well as if by a neck, continued to contort, bending into edges and planes, folds and curves. It warped into a woman's face. Richard had to remind himself to take a breath. He now understood why Kolo called the sliph "she."

The face finally saw him on the floor. It looked like a smooth statue made of silver — except it moved.

"Master," she said in an eerie voice that echoed around the room. Her lips hadn't moved as she spoke, but she smiled as if well pleased. The silver face warped into curiosity. "You have called me? You wish to travel?"

Richard sprang to his feet. "Yes. Travel. I wish to travel."

The pleasant smile returned. "Come, then. We will travel."

Richard brushed the stone dust from his hands onto his shirt. "How? How do we… travel?"

The silver brow drew together. "You have not traveled before?"

Richard shook his head. "No. But I need to now. I need to get to the Old World."

"Ah. I have been there often. Come, and we will travel."

Richard hesitated. "What do I do? What do you want me to do?"

A hand formed up and touched the top of the wall. "Come to me," the voice said, echoing around the room. "I will take you."

"How long does it take?"

The frown returned. "Long? From here to there. That long. I am long enough. I have been there."

"I mean. . hours? Days? Weeks?"

She didn't seem to understand. "The other travelers never spoke of this."

"Then it must not take very long. Kolo never mentioned it, either." The journal could be frustrating at times because Kolo never explained what was, to his people, common knowledge. He hadn't been trying to teach, or pass on information.

"Kolo?"

Richard pointed at the bones. "I don't know his name. I call him Kolo."

The face stretched out of the well to look over the wall. "I do not remember seeing this."

"Well, he's dead. He didn't look like that before." Richard decided he better not explain who Kolo was or she might remember and be upset. He didn't need any emotion, he needed to get to Kahlan. "I'm in a hurry. I'd appreciate it if we could hurry."

"Step closer so I may determine if you can travel."

Richard moved up to the wall and stood still while the quicksilver hand came out to touch his forehead. He flinched back. It was warm. He had expected cold. He returned to the hand and let the palm glide over his forehead.

"You can travel," the sliph said, "You have both sides required. But you will die if you are like this."

"What do you mean, 'like this'?"

The quicksilver hand lowered beside him, pointing at the sword, but being careful not to get too close. "That object of magic is incompatible with life in the sliph. With that magic in me, any life also in me will be ended." "You mean I must leave it here?"

"If you wish to travel, you must, or you will die."

Richard was decidedly uneasy about leaving the Sword of Truth unguarded, especially after learning of the men with families who had died to make it. He pulled the baldric off over his head and stared at the scabbard in his hands. He looked over his shoulder at the mriswith watching him. He could ask his mriswith friend to guard the sword.

No. He could ask no one to take the responsibility of guarding something so dangerous and coveted. The Sword of Truth was his responsibility, not anyone else's.

Richard drew the sword from the scabbard, letting the clear ring of its steel reverberate around the room, die out slowly. The rage of the magic didn't die out, though; it thundered through him.

He held up the blade, looking down its length. He could feel the raised gold wire of the word TRUTH biting into his palm. What was he to do? He needed to go to Kahlan. He needed to have the sword be safe in his absence.

It came to him through the call of need.

He turned the sword down, gripping the hilt in both hands. With a grunt of effort powered by the magic, by the storms of fury it engendered, he thrust the sword downward.

Sparks and stone chips flew as Richard drove the sword up to its hilt into a huge stone block of the floor. When he took his hands away, he could still feel the magic within him. He had to leave the sword, but he still had the magic; he was the true Seeker.

"I'm still linked to the sword's magic. I retain the magic within me. Will that kill me?"

"No. Only that which engenders the magic is deadly, not that which receives it."

Richard climbed up on the stone wall, suddenly beginning to worry about this. No, he had to do it. He needed to.

"Skin brother." Richard turned to the mriswith when it called to him. "You are without a weapon. Take this." It tossed one of its three-bladed knives up to Richard. As it arced gently through the air, Richard caught it by the handle. The side guards lay against each side of his wrist as he grasped the weapon's crossways handgrip in his fist. It felt surprisingly good in his hand, like an extension of his arm.

"The yabree will sing to you, soon."

Richard nodded. "Thank you."

The mriswith returned a slow smile.

Richard turned to the sliph. "I don't know if I can hold my breath long enough."

"I told you, I am long enough to reach where we travel."

"No, I mean I need air." He made a display of inhaling and exhaling. "I need to breathe."

"You breathe me."

He listened to her voice echo around the room. "What?"

"To live when you travel, you must breathe me. The first time you travel, you will be afraid, but you must do this. Those who do not, die in me. Do not be afraid; I will keep you alive when you breathe me. When we reach the other place, you must then breathe me out, and breathe in the air. You will be just as afraid to do that as you will be to breathe me, but you must do it or you will die."