Stone of Tears by Terry Goodkind

out his life. He had chosen wrong; he forfeited his life to the magic he sought to claim.
    She saw the Mother Confessor with a man. A man she loved. She felt her happiness. It was a joy the woman had never experienced before. Margaret’s heart swelled with the bliss the Mother Confessor felt at the side of this man. It was a vision of what was happening at this very moment.
    And then Margaret’s mind swept forward in a swirl. She saw war and death sweep across the land. She saw death brought by the Keeper of the underworld. Death brought to the world of the living with a wicked lust that choked her with terror.
    Again the Prophecy swept her forward to a great crowd. At the center was the Mother Confessor, standing on a heavy platform. The people were excited and in a celebratory mood.
    This was the joyous event that would bring the fork of the Prophecy, one of the forks that must be passed correctly to save the world from the darkness snatching at it. She was caught up in the festive mood of the crowd. She felt a tingle of expectant hope, wondering if the man the Mother Confessor loved was to be the one she was to wed, and if that was the happy event the Prophecy spoke of that would bring joy to the people. Her heart ached that it was so.
    But something wasn’t right. Margaret’s warm delight cooled until her flesh prickled with icy bumps.
    With a wave of worry, Margaret saw that the Mother Confessor’s hands were bound, and there next to her stood a man, not the man she loved, but a man in a black hood. He held a great axe. Margaret’s worry turned to horror.
    A hand forced the Mother Confessor to kneel. A fist in her hair laid her face to the block. Her hair was short now, not long as it had been before, but it was the same woman. Tears seeped from the Mother Confessor’s closed eyes. Her white dress shimmered in the bright sunlight. Margaret couldn’t breathe.
    The great crescent axe rose into the air. It flashed through the sunlight, thunking solidly into the block. Margaret gasped. The Mother’s Confessor’s head dropped into the basket. The crowd cheered.
    Blood gushed and spread down the dress as the headless, lifeless corpse collapsed to the wooden floor. A pool of bright blood spread under the body, turning the white dress red. So much blood. The crowd roared with elation.
    A wail of horror escaped Margaret’s throat. She thought she might vomit. Nathan caught her as she fell forward, crying and sobbing. He held her to him as a father would a frightened child.
    “Ah, Nathan, is that the event that will bring joy to the people? Is this what must happen if the world of the living is to be saved?”
    “It is,” he said softly. “Almost every Prophecy down this true branch is a fork. If the world of the living is to be saved from the Keeper of the underworld, then every event must take the correct branch. In this Prophecy, the people must rejoice at seeing the Mother Confessor die, for down the other fork lies the eternal darkness of the underworld. I don’t know why it is so.”
    Margaret sobbed into his robes as his strong arms held her tight against him. “Oh dear Creator,” she cried, “take mercy on your poor child. Give her strength.”
    “There is no mercy when fighting the Keeper.”
    “Ah, Nathan, I have read Prophecies of people dying, but it was only words. To see it as real has wounded my soul.”
    He patted her back as he held her. “I know. How well I know.”
    Margaret pushed herself up, wiping tears from her face. “This is the true Prophecy that lies beyond the one that forked today?”
    “It is.”
    “And this is the way they are meant to be seen?”
    “It is so. This is the way they come to me. I have shown you the way I see them. The words, too, come with the Prophecy, and those are what are to be written down, so those not meant to see the Prophecies will not see them as they truly are, but those who are meant to will see them when they read the words. I have never before