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meadow outside their house, so that Kahlan wouldn't be as likely to trip
over something, and if she did, not as likely to hit her head on anything
granite. Cara was their everpresent audience. As time passed, the battles
lasted longer, and grew more strenuous. They became furious and exhausting.
A couple of times Kahlan had been so upset by Richard's relentless
attitude toward their sword fights that she didn't speak to him for hours
afterward, lest she let slip words she didn't really mean and which she knew
she would regret.
Richard would then sometimes tell her, "Save your anger for the enemy.
Here it will do you no good; there, it can overcome fear. Use this time now
to teach your sword what to do, so later it will do it without conscious
thought."
Kahlan well knew that an enemy was never kind. If Richard gave in to
kindnessawarded her false pride-it could only serve her ill. As aggravating
as such lessons sometimes were, it was impossible to remain angry with
Richard for very long, especially because she knew she was really only angry
with herself.
Kahlan had been around weapons and men who used them all her life. A
few of the better ones, in addition to her father, were on occasion her
teachers. None of them had fought like Richard. Richard made fighting with a
blade look like art. He gave beauty to the act of dealing death. There was
something about it, though, tickling at her, something she knew she still
wasn't grasping.
Richard had told her once, before she had been hurt, that he had come
to believe that magic itself could be an art form. She had told him she
thought that was crazy. Now, she didn't know. From the bits of the story
she'd heard, she suspected that Richard had used magic in something of that
way to defeat the chimes: he had created a solution where it had never
before existed, or even been imagined.
One day, in one of their fierce sword fights, she had been positive she
had him dead to rights and that she was delivering the stroke of victory. He
effortlessly evaded what she had been sure was her killing strike and killed
her instead. He made what had seemed impossible look natural.
It was in that instant that the whole concept came clear for her. She
had been looking at it all wrong.
It wasn't that Richard could fight well with a sword, or that he could
create beautiful statues with a knife and chisel, it was that Richard was
one with the
blade-the blade in any form: sword, knife, chisel, or willow switch. He
was a master-not of sword fighting or carving as such, but, in the most
fundamental way, of the blade itself.
Fighting was but one use of a blade. His balance for using his sword to
destroymagic always sought balance-was using a blade to carve things of
beauty. She had been looking at the individual parts of what he did, trying
to understand them separately; Richard saw only one unified whole.
Everything about him: the way he shot an arrow; the way he carved; the
way he used a sword; even the way he walked with such fluid reasoned
intent-they weren't separate things, separate abilities . . . they were all
the same thing.
Richard paused. "What's the matter? Your face is turning white."
Kahlan stood with her willow sword lowered. "You're dancing with death.
That's what you're doing with your sword."
Richard blinked at her as if she had just announced that rain was wet.
"But, of course." Richard touched the amulet hanging at his chest. In the
center, surrounded by a complex of gold and silver lines, was a
teardrop-shaped ruby as big as her thumbnail. "I told you that a long time
ago. Are you just now coming to believe me?"
She stood gaping. "Yes, I think I am."
Kahlan recalled all too clearly his chilling words to her when she had
first seen the amulet around his neck, and she had asked him what it was:
"The ruby is meant to represent a drop of blood. It is the symbolic
representation of the way of the primary edict.
"It means only one thing, and everything: cut. Once committed to fight,
cut. Everything else is secondary. Cut. That is your duty, your purpose,
your hunger. There is no rule more important, no commitment that overrides
that one. Cut.
"The lines are a portrayal of the dance. Cut from the void, not from
bewilderment. Cut the enemy as quickly and directly as possible. Cut with
certainty. Cut decisively, resolutely. Cut into his strength. Flow through
the gaps in his guard. Cut him. Cut him down utterly. Don't allow him a
breath. Crush him. Cut him without mercy to the depths of his spirit.
"It is the balance to life: death. It is the dance with death.
"It is the law a war wizard lives by, or he dies."
The dance was art. It was no different, really, from carving. Art
expressed through a blade. It was all one and the same to him. He saw no
distinction, for within him, there was none.
--]----
They shared the meadow with a red fox who hunted it for rodents,
mostly, but wasn't averse to chewing on whatever juicy bugs she could catch
there. Their horses didn't mind the fox so much, but they didn't like the
coyotes that sometimes visited. Kahlan rarely saw them, but she knew they
were about when the horses snorted their displeasure. She often heard the
coyotes barking at night, higher up in the surrounding slopes. They would
let out long flat howls, followed by a series of yips. Some nights, the
wolves sang, their long monotone howls, without the yapping of the coyotes,
echoing through the mountains. Once Kahlan saw a black bear off in the
trees, ambling along, giving them only a passing look, and once a bobcat
passed
near their house, sending the horses off in a panic. It took Richard
the better part of a day to find the horses.
Chipmunks begged at their door, and regularly invited themselves into
the house for a look around. Kahlan often caught herself talking to them and
asking questions as if they could understand her every word. The way they
paused and cocked their heads at her made her suspect they really could. In
the early mornings, small herds of deer often visited the meadow, some
leaving fresh, inverted heart-shaped tracks near the door as they passed.
Lately, aggressive bucks in rut, bearing huge racks, had been showing up.
One of the hides Kahlan wore was from a wolf injured by one of those bucks
up in an oak grove not far away. Richard had spared the wounded animal a
lingering, suffering death.
Beside the sword fights, they went on marches up into the mountains to
help Kahlan strengthen her limbs. Those walks were taxing on her leg
muscles, sometimes leaving her so sore she couldn't sleep. Richard would rub
oil into her feet, calves, and thighs when they hurt too much for her to
sleep. That usually worked, relaxing her and making her drowsy and able to
fall asleep.
She distinctly remembered the rainy night after walking home in the wet
and cold, when she lay on her back in bed, eyes shut, as Richard rubbed warm
oil into her leg muscles. He whispered that her legs finally seemed to have
gotten back all their tone and shape. Kahlan looked up and saw desire in his
eyes. It was an almost forgotten thrill to know his hunger for her. She had
been so startled that she felt tears trickle down her cheeks with the joy of
suddenly feeling like a woman again-a desirable woman.
Richard raised her leg to his mouth and gently kissed her bare ankle.
By the time his soft warm kisses reached her thighs, she was panting with
suddenly and unexpectedly awakened desire. He laid open her nightshirt and
rubbed the warm oil on her exposed belly. His big hands moved up her body to
caress her breasts. He breathed through his mouth as he rolled her nipples
until they were hard between his finger and thumb.
"Why, Lord Rahl," she said in a breathy whisper, "I do believe you are
going to get carried away."
He paused, seeming to check himself and what he was doing, and then
pulled back.
"I won't break, Richard," she said as she caught his hand and pulled it
back. "I'm all right, now. I'd like it if you got carried away."
She clutched his hair in her fists as his kisses covered her breasts
and then her shoulders and then worked up her neck. His panting warmed her
ear. His exploring fingers made her frantic with need. His body against hers
felt wildly erotic. She no longer felt weary. Finally, he tenderly kissed
her lips. She let him know by the way she returned the kiss that he needn't
be all that tender.
As the rain drummed on the roof, as lightning lit the lines and the
clenched-fist strength of the statue in the window and thunder rumbled
through the mountains, Kahlan, without fearing it, without worrying about
it, without wondering if she would be able, held Richard tightly as they
made quiet, gentle, fierce love. They had never needed each other as much as
that night. All her fears and worries evaporated in the heat of overpowering
need welling up through her. She wept with the strength of her pleasure and
the release of her emotions.
When later Richard lay in her arms, she felt a tear roll off his face,
and she asked him if something was wrong. He shook his head and said
distantly that he had for
so long feared losing her that sometimes he had believed he might go
mad. It seemed as if he could finally allow himself release from his private
terror. The pain Kahlan had first seen in his eyes when she couldn't
remember his name was at last banished.
--]----
Their marches into the mountains ranged farther and farther. Sometimes
they took packs and spent the night in the woods, often in a wayward pine,
when they could find one. The rugged terrain offered a never-ending variety
of vistas. In places, sheer rock cliffs towered over them. In other places,
they stood at the brink of sheer drops and watched the sun turn the sky
orange and purple as it went down while wispy clouds drifted through quiet
green valleys below. They went to towering waterfalls with their own
rainbows. There were clear, sunlit pools up in the mountains where they
swam. They ate on rocks overlooking rugged sights no one but they ever saw.
They followed animal trails through vast woods of gnarled trees, and others
among the dark forest floor where grew trees with trunks like huge brown
columns, so big twenty men couldn't have joined hands around them.
Richard had Kahlan practice with a bow to help strengthen her arms.
They hunted small game for stews, or for roasting. Some they smoked and
dried along with the fish they caught. Richard usually didn't eat meat, but
occasionally he did. Not eating meat was part of the balance needed by his
gift for when he was forced to kill. That need of balance was lessening
because he wasn't killing. He was at peace. Perhaps the balance was now
being served by his carving. As time passed, he was able to eat more meat.
When they were out on journeys, they usually ate rice and beans along with
bannock and any berries they collected along the way, in addition to game
they caught.
Kahlan helped clean fish and salt them down and smoke yet others for
their winter stores. It was a job that she had never before undertaken. They
collected berries, nuts, and wild apples and put a lot of those away in the
root cellar along with root crops he had purchased before coming up into the
mountains. Richard dug up small apple trees, when he found any, and planted
them in the meadow by the house so that, he said, someday they would have
apples close at hand.
Kahlan wondered how long he intended to keep them away from where they
were needed. The silent question always hung there, seen by all, but
unspoken. Cara never asked him, but she sometimes made some small mention of
it to Kahlan when they were alone. She was Lord Rahl's guard, and glad to be
close at hand, so she generally offered no objection. He was, after all,
Lord Rahl, and he was safe.
Kahlan had always felt the weight of their responsibilities. Like the
towering mountains all around, looming over them, always shadowing them,
that responsibility could never be completely forgotten. As much as she
loved the house Richard had built on the edge of the meadow, and as much as
she loved exploring the rugged beautiful, imposing, and ever-changing
mountains, with each passing day she mom and more felt that weight and the
anxious need to be back where they were needed most. She fretted at what
could be going on that they weren't aware of. The Imperial Order was not
going to stay put; an army that size liked to move. Soldiers, especially
soldiers of that ilk, became restless in long encampments, and sooner or
later started causing trouble. She worried about all the people who needed
the reassurance of Richard's presence, his guidance-and hers. There were
people who their whole
lives had depended on the Mother Confessor always being there to stand
up for them.
With winter coming on, Richard had made Kahlan a warm mantle, mostly
out of wolf fur. The other two pelts were coyotes. Richard had found one of
the coyotes with a broken leg, probably from a fall, and had put it out of
its misery. The other had been a rogue chased off by the local pack. It had
taken to raiding food from lei little smokehouse. Richard had taken the sly
looter with a single arrow.
They had collected most of the wolf pelts from injured or old animals.
Richard, Kahlan, and Cara often tracked wolf packs as a way of helping to
build Kahlan's strength. Kahlan came to recognize their tracks, and even
learned to know at a glance, if the prints were in mud or soft dirt, their
front paws from the rear. Richard showed her how the toes of the front
spread out more, with a more welldefined heel pad than the rear paw. He had
located several packs in the mountains, and the three of them often followed
one group or family to see if they could do so without the wolves knowing.
Richard said it was a kind of game guides used to play to keep in
practice-to keep their senses sharp.
After Kahlan's mantle was completed, they had turned to collecting
pelts for Cara's winter fur. Cara, who always wore the clothes of her
profession, had liked the idea of Lord Rahl making something for her to
wear-the same as he had made for Kahlan. While she had never said as much,
Kahlan had always felt that Cara saw the mantle he was making for her as a
mark of his feelings, his respect-proof that she was more than just his
bodyguard.
This had been a journey to find pelts for Cara's mantle, and she had
been eager. She had even cooked for them.
Now, coming down off the ridge where Kahlan had finally bested Richard
in a sword fight, Kahlan was in a good mood. For the last two days they had
been following the wolf pack up in the mountains to the west of their house.
It was not simply a hunt, and not simply to get a pelt for Cara, but part of
the never-ending pressure Richard put on Kahlan to keep up.
Almost every day for the last two months, Richard had her marching over
the most difficult terrain, the kind of terrain that made her strain every
muscle in her body. As Kahlan had gotten stronger, the marches had gotten
longer. At first they were only across the house; now they were across
mountains. On top of that, he frequently attacked her with his willow sword
and poked fun at her if she didn't put in her absolute hardest fight.
In a way, finally beating Richard in one of their mock sword fights
puzzled her. He might have been tired from carrying the heaviest pack and
scouting some of the steeper trails by himself first and then coming back
for them, but he hadn't slacked off, and she had still killed him. She
couldn't help but be pleased with herself, even if she did question her
victory. Out of the corner of her eye, she had caught him smiling as he
looked at her. Kahlan knew Richard was proud of her for besting him. In a
way, his losing was a victory for him.
Kahlan thought that she must be stronger, now, after all Richard had
put her through, than at any time in her life. It had not been easy, but it
had been worth at last feeling like the carving in the window of her
bedroom.
Kahlan put a hand on Richard's shoulder as he followed Cara down broken
granite blocks placed by chance like big, irregular steps. "Richard, how did
I beat you?"
He saw in her eyes the seriousness of the question. "You killed me
because I made a mistake."
"A mistake? You mean, perhaps you had gotten too confident? Perhaps you
were just tired, or were thinking of something else."
"Doesn't really matter, does it? Whatever it was, it was a mistake that
cost me my life in the game. In a real fight, I would have died. You've
taught me a valuable lesson to redouble my resolve to always put in my
absolute full effort. It just goes to remind me, though, that I could make a
mistake at any time, and lose."
Kahlan couldn't help but to be struck by the obvious question: was he
making a mistake in staying out of the effort to keep the Midlands free from
the tyranny of the Imperial Order? She couldn't help feeling the pull to
help her people, even though Richard still felt that if the people didn't
want his leadership, his efforts could do no good. As Mother Confessor,
Kahlan knew that while people didn't always understand that what a leader
did was done in their best interest, that was no reason to abandon them.
With winter coming on, she hoped the Imperial Order would choose to
stay put in Anderith. Kahlan needed to convince Richard to return to help
the Midlands, but she was at a loss to know how. He was firm in his
reasoning, and she could find no chink in the armor of his logic. Emotion
did not sway him in this.
Cara led them down the craggy precipice, having to backtrack only
twice. It was a difficult descent. Cara was pleased with herself, and that
Richard had let her pick the route. It was her pelt they were going after,
so he let her lead them across the tangle of undergrowth in the ravine at
the bottom and then up the following lip of the notch where trees clung with
roots like talons to the rocky rise.
The wind coming up the ravine had turned bitter. The clouds had
thickened until they snuffed out the golden rays of sunlight. Their ascent
took them up into a gloomy, dark wood of towering evergreens. Far over their
heads, the treetops swayed in the wind, but down on the ground, it was
still. Their footfalls were hushed by a thick spongy mat of brown needles.
The climb was steep, but not arduous. As they ascended, the big trees
grew farther and farther apart. The boughs became scraggly, allowing more of
the somber light to seep in. For the most part, the rocks higher up were
bare of moss and leaves. In places they had to use handholds on the rock, or
else roots, to help them climb. Kahlan pulled deep breaths of the cold air;
it felt good to test her muscles.
They came out of the forest into the steel-gray light of late afternoon
and the moaning voice of the wind. They were in the crooked wood.
The scree and rock were naked of the thick moss common lower down the
mountain, but they bore yellow-green splotches of lichen outlined in black.
Only a bit of scraggly brush clung to the low places here and there. But it
was the trees that were the most odd, and gave the place at the top of the
tree line its name. They were all stunted-few taller than Kahlan or Richard.
Most of the branches grew to one side because of the prevailing winds,
leaving the trees looking like grotesque, running skeletons frozen in
torment.
Above the crooked wood, few things other than sedges and lichens grew.
Above that, the snowcap held sway.
"Here it is," Cara said.
They found the wolf sprawled on the scree beside a low boulder with a
dark stain of dried blood at the sharp edge. Up higher, the pack of gray
wolves had been trying to take down a woodland caribou. The old bull had
grazed the unlucky wolf with a kick. That in itself would likely not have
been anything more than painful, but the wolf had slipped from the higher
ledge and fallen to its death. Kahlan ran her fingers
through the thick, yellow-gray coat tipped in black. It was in good
condition, and would be a warm addition to Cara's winter mantle.
Richard and Cara started skinning the good-sized female animal as
Kahlan went out to the edge of an overhang. She drew her own mantle up
around her ears as she stood in the bitter wind surveying the approaching
clouds. She was somewhat startled by what she saw.
"Richard, it's not drizzle coming our way," Kahlan said. "It's snow."
He looked up from his bloody work. "Do you see any wayward pines down
in the valley?"
She squinted down to the valley floor spread out before her.
"Yes, I see a couple. The snow is still a ways off. If you're not long
at that, we can probably make it down there and collect some wood before it
gets wet."
"We're almost done," Cara said.
Richard stood to have a quick look for himself. With a bloody hand, he
absently fifted his real sword a few inches and then let it drop back, a
habit he had of checking to make sure the weapon was clear in its scabbard.
It was an unsettling gesture. He had not drawn the weapon from its hilt
since the day he had been forced to kill all those men who had attacked them
back near Hartland.
"Is something wrong?"
"What?" Richard saw where her eyes were looking and glanced down at the
sword on his hip. "Oh. No, nothing. Just habit, I guess."
Kahlan pointed. "There's a wayward pine, there. It's the closest, and
good-sized, too."
Richard wiped the back of his wrist across his brow, swiping his hair
away from his eyes. His fingers glistened with blood. "We'll be down there,
sheltered by a wayward pine, sitting beside a cozy fire having tea before
dark. I can stretch the hide on the branches inside and scrape it there. The
snow will help insulate us inside the tree's boughs. We'll have a good rest
before heading back in the morning. Down a little lower, it will only be
rain."
Kahlan snuggled her cheek inside her wolf fur as a shiver tingled
through her shoulders and up the back of her neck. Winter had snuck up on
them.
When they arrived home two days later, the little fish in the jars were
all dead. They had used the same easier route over the pass that they had
originally used to enter the valley when they had first come in with the
horses, months before. Of course, Kahlan didn't recall that trip; she had
been unconscious. It seemed a lifetime ago.
There was now a shorter trail to their home, one they had blazed down
from the pass. They could have used that alternative route, but it was
narrow and difficult and would have saved them only ten or fifteen minutes.
They had been out for days, and as they had wearily stood in the windswept
notch at the top of the pass looking down at their cozy home far below at
the edge of the meadow, they had decided to take the easier passage, even
though it took a little longer. It had been a relief to finally get inside
the house, out of the wind, and drop all their gear.
As Richard brought in firewood and Cara fetched water, Kahlan pulled
out a little square of cloth with some small bugs she'd caught earlier that
day, intending to give her fish a treat, since they were sure to be hungry.
She let out a little groan when she saw that they were dead.
"What's the matter?" Cara asked as she walked in lugging a full bucket.
She came over to see the fish.
"Looks like they starved," Kahlan told her.
"Little fish like that don't often live long in a jar," Richard said as
he knelt and started stacking birch logs atop kindling in the fireplace.
"But they did live a long time," Kahlan said, as if to prove him wrong
and somehow talk him out of it.
"You didn't name them, did you? I told you not to name them because
they would die after a time. I warned you not to let yourself get
emotionally attached when it can only come to no good end."
"Cara named one."
"Did not," Cara protested. "I was just trying to show you which one I
was talking about, that's all."
After the flames took from his flint, Richard looked up and smiled.
"Well, I'll get you some more."
Kahlan yawned. "But these were the best ones. They needed me."
Richard snorted a laugh. "You've got quite the imagination. They only
depended on us because we artificially altered their lives. Just like the
chipmunks would stop hunting seeds for their winter stores if we gave them
handouts all the time. Of course, the fish had no choice, because we kept
them in jars. Left to their own initiative, the fish wouldn't need any help
from us. After all, it took a net to catch them. I'll catch you some more,
and they'll come to need you just as much."
Two days later, on a thinly overcast day, after they'd had a big lunch
of thick rabbit stew with turnips and onions along with bread Cara had made,
Richard went off to check the fishing lines and to catch some more of the
blacknose dace minnows.
After he'd left, Cara picked up their spoons and put them in the bucket
of wash water on the counter.
"You know," she said, looking back over her shoulder, "I like it here,
I really do, but it's starting to make me jumpy."
Kahlan scraped the plates off into a wooden bowl with the cooking
leavings for the midden heap. "Jumpy?" She brought the plates to the
counter. "What do you mean?"
"Mother Confessor, this place is nice enough, but it's starting to make
me go daft. I am Mord-Sith. Dear spirits, I'm starting to name fish in
jars!" Cara turned back to the bucket and bent to cleaning the spoons with a
washcloth. "Don't you think it's about time we convinced Lord Rahl that we
need to get back?"
Kahlan sighed. She loved their home in the mountains, and she loved the
quiet and solitude. Most of all, she treasured the time she and Richard were
able to spend together without other people making demands of them. But she
also missed the activity of Aydindril, the company of people, and the sights
of cities and crowds. There was a lot not to like about being in places like
that, but there was an excitement about it, too.
She'd had a lifetime to become used to the way people didn't always
want or understand her help, and forging ahead anyway because she knew it
was in their best interest. Richard never had to learn to face that cold
indifference and go about his duty despite it.
"Of course I do, Cara." Kahlan placed the bowl of scraps on a shelf,
reminding herself to empty it later. She wondered if she was to be a Mother
Confessor who forever lived in the woods, away from her people, a people
struggling for their liberty. "But you know how Richard feels. He thinks it
would be wrong-more than that, he thinks it would be irresponsible to give
in to such a wish when reason tells him he must not."
Cara's blue eyes flashed with determination. "You are the Mother
Confessor. Break the spell of this place. Tell him that you are needed back
there, and that you are going to return. What's he going to do? Tie you to a
tree? If you leave, he will follow. He will have to return, then."
Kahlan shook her head emphatically. "No, I can't do that. Not after
what he's told us. That's not the kind of thing you do to a person you
respect. I may not exactly agree with him, but I understand his reasons and
know him well enough to dread that he's right."
"But going back doesn't mean he would have to lead our side. You would
only be making him follow you back, not making him return to leadership."
Cara smirked. "But maybe when he sees how much he is needed, he will come to
his senses."
"That's part of the reason he's brought us so far out in the mountains:
he fears that if he's near the struggle, or if he goes back, he will see all
that's happening and be drawn in. I can't use his feelings for me to force
him into such a corner. Even if we did go back and he resisted the
temptation to help people fighting for their lives and wasn't drawn into the
struggle against the brutality of the Imperial Order, such an overt act of
coercion on my part would create an enduring rift between us."
Kahlan shook her head again. "This is something he believes too
strongly. I won't force him into returning."
Cara gestured with the dripping washcloth. "Maybe he doesn't really
believe it, not really, not deep down inside. Maybe he doesn't want to go
back because he doubts himself-over the Anderith thing-and so he thinks it's
just easier for him to stay away."
"I don't believe Richard doubts himself in this. Not in this. Not for a
second. Not one tiny little bit. I think that if he had any doubt
whatsoever, he would return, because that is really the easier path. Staying
away is harder-as you and I can attest.
"But you can leave at any time, Cara, if you feel so strongly about
going back. He has no claim on your life. You don't have to stay here if you
don't wish to."
"I am sworn to follow him no matter what foolish thing he does."
"Foolish? You follow him because you believe in him. So do I. That's
why I could never walk away, forcing him to follow."
Cara pressed her lips tight. Her blue eyes lost their fire as she
turned away and flopped the cloth back into the bucket of water. "Then we
will be stuck here, condemned to live out our lives in paradise."
Kahlan smiled in understanding of Cara's frustration. While she
wouldn't try to force Richard into something he was dead set against, that
didn't preclude her from trying to change his mind. She drained her teacup
and plunked it down on the counter. That would be different.
"Maybe not. You know, I've been thinking the same thing-that we need to
go back, I mean."
Cara peered over with a suspicious sidelong glance. "So, what do you
think we can do to convince him?"
"Richard is going to be gone for a while. Without him here to bother
us, how about we have a bath?"
"A bath?"
"Yes, a bath. I've been thinking about how much I'd like to get cleaned
up. I'm tired of looking like a backcountry traveler. I'd like to wash my
hair and put on my white Mother Confessor's dress."
"Your white Mother Confessor's dress . . ." Cara smiled
conspiratorially. "Ah. Now that will be the kind of battle a woman is better
equipped to fight."
Out of the corner of her eye, Kahlan could see Spirit standing in the
bedroom window, looking out at the world, her robes flowing in the wind, her
head thrown back, her back arched, her fists at her sides in defiance of
anything that would think to bridle her.
"Well, not exactly a battle the way you're thinking, but I believe I
can state the case better if I'm dressed properly. That wouldn't be unfair.
I will be putting the issue to him as the Mother Confessor. I believe that
in some ways his judgment has been clouded; it's hard to think about
anything else when you're worried sick about someone you love."
Kahlan's fists tightened at her sides as she thought about the danger
hanging over the Midlands. "He's got to see that all of that is in the past,
that I'm healthy, now, and that the time has come to return to our duties to
our people."
Smirking, Cara swiped back a wisp of her blond hair. "He will see that,
and more, if you were in that dress of yours, that's for sure."
"I want him to see the woman who was strong enough to win against him
with a sword. I want him to see that Mother Confessor in the dress, too."
From the corner of her mouth, Cara puffed another strand of hair off
her face. "To tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind a bath myself. You know, I
think that if I stand beside you in a proper Mord-Sith outfit and my hair is
washed and my braid is done up fresh and I'm looking properly Mord-Sith-like
and I speak my agreement with what you say, Lord Rahl will be all the more
convinced that we're right and inclined to see that the time has come for us
to return."
Kahlan set the plates into the bucket of water. "It's settled, then.
We've enough time before he comes back."
Richard had made them a small wooden tub, big enough to sit in and have
a nice bath. It wasn't big enough to lie back and luxuriate in, but it was
still quite the luxury for their mountain home.
Cara towed the tub from the corner, leaving drag marks across the dirt
floor. "I'll put it in my room. You go first. That way, if he comes back
sooner rather than later, you can keep your nosy husband busy and out of my
hair while I wash it."
Together, Kahlan and Cara hauled in buckets of water from the nearby
spring, heating some in a kettle over a roaring fire. When Kahlan finally
sank into the steaming water, she let out a long sigh. The air was chilly,
and the hot bath felt all the better for it. She would have liked to linger,
but decided not to.
She smiled at recalling all the trouble Richard had had with women in
bathwater. It was a good thing he wasn't there. Later, after they had their
talk, she thought she would ask him to take a bath before bed. She liked the
aroma of his sweat when it was clean sweat.
With the knowledge that she would face Richard with her hair washed and
sparkling, and in her white dress, Kahlan felt more confident about the real
possibility of their return than she had in a long time. She dried and
brushed her hair by the heat of the fire as Cara boiled some more water.
While Cara went in to take her bath, Kahlan went to her room to slip into
her dress. Most people feared the dress because they feared the woman who
wore it; Richard had always liked her in the dress.
As she tossed the towel on the bed, her eye was caught by the statue in
the window. Kahlan fisted her hands at her sides and, standing naked, arched
her back and threw her head back, mimicking Spirit, letting the feeling of
it overcome her, letting herself be that strong spirit, letting it flow
through her.
For that moment, she was the spirit of the statue.
This was a day of change. She could feel it.
It seemed a little odd, after being a woods woman for so long, to be
back in her Mother Confessor's dress, to feel the satiny smooth material
against her skin. Mostly, though, the feeling was the comfort of the
familiar.
As Mother Confessor, Kahlan felt sure of herself. On a fundamental
level, the dress was a form of battle armor. Wearing the dress, Kahlan also
felt a sense of importance, in that she carried the weight of history, of
exceptional women who had gone before her. The Mother Confessor bore a
terrible responsibility, but also had the satisfaction of being able to make
a real difference for the better in people's lives.
Those people depended on her. Kahlan had a job to do, and she had to
convince Richard that she needed to do it. They needed him, too, but even if
he would not
issue orders, he needed to at least willingly return with her. Those
fighting for their cause deserved to know the Mother Confessor was with
them, and that she had not lost faith in them or their cause. She had to
make Richard see that much of it.
Once she was back out in the main room, Kahlan could hear Cara
splashing in the tub. "Need anything, Cara?" she called out.
"No, I'm fine," Cara called from her room. "This feels so good! I think
there's enough dirt in this water to plant potatoes."
Kahlan laughed knowingly. She saw a chipmunk casting about outside the
house. "I'm going to go feed Chippy some apple cores. If you need anything,
call out."
Their universal name for all the chipmunks was "Chippy." They all
answered to it; they knew the name augured well for a handout.
"All right," Cara said from her tub. "If Lord Rahl gets back, though,
just kiss him or something to keep him busy but wait until I'm done before
you talk to him. I want to be with you to help you convince him. I want to
be sure we make him see the light."
Kahlan smiled. "I promise."
She plucked an apple core from the wooden bucket of little animal
snacks they kept hanging on a piece of twine where the chipmunks couldn't
get to them on their own. The squirrels loved apple cores, too. The horses
preferred their apples whole.
"Here, Chippy," Kahlan called out through the door in the voice she
always used with them. She raised the bucket back toward the ceiling and
hooked the line to the peg on the wall. "Chip, Chip, you want an apple?"
Outside, Kahlan saw the chipmunk off to the side, foraging through the
grass. The chill breeze caressed the long folds of her dress to her legs as
she walked. It was almost cold enough to need the fur mantle. The bare
branches of the oaks behind the house creaked and groaned as they rubbed
together. The pines, reaching toward the sky where the wind was stronger,
bowed deeply with some of the gusts. The sun had taken refuge behind a
steel-gray overcast that made her white dress all the more striking in the
gloom.
Near the window where Spirit stood watching out, Kahlan called the
chipmunk again. The chipmunks were held spellbound by the soft voice Kahlan
used when she talked to them. When he heard her, the furry little striped
creature stood on his hind legs for a moment, stiff and still, checking that
all was clear, and when he was sure it was safe, scurried to her. Kahlan
squatted and rolled the apple core out of her hand onto the ground.
"Here you go, sweetheart," she cooed. "A nice apple for you."
Chippy wasted no time starting in on his treat. Kahlan's cheeks hurt
from smiling at the way the chipmunk nibbled his way around the apple core
as it rolled along the ground. She rose to her feet, brushing her hands
clean as she watched, captivated by the little creature at his feverish
work.
He suddenly flinched with a squeak and froze.
Kahlan looked up. She was staring right into a woman's blue eyes.
The woman stood not ten feet away in a pose of cool scrutiny. Kahlan's
throat locked the gasp in her lungs. The woman had seemed to appear in the
middle of nowhere, out of nowhere. Icy gooseflesh prickled up the backs of
Kahlan's arms.
The woman's long blond hair cascaded over the shoulders of an exquisite
black dress. She was of such shapely beauty, her face of such pure
perfection, but especially her eyes were of such intelligent lucid witnesses
to all around her, that she could only be a creature of profound integrity .
. . or unspeakable evil.
Kahlan knew without doubt which it was.
This woman made Kahlan feel as ugly as a clod of dirt, and
instinctively as helpless as a child. She wanted nothing so much as to
shrink away. Instead, she stared into the woman's blue eyes for what
couldn't have been more than a second or two, but in that span of time an
eternity seemed to pass. In those knowing blue eyes flowed some formidable,
frightful current of contemplation.
Kahlan remembered Captain Meiffert's description of this woman. For the
life of her, though, Kahlan couldn't just then recall her name. It seemed
trivial. What mattered was that this woman was a Sister of the Dark.
Without speaking a word, the woman lifted her hands out a little and
turned her palms up, as if humbly offering something. Her hands were empty.
Kahlan committed to the vault through space necessary to close the
distance. She committed to unleashing her power. With her resolution, the
act had in a way already commenced. But she desperately needed to get closer
if it was to be meaningful, or effective.
As she began to move, to make that reckless leap, the world went white
in a bloom of pain.
Richard heard an odd sound that stopped him in his tracks. He felt a
thump through the ground and deep in his chest. He thought he'd seen a flash
in the treetops, but it had been so quick he wasn't sure.
It was the sound, though, as if some great hammer had struck off the
top of a mountain, that made his blood go cold.
The house wasn't far off through the trees. He dropped the string of
trout and the jar of minnows, and ran.
At the edge of the woods where it opened into the meadow, he skidded to
a halt. His pounding heart felt as if it had risen up into his throat.
Richard saw the two women not far away, in front of the house, one
dressed in white, and one in black. They were connected by a snaking,
undulating, crackling line of milky white light. Nicci's arms were lifted
slightly with her hands turned palms up and a little farther apart than the
width of her hips.
The milky light went from Nicci's chest, across the space between the
two women, and pierced Kahlan through the heart. The wavering aurora between
the two turned blindingly bright, as if twisting in an agony it was unable
to escape.
Seeing Kahlan trembling with the fury of that lance of light pinning
her to the wall, Richard was paralyzed by fear for her, fear he knew all too
well, from when she had been on the cusp of death. That bolt pierced Nicci's
heart, too, connecting the two women. Richard didn't understand the magic
Nicci was using, but he instinctively recognized it as profoundly dangerous,
not only to Kahlan, but to Nicci as well, for she, too, was in pain. That
Nicci would put herself at such risk gripped him with dread.
Richard knew he had to remain calm and keep his wits about himself if
Kahlan was to have a chance. He viscerally wanted to do something to strike
Nicci down, but he was certain that it wouldn't be as simple as that. Zedd's
oft-repeated expression-nothing is ever easy-flashed into Richard's mind
with sudden and tangible meaning.
In a desperate search for answers, everything Richard knew about magic
cascaded in a torrent through his mind. None of it told him what to do, but
it did tell him what he must not do. Kahlan's life hung in the balance.
Just then, Cara came flying out of the house. She was stark naked. It
somehow didn't look all that odd. Richard was accustomed to the shape of her
body in her skintight leather outfits. Other than the color, this didn't
look all that different. She was dripping wet. Her hair was undone, which
seemed more outlandishly indecent to him than her naked body. He was used to
seeing her with a braid all the time.
Cara's fist clutched the red leather rod-her Agiel-as she crouched. The
muscles of her legs, arms, and shoulders strained with tension demanding
release.
"Cara! No!" Richard cried out.
He was already tearing across the meadow as Cara sprang and slammed her
Agiel against the side of Nicci's neck.
Nicci shrieked in pain that dropped her to her knees. Kahlan cried out
in equal pain and crumpled to her knees as well, her movement a close match
to Nicci's.
Cara seized Nicci's hair in a fist and yanked her head back. "Time to
die, witch!"
Nicci was doing nothing to stop Cara as the Agiel hung only inches from
her throat.
Richard dove toward the Mord-Sith, desperately hoping he wouldn't be
too late. Cara's Agiel just grazed Nicci's throat as Richard tackled her
around the middle, ramming her backward. The feel of her was briefly
surprising-silky soft flesh over iron-hard muscle. The impact drove the wind
from her when they hit the ground.
Cara was so enraged and in such a combative state that she lashed out
with her Agiel at Richard, not really realizing it was him, knowing only
that she was being prevented from protecting Kahlan.
The violent impact of the weapon to the side of Richard's face felt
like a blow by an iron bar followed immediately by a lightning strike. The
crack of pain through his skull was momentarily blinding. His ears rang. The
jolt took his breath, staggering him, and brought back in a single instant
an avalanche of macabre memories.
Cara was riveted on the kill and furious at any interference. Richard
regained his senses just in time to seize her wrists and pin her to the
ground before she could pounce on Nicci. A Mord-Sith was formidable, to be
sure, but such a woman was instilled with the ability to counter magic, not
muscle. That was why she had been trying to goad Nicci into using her power;
only in that way could she capture the enemy's magic and so overpower her.
Cara's writhing naked body under him hardly registered in Richard's
mind. He tasted blood in his mouth. His attention was focused on her Agiel
and making sure she couldn't use it on him. His head throbbed with a painful
ringing, and he had to fight not only Cara, but encroaching unconsciousness.
over something, and if she did, not as likely to hit her head on anything
granite. Cara was their everpresent audience. As time passed, the battles
lasted longer, and grew more strenuous. They became furious and exhausting.
A couple of times Kahlan had been so upset by Richard's relentless
attitude toward their sword fights that she didn't speak to him for hours
afterward, lest she let slip words she didn't really mean and which she knew
she would regret.
Richard would then sometimes tell her, "Save your anger for the enemy.
Here it will do you no good; there, it can overcome fear. Use this time now
to teach your sword what to do, so later it will do it without conscious
thought."
Kahlan well knew that an enemy was never kind. If Richard gave in to
kindnessawarded her false pride-it could only serve her ill. As aggravating
as such lessons sometimes were, it was impossible to remain angry with
Richard for very long, especially because she knew she was really only angry
with herself.
Kahlan had been around weapons and men who used them all her life. A
few of the better ones, in addition to her father, were on occasion her
teachers. None of them had fought like Richard. Richard made fighting with a
blade look like art. He gave beauty to the act of dealing death. There was
something about it, though, tickling at her, something she knew she still
wasn't grasping.
Richard had told her once, before she had been hurt, that he had come
to believe that magic itself could be an art form. She had told him she
thought that was crazy. Now, she didn't know. From the bits of the story
she'd heard, she suspected that Richard had used magic in something of that
way to defeat the chimes: he had created a solution where it had never
before existed, or even been imagined.
One day, in one of their fierce sword fights, she had been positive she
had him dead to rights and that she was delivering the stroke of victory. He
effortlessly evaded what she had been sure was her killing strike and killed
her instead. He made what had seemed impossible look natural.
It was in that instant that the whole concept came clear for her. She
had been looking at it all wrong.
It wasn't that Richard could fight well with a sword, or that he could
create beautiful statues with a knife and chisel, it was that Richard was
one with the
blade-the blade in any form: sword, knife, chisel, or willow switch. He
was a master-not of sword fighting or carving as such, but, in the most
fundamental way, of the blade itself.
Fighting was but one use of a blade. His balance for using his sword to
destroymagic always sought balance-was using a blade to carve things of
beauty. She had been looking at the individual parts of what he did, trying
to understand them separately; Richard saw only one unified whole.
Everything about him: the way he shot an arrow; the way he carved; the
way he used a sword; even the way he walked with such fluid reasoned
intent-they weren't separate things, separate abilities . . . they were all
the same thing.
Richard paused. "What's the matter? Your face is turning white."
Kahlan stood with her willow sword lowered. "You're dancing with death.
That's what you're doing with your sword."
Richard blinked at her as if she had just announced that rain was wet.
"But, of course." Richard touched the amulet hanging at his chest. In the
center, surrounded by a complex of gold and silver lines, was a
teardrop-shaped ruby as big as her thumbnail. "I told you that a long time
ago. Are you just now coming to believe me?"
She stood gaping. "Yes, I think I am."
Kahlan recalled all too clearly his chilling words to her when she had
first seen the amulet around his neck, and she had asked him what it was:
"The ruby is meant to represent a drop of blood. It is the symbolic
representation of the way of the primary edict.
"It means only one thing, and everything: cut. Once committed to fight,
cut. Everything else is secondary. Cut. That is your duty, your purpose,
your hunger. There is no rule more important, no commitment that overrides
that one. Cut.
"The lines are a portrayal of the dance. Cut from the void, not from
bewilderment. Cut the enemy as quickly and directly as possible. Cut with
certainty. Cut decisively, resolutely. Cut into his strength. Flow through
the gaps in his guard. Cut him. Cut him down utterly. Don't allow him a
breath. Crush him. Cut him without mercy to the depths of his spirit.
"It is the balance to life: death. It is the dance with death.
"It is the law a war wizard lives by, or he dies."
The dance was art. It was no different, really, from carving. Art
expressed through a blade. It was all one and the same to him. He saw no
distinction, for within him, there was none.
--]----
They shared the meadow with a red fox who hunted it for rodents,
mostly, but wasn't averse to chewing on whatever juicy bugs she could catch
there. Their horses didn't mind the fox so much, but they didn't like the
coyotes that sometimes visited. Kahlan rarely saw them, but she knew they
were about when the horses snorted their displeasure. She often heard the
coyotes barking at night, higher up in the surrounding slopes. They would
let out long flat howls, followed by a series of yips. Some nights, the
wolves sang, their long monotone howls, without the yapping of the coyotes,
echoing through the mountains. Once Kahlan saw a black bear off in the
trees, ambling along, giving them only a passing look, and once a bobcat
passed
near their house, sending the horses off in a panic. It took Richard
the better part of a day to find the horses.
Chipmunks begged at their door, and regularly invited themselves into
the house for a look around. Kahlan often caught herself talking to them and
asking questions as if they could understand her every word. The way they
paused and cocked their heads at her made her suspect they really could. In
the early mornings, small herds of deer often visited the meadow, some
leaving fresh, inverted heart-shaped tracks near the door as they passed.
Lately, aggressive bucks in rut, bearing huge racks, had been showing up.
One of the hides Kahlan wore was from a wolf injured by one of those bucks
up in an oak grove not far away. Richard had spared the wounded animal a
lingering, suffering death.
Beside the sword fights, they went on marches up into the mountains to
help Kahlan strengthen her limbs. Those walks were taxing on her leg
muscles, sometimes leaving her so sore she couldn't sleep. Richard would rub
oil into her feet, calves, and thighs when they hurt too much for her to
sleep. That usually worked, relaxing her and making her drowsy and able to
fall asleep.
She distinctly remembered the rainy night after walking home in the wet
and cold, when she lay on her back in bed, eyes shut, as Richard rubbed warm
oil into her leg muscles. He whispered that her legs finally seemed to have
gotten back all their tone and shape. Kahlan looked up and saw desire in his
eyes. It was an almost forgotten thrill to know his hunger for her. She had
been so startled that she felt tears trickle down her cheeks with the joy of
suddenly feeling like a woman again-a desirable woman.
Richard raised her leg to his mouth and gently kissed her bare ankle.
By the time his soft warm kisses reached her thighs, she was panting with
suddenly and unexpectedly awakened desire. He laid open her nightshirt and
rubbed the warm oil on her exposed belly. His big hands moved up her body to
caress her breasts. He breathed through his mouth as he rolled her nipples
until they were hard between his finger and thumb.
"Why, Lord Rahl," she said in a breathy whisper, "I do believe you are
going to get carried away."
He paused, seeming to check himself and what he was doing, and then
pulled back.
"I won't break, Richard," she said as she caught his hand and pulled it
back. "I'm all right, now. I'd like it if you got carried away."
She clutched his hair in her fists as his kisses covered her breasts
and then her shoulders and then worked up her neck. His panting warmed her
ear. His exploring fingers made her frantic with need. His body against hers
felt wildly erotic. She no longer felt weary. Finally, he tenderly kissed
her lips. She let him know by the way she returned the kiss that he needn't
be all that tender.
As the rain drummed on the roof, as lightning lit the lines and the
clenched-fist strength of the statue in the window and thunder rumbled
through the mountains, Kahlan, without fearing it, without worrying about
it, without wondering if she would be able, held Richard tightly as they
made quiet, gentle, fierce love. They had never needed each other as much as
that night. All her fears and worries evaporated in the heat of overpowering
need welling up through her. She wept with the strength of her pleasure and
the release of her emotions.
When later Richard lay in her arms, she felt a tear roll off his face,
and she asked him if something was wrong. He shook his head and said
distantly that he had for
so long feared losing her that sometimes he had believed he might go
mad. It seemed as if he could finally allow himself release from his private
terror. The pain Kahlan had first seen in his eyes when she couldn't
remember his name was at last banished.
--]----
Their marches into the mountains ranged farther and farther. Sometimes
they took packs and spent the night in the woods, often in a wayward pine,
when they could find one. The rugged terrain offered a never-ending variety
of vistas. In places, sheer rock cliffs towered over them. In other places,
they stood at the brink of sheer drops and watched the sun turn the sky
orange and purple as it went down while wispy clouds drifted through quiet
green valleys below. They went to towering waterfalls with their own
rainbows. There were clear, sunlit pools up in the mountains where they
swam. They ate on rocks overlooking rugged sights no one but they ever saw.
They followed animal trails through vast woods of gnarled trees, and others
among the dark forest floor where grew trees with trunks like huge brown
columns, so big twenty men couldn't have joined hands around them.
Richard had Kahlan practice with a bow to help strengthen her arms.
They hunted small game for stews, or for roasting. Some they smoked and
dried along with the fish they caught. Richard usually didn't eat meat, but
occasionally he did. Not eating meat was part of the balance needed by his
gift for when he was forced to kill. That need of balance was lessening
because he wasn't killing. He was at peace. Perhaps the balance was now
being served by his carving. As time passed, he was able to eat more meat.
When they were out on journeys, they usually ate rice and beans along with
bannock and any berries they collected along the way, in addition to game
they caught.
Kahlan helped clean fish and salt them down and smoke yet others for
their winter stores. It was a job that she had never before undertaken. They
collected berries, nuts, and wild apples and put a lot of those away in the
root cellar along with root crops he had purchased before coming up into the
mountains. Richard dug up small apple trees, when he found any, and planted
them in the meadow by the house so that, he said, someday they would have
apples close at hand.
Kahlan wondered how long he intended to keep them away from where they
were needed. The silent question always hung there, seen by all, but
unspoken. Cara never asked him, but she sometimes made some small mention of
it to Kahlan when they were alone. She was Lord Rahl's guard, and glad to be
close at hand, so she generally offered no objection. He was, after all,
Lord Rahl, and he was safe.
Kahlan had always felt the weight of their responsibilities. Like the
towering mountains all around, looming over them, always shadowing them,
that responsibility could never be completely forgotten. As much as she
loved the house Richard had built on the edge of the meadow, and as much as
she loved exploring the rugged beautiful, imposing, and ever-changing
mountains, with each passing day she mom and more felt that weight and the
anxious need to be back where they were needed most. She fretted at what
could be going on that they weren't aware of. The Imperial Order was not
going to stay put; an army that size liked to move. Soldiers, especially
soldiers of that ilk, became restless in long encampments, and sooner or
later started causing trouble. She worried about all the people who needed
the reassurance of Richard's presence, his guidance-and hers. There were
people who their whole
lives had depended on the Mother Confessor always being there to stand
up for them.
With winter coming on, Richard had made Kahlan a warm mantle, mostly
out of wolf fur. The other two pelts were coyotes. Richard had found one of
the coyotes with a broken leg, probably from a fall, and had put it out of
its misery. The other had been a rogue chased off by the local pack. It had
taken to raiding food from lei little smokehouse. Richard had taken the sly
looter with a single arrow.
They had collected most of the wolf pelts from injured or old animals.
Richard, Kahlan, and Cara often tracked wolf packs as a way of helping to
build Kahlan's strength. Kahlan came to recognize their tracks, and even
learned to know at a glance, if the prints were in mud or soft dirt, their
front paws from the rear. Richard showed her how the toes of the front
spread out more, with a more welldefined heel pad than the rear paw. He had
located several packs in the mountains, and the three of them often followed
one group or family to see if they could do so without the wolves knowing.
Richard said it was a kind of game guides used to play to keep in
practice-to keep their senses sharp.
After Kahlan's mantle was completed, they had turned to collecting
pelts for Cara's winter fur. Cara, who always wore the clothes of her
profession, had liked the idea of Lord Rahl making something for her to
wear-the same as he had made for Kahlan. While she had never said as much,
Kahlan had always felt that Cara saw the mantle he was making for her as a
mark of his feelings, his respect-proof that she was more than just his
bodyguard.
This had been a journey to find pelts for Cara's mantle, and she had
been eager. She had even cooked for them.
Now, coming down off the ridge where Kahlan had finally bested Richard
in a sword fight, Kahlan was in a good mood. For the last two days they had
been following the wolf pack up in the mountains to the west of their house.
It was not simply a hunt, and not simply to get a pelt for Cara, but part of
the never-ending pressure Richard put on Kahlan to keep up.
Almost every day for the last two months, Richard had her marching over
the most difficult terrain, the kind of terrain that made her strain every
muscle in her body. As Kahlan had gotten stronger, the marches had gotten
longer. At first they were only across the house; now they were across
mountains. On top of that, he frequently attacked her with his willow sword
and poked fun at her if she didn't put in her absolute hardest fight.
In a way, finally beating Richard in one of their mock sword fights
puzzled her. He might have been tired from carrying the heaviest pack and
scouting some of the steeper trails by himself first and then coming back
for them, but he hadn't slacked off, and she had still killed him. She
couldn't help but be pleased with herself, even if she did question her
victory. Out of the corner of her eye, she had caught him smiling as he
looked at her. Kahlan knew Richard was proud of her for besting him. In a
way, his losing was a victory for him.
Kahlan thought that she must be stronger, now, after all Richard had
put her through, than at any time in her life. It had not been easy, but it
had been worth at last feeling like the carving in the window of her
bedroom.
Kahlan put a hand on Richard's shoulder as he followed Cara down broken
granite blocks placed by chance like big, irregular steps. "Richard, how did
I beat you?"
He saw in her eyes the seriousness of the question. "You killed me
because I made a mistake."
"A mistake? You mean, perhaps you had gotten too confident? Perhaps you
were just tired, or were thinking of something else."
"Doesn't really matter, does it? Whatever it was, it was a mistake that
cost me my life in the game. In a real fight, I would have died. You've
taught me a valuable lesson to redouble my resolve to always put in my
absolute full effort. It just goes to remind me, though, that I could make a
mistake at any time, and lose."
Kahlan couldn't help but to be struck by the obvious question: was he
making a mistake in staying out of the effort to keep the Midlands free from
the tyranny of the Imperial Order? She couldn't help feeling the pull to
help her people, even though Richard still felt that if the people didn't
want his leadership, his efforts could do no good. As Mother Confessor,
Kahlan knew that while people didn't always understand that what a leader
did was done in their best interest, that was no reason to abandon them.
With winter coming on, she hoped the Imperial Order would choose to
stay put in Anderith. Kahlan needed to convince Richard to return to help
the Midlands, but she was at a loss to know how. He was firm in his
reasoning, and she could find no chink in the armor of his logic. Emotion
did not sway him in this.
Cara led them down the craggy precipice, having to backtrack only
twice. It was a difficult descent. Cara was pleased with herself, and that
Richard had let her pick the route. It was her pelt they were going after,
so he let her lead them across the tangle of undergrowth in the ravine at
the bottom and then up the following lip of the notch where trees clung with
roots like talons to the rocky rise.
The wind coming up the ravine had turned bitter. The clouds had
thickened until they snuffed out the golden rays of sunlight. Their ascent
took them up into a gloomy, dark wood of towering evergreens. Far over their
heads, the treetops swayed in the wind, but down on the ground, it was
still. Their footfalls were hushed by a thick spongy mat of brown needles.
The climb was steep, but not arduous. As they ascended, the big trees
grew farther and farther apart. The boughs became scraggly, allowing more of
the somber light to seep in. For the most part, the rocks higher up were
bare of moss and leaves. In places they had to use handholds on the rock, or
else roots, to help them climb. Kahlan pulled deep breaths of the cold air;
it felt good to test her muscles.
They came out of the forest into the steel-gray light of late afternoon
and the moaning voice of the wind. They were in the crooked wood.
The scree and rock were naked of the thick moss common lower down the
mountain, but they bore yellow-green splotches of lichen outlined in black.
Only a bit of scraggly brush clung to the low places here and there. But it
was the trees that were the most odd, and gave the place at the top of the
tree line its name. They were all stunted-few taller than Kahlan or Richard.
Most of the branches grew to one side because of the prevailing winds,
leaving the trees looking like grotesque, running skeletons frozen in
torment.
Above the crooked wood, few things other than sedges and lichens grew.
Above that, the snowcap held sway.
"Here it is," Cara said.
They found the wolf sprawled on the scree beside a low boulder with a
dark stain of dried blood at the sharp edge. Up higher, the pack of gray
wolves had been trying to take down a woodland caribou. The old bull had
grazed the unlucky wolf with a kick. That in itself would likely not have
been anything more than painful, but the wolf had slipped from the higher
ledge and fallen to its death. Kahlan ran her fingers
through the thick, yellow-gray coat tipped in black. It was in good
condition, and would be a warm addition to Cara's winter mantle.
Richard and Cara started skinning the good-sized female animal as
Kahlan went out to the edge of an overhang. She drew her own mantle up
around her ears as she stood in the bitter wind surveying the approaching
clouds. She was somewhat startled by what she saw.
"Richard, it's not drizzle coming our way," Kahlan said. "It's snow."
He looked up from his bloody work. "Do you see any wayward pines down
in the valley?"
She squinted down to the valley floor spread out before her.
"Yes, I see a couple. The snow is still a ways off. If you're not long
at that, we can probably make it down there and collect some wood before it
gets wet."
"We're almost done," Cara said.
Richard stood to have a quick look for himself. With a bloody hand, he
absently fifted his real sword a few inches and then let it drop back, a
habit he had of checking to make sure the weapon was clear in its scabbard.
It was an unsettling gesture. He had not drawn the weapon from its hilt
since the day he had been forced to kill all those men who had attacked them
back near Hartland.
"Is something wrong?"
"What?" Richard saw where her eyes were looking and glanced down at the
sword on his hip. "Oh. No, nothing. Just habit, I guess."
Kahlan pointed. "There's a wayward pine, there. It's the closest, and
good-sized, too."
Richard wiped the back of his wrist across his brow, swiping his hair
away from his eyes. His fingers glistened with blood. "We'll be down there,
sheltered by a wayward pine, sitting beside a cozy fire having tea before
dark. I can stretch the hide on the branches inside and scrape it there. The
snow will help insulate us inside the tree's boughs. We'll have a good rest
before heading back in the morning. Down a little lower, it will only be
rain."
Kahlan snuggled her cheek inside her wolf fur as a shiver tingled
through her shoulders and up the back of her neck. Winter had snuck up on
them.
When they arrived home two days later, the little fish in the jars were
all dead. They had used the same easier route over the pass that they had
originally used to enter the valley when they had first come in with the
horses, months before. Of course, Kahlan didn't recall that trip; she had
been unconscious. It seemed a lifetime ago.
There was now a shorter trail to their home, one they had blazed down
from the pass. They could have used that alternative route, but it was
narrow and difficult and would have saved them only ten or fifteen minutes.
They had been out for days, and as they had wearily stood in the windswept
notch at the top of the pass looking down at their cozy home far below at
the edge of the meadow, they had decided to take the easier passage, even
though it took a little longer. It had been a relief to finally get inside
the house, out of the wind, and drop all their gear.
As Richard brought in firewood and Cara fetched water, Kahlan pulled
out a little square of cloth with some small bugs she'd caught earlier that
day, intending to give her fish a treat, since they were sure to be hungry.
She let out a little groan when she saw that they were dead.
"What's the matter?" Cara asked as she walked in lugging a full bucket.
She came over to see the fish.
"Looks like they starved," Kahlan told her.
"Little fish like that don't often live long in a jar," Richard said as
he knelt and started stacking birch logs atop kindling in the fireplace.
"But they did live a long time," Kahlan said, as if to prove him wrong
and somehow talk him out of it.
"You didn't name them, did you? I told you not to name them because
they would die after a time. I warned you not to let yourself get
emotionally attached when it can only come to no good end."
"Cara named one."
"Did not," Cara protested. "I was just trying to show you which one I
was talking about, that's all."
After the flames took from his flint, Richard looked up and smiled.
"Well, I'll get you some more."
Kahlan yawned. "But these were the best ones. They needed me."
Richard snorted a laugh. "You've got quite the imagination. They only
depended on us because we artificially altered their lives. Just like the
chipmunks would stop hunting seeds for their winter stores if we gave them
handouts all the time. Of course, the fish had no choice, because we kept
them in jars. Left to their own initiative, the fish wouldn't need any help
from us. After all, it took a net to catch them. I'll catch you some more,
and they'll come to need you just as much."
Two days later, on a thinly overcast day, after they'd had a big lunch
of thick rabbit stew with turnips and onions along with bread Cara had made,
Richard went off to check the fishing lines and to catch some more of the
blacknose dace minnows.
After he'd left, Cara picked up their spoons and put them in the bucket
of wash water on the counter.
"You know," she said, looking back over her shoulder, "I like it here,
I really do, but it's starting to make me jumpy."
Kahlan scraped the plates off into a wooden bowl with the cooking
leavings for the midden heap. "Jumpy?" She brought the plates to the
counter. "What do you mean?"
"Mother Confessor, this place is nice enough, but it's starting to make
me go daft. I am Mord-Sith. Dear spirits, I'm starting to name fish in
jars!" Cara turned back to the bucket and bent to cleaning the spoons with a
washcloth. "Don't you think it's about time we convinced Lord Rahl that we
need to get back?"
Kahlan sighed. She loved their home in the mountains, and she loved the
quiet and solitude. Most of all, she treasured the time she and Richard were
able to spend together without other people making demands of them. But she
also missed the activity of Aydindril, the company of people, and the sights
of cities and crowds. There was a lot not to like about being in places like
that, but there was an excitement about it, too.
She'd had a lifetime to become used to the way people didn't always
want or understand her help, and forging ahead anyway because she knew it
was in their best interest. Richard never had to learn to face that cold
indifference and go about his duty despite it.
"Of course I do, Cara." Kahlan placed the bowl of scraps on a shelf,
reminding herself to empty it later. She wondered if she was to be a Mother
Confessor who forever lived in the woods, away from her people, a people
struggling for their liberty. "But you know how Richard feels. He thinks it
would be wrong-more than that, he thinks it would be irresponsible to give
in to such a wish when reason tells him he must not."
Cara's blue eyes flashed with determination. "You are the Mother
Confessor. Break the spell of this place. Tell him that you are needed back
there, and that you are going to return. What's he going to do? Tie you to a
tree? If you leave, he will follow. He will have to return, then."
Kahlan shook her head emphatically. "No, I can't do that. Not after
what he's told us. That's not the kind of thing you do to a person you
respect. I may not exactly agree with him, but I understand his reasons and
know him well enough to dread that he's right."
"But going back doesn't mean he would have to lead our side. You would
only be making him follow you back, not making him return to leadership."
Cara smirked. "But maybe when he sees how much he is needed, he will come to
his senses."
"That's part of the reason he's brought us so far out in the mountains:
he fears that if he's near the struggle, or if he goes back, he will see all
that's happening and be drawn in. I can't use his feelings for me to force
him into such a corner. Even if we did go back and he resisted the
temptation to help people fighting for their lives and wasn't drawn into the
struggle against the brutality of the Imperial Order, such an overt act of
coercion on my part would create an enduring rift between us."
Kahlan shook her head again. "This is something he believes too
strongly. I won't force him into returning."
Cara gestured with the dripping washcloth. "Maybe he doesn't really
believe it, not really, not deep down inside. Maybe he doesn't want to go
back because he doubts himself-over the Anderith thing-and so he thinks it's
just easier for him to stay away."
"I don't believe Richard doubts himself in this. Not in this. Not for a
second. Not one tiny little bit. I think that if he had any doubt
whatsoever, he would return, because that is really the easier path. Staying
away is harder-as you and I can attest.
"But you can leave at any time, Cara, if you feel so strongly about
going back. He has no claim on your life. You don't have to stay here if you
don't wish to."
"I am sworn to follow him no matter what foolish thing he does."
"Foolish? You follow him because you believe in him. So do I. That's
why I could never walk away, forcing him to follow."
Cara pressed her lips tight. Her blue eyes lost their fire as she
turned away and flopped the cloth back into the bucket of water. "Then we
will be stuck here, condemned to live out our lives in paradise."
Kahlan smiled in understanding of Cara's frustration. While she
wouldn't try to force Richard into something he was dead set against, that
didn't preclude her from trying to change his mind. She drained her teacup
and plunked it down on the counter. That would be different.
"Maybe not. You know, I've been thinking the same thing-that we need to
go back, I mean."
Cara peered over with a suspicious sidelong glance. "So, what do you
think we can do to convince him?"
"Richard is going to be gone for a while. Without him here to bother
us, how about we have a bath?"
"A bath?"
"Yes, a bath. I've been thinking about how much I'd like to get cleaned
up. I'm tired of looking like a backcountry traveler. I'd like to wash my
hair and put on my white Mother Confessor's dress."
"Your white Mother Confessor's dress . . ." Cara smiled
conspiratorially. "Ah. Now that will be the kind of battle a woman is better
equipped to fight."
Out of the corner of her eye, Kahlan could see Spirit standing in the
bedroom window, looking out at the world, her robes flowing in the wind, her
head thrown back, her back arched, her fists at her sides in defiance of
anything that would think to bridle her.
"Well, not exactly a battle the way you're thinking, but I believe I
can state the case better if I'm dressed properly. That wouldn't be unfair.
I will be putting the issue to him as the Mother Confessor. I believe that
in some ways his judgment has been clouded; it's hard to think about
anything else when you're worried sick about someone you love."
Kahlan's fists tightened at her sides as she thought about the danger
hanging over the Midlands. "He's got to see that all of that is in the past,
that I'm healthy, now, and that the time has come to return to our duties to
our people."
Smirking, Cara swiped back a wisp of her blond hair. "He will see that,
and more, if you were in that dress of yours, that's for sure."
"I want him to see the woman who was strong enough to win against him
with a sword. I want him to see that Mother Confessor in the dress, too."
From the corner of her mouth, Cara puffed another strand of hair off
her face. "To tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind a bath myself. You know, I
think that if I stand beside you in a proper Mord-Sith outfit and my hair is
washed and my braid is done up fresh and I'm looking properly Mord-Sith-like
and I speak my agreement with what you say, Lord Rahl will be all the more
convinced that we're right and inclined to see that the time has come for us
to return."
Kahlan set the plates into the bucket of water. "It's settled, then.
We've enough time before he comes back."
Richard had made them a small wooden tub, big enough to sit in and have
a nice bath. It wasn't big enough to lie back and luxuriate in, but it was
still quite the luxury for their mountain home.
Cara towed the tub from the corner, leaving drag marks across the dirt
floor. "I'll put it in my room. You go first. That way, if he comes back
sooner rather than later, you can keep your nosy husband busy and out of my
hair while I wash it."
Together, Kahlan and Cara hauled in buckets of water from the nearby
spring, heating some in a kettle over a roaring fire. When Kahlan finally
sank into the steaming water, she let out a long sigh. The air was chilly,
and the hot bath felt all the better for it. She would have liked to linger,
but decided not to.
She smiled at recalling all the trouble Richard had had with women in
bathwater. It was a good thing he wasn't there. Later, after they had their
talk, she thought she would ask him to take a bath before bed. She liked the
aroma of his sweat when it was clean sweat.
With the knowledge that she would face Richard with her hair washed and
sparkling, and in her white dress, Kahlan felt more confident about the real
possibility of their return than she had in a long time. She dried and
brushed her hair by the heat of the fire as Cara boiled some more water.
While Cara went in to take her bath, Kahlan went to her room to slip into
her dress. Most people feared the dress because they feared the woman who
wore it; Richard had always liked her in the dress.
As she tossed the towel on the bed, her eye was caught by the statue in
the window. Kahlan fisted her hands at her sides and, standing naked, arched
her back and threw her head back, mimicking Spirit, letting the feeling of
it overcome her, letting herself be that strong spirit, letting it flow
through her.
For that moment, she was the spirit of the statue.
This was a day of change. She could feel it.
It seemed a little odd, after being a woods woman for so long, to be
back in her Mother Confessor's dress, to feel the satiny smooth material
against her skin. Mostly, though, the feeling was the comfort of the
familiar.
As Mother Confessor, Kahlan felt sure of herself. On a fundamental
level, the dress was a form of battle armor. Wearing the dress, Kahlan also
felt a sense of importance, in that she carried the weight of history, of
exceptional women who had gone before her. The Mother Confessor bore a
terrible responsibility, but also had the satisfaction of being able to make
a real difference for the better in people's lives.
Those people depended on her. Kahlan had a job to do, and she had to
convince Richard that she needed to do it. They needed him, too, but even if
he would not
issue orders, he needed to at least willingly return with her. Those
fighting for their cause deserved to know the Mother Confessor was with
them, and that she had not lost faith in them or their cause. She had to
make Richard see that much of it.
Once she was back out in the main room, Kahlan could hear Cara
splashing in the tub. "Need anything, Cara?" she called out.
"No, I'm fine," Cara called from her room. "This feels so good! I think
there's enough dirt in this water to plant potatoes."
Kahlan laughed knowingly. She saw a chipmunk casting about outside the
house. "I'm going to go feed Chippy some apple cores. If you need anything,
call out."
Their universal name for all the chipmunks was "Chippy." They all
answered to it; they knew the name augured well for a handout.
"All right," Cara said from her tub. "If Lord Rahl gets back, though,
just kiss him or something to keep him busy but wait until I'm done before
you talk to him. I want to be with you to help you convince him. I want to
be sure we make him see the light."
Kahlan smiled. "I promise."
She plucked an apple core from the wooden bucket of little animal
snacks they kept hanging on a piece of twine where the chipmunks couldn't
get to them on their own. The squirrels loved apple cores, too. The horses
preferred their apples whole.
"Here, Chippy," Kahlan called out through the door in the voice she
always used with them. She raised the bucket back toward the ceiling and
hooked the line to the peg on the wall. "Chip, Chip, you want an apple?"
Outside, Kahlan saw the chipmunk off to the side, foraging through the
grass. The chill breeze caressed the long folds of her dress to her legs as
she walked. It was almost cold enough to need the fur mantle. The bare
branches of the oaks behind the house creaked and groaned as they rubbed
together. The pines, reaching toward the sky where the wind was stronger,
bowed deeply with some of the gusts. The sun had taken refuge behind a
steel-gray overcast that made her white dress all the more striking in the
gloom.
Near the window where Spirit stood watching out, Kahlan called the
chipmunk again. The chipmunks were held spellbound by the soft voice Kahlan
used when she talked to them. When he heard her, the furry little striped
creature stood on his hind legs for a moment, stiff and still, checking that
all was clear, and when he was sure it was safe, scurried to her. Kahlan
squatted and rolled the apple core out of her hand onto the ground.
"Here you go, sweetheart," she cooed. "A nice apple for you."
Chippy wasted no time starting in on his treat. Kahlan's cheeks hurt
from smiling at the way the chipmunk nibbled his way around the apple core
as it rolled along the ground. She rose to her feet, brushing her hands
clean as she watched, captivated by the little creature at his feverish
work.
He suddenly flinched with a squeak and froze.
Kahlan looked up. She was staring right into a woman's blue eyes.
The woman stood not ten feet away in a pose of cool scrutiny. Kahlan's
throat locked the gasp in her lungs. The woman had seemed to appear in the
middle of nowhere, out of nowhere. Icy gooseflesh prickled up the backs of
Kahlan's arms.
The woman's long blond hair cascaded over the shoulders of an exquisite
black dress. She was of such shapely beauty, her face of such pure
perfection, but especially her eyes were of such intelligent lucid witnesses
to all around her, that she could only be a creature of profound integrity .
. . or unspeakable evil.
Kahlan knew without doubt which it was.
This woman made Kahlan feel as ugly as a clod of dirt, and
instinctively as helpless as a child. She wanted nothing so much as to
shrink away. Instead, she stared into the woman's blue eyes for what
couldn't have been more than a second or two, but in that span of time an
eternity seemed to pass. In those knowing blue eyes flowed some formidable,
frightful current of contemplation.
Kahlan remembered Captain Meiffert's description of this woman. For the
life of her, though, Kahlan couldn't just then recall her name. It seemed
trivial. What mattered was that this woman was a Sister of the Dark.
Without speaking a word, the woman lifted her hands out a little and
turned her palms up, as if humbly offering something. Her hands were empty.
Kahlan committed to the vault through space necessary to close the
distance. She committed to unleashing her power. With her resolution, the
act had in a way already commenced. But she desperately needed to get closer
if it was to be meaningful, or effective.
As she began to move, to make that reckless leap, the world went white
in a bloom of pain.
Richard heard an odd sound that stopped him in his tracks. He felt a
thump through the ground and deep in his chest. He thought he'd seen a flash
in the treetops, but it had been so quick he wasn't sure.
It was the sound, though, as if some great hammer had struck off the
top of a mountain, that made his blood go cold.
The house wasn't far off through the trees. He dropped the string of
trout and the jar of minnows, and ran.
At the edge of the woods where it opened into the meadow, he skidded to
a halt. His pounding heart felt as if it had risen up into his throat.
Richard saw the two women not far away, in front of the house, one
dressed in white, and one in black. They were connected by a snaking,
undulating, crackling line of milky white light. Nicci's arms were lifted
slightly with her hands turned palms up and a little farther apart than the
width of her hips.
The milky light went from Nicci's chest, across the space between the
two women, and pierced Kahlan through the heart. The wavering aurora between
the two turned blindingly bright, as if twisting in an agony it was unable
to escape.
Seeing Kahlan trembling with the fury of that lance of light pinning
her to the wall, Richard was paralyzed by fear for her, fear he knew all too
well, from when she had been on the cusp of death. That bolt pierced Nicci's
heart, too, connecting the two women. Richard didn't understand the magic
Nicci was using, but he instinctively recognized it as profoundly dangerous,
not only to Kahlan, but to Nicci as well, for she, too, was in pain. That
Nicci would put herself at such risk gripped him with dread.
Richard knew he had to remain calm and keep his wits about himself if
Kahlan was to have a chance. He viscerally wanted to do something to strike
Nicci down, but he was certain that it wouldn't be as simple as that. Zedd's
oft-repeated expression-nothing is ever easy-flashed into Richard's mind
with sudden and tangible meaning.
In a desperate search for answers, everything Richard knew about magic
cascaded in a torrent through his mind. None of it told him what to do, but
it did tell him what he must not do. Kahlan's life hung in the balance.
Just then, Cara came flying out of the house. She was stark naked. It
somehow didn't look all that odd. Richard was accustomed to the shape of her
body in her skintight leather outfits. Other than the color, this didn't
look all that different. She was dripping wet. Her hair was undone, which
seemed more outlandishly indecent to him than her naked body. He was used to
seeing her with a braid all the time.
Cara's fist clutched the red leather rod-her Agiel-as she crouched. The
muscles of her legs, arms, and shoulders strained with tension demanding
release.
"Cara! No!" Richard cried out.
He was already tearing across the meadow as Cara sprang and slammed her
Agiel against the side of Nicci's neck.
Nicci shrieked in pain that dropped her to her knees. Kahlan cried out
in equal pain and crumpled to her knees as well, her movement a close match
to Nicci's.
Cara seized Nicci's hair in a fist and yanked her head back. "Time to
die, witch!"
Nicci was doing nothing to stop Cara as the Agiel hung only inches from
her throat.
Richard dove toward the Mord-Sith, desperately hoping he wouldn't be
too late. Cara's Agiel just grazed Nicci's throat as Richard tackled her
around the middle, ramming her backward. The feel of her was briefly
surprising-silky soft flesh over iron-hard muscle. The impact drove the wind
from her when they hit the ground.
Cara was so enraged and in such a combative state that she lashed out
with her Agiel at Richard, not really realizing it was him, knowing only
that she was being prevented from protecting Kahlan.
The violent impact of the weapon to the side of Richard's face felt
like a blow by an iron bar followed immediately by a lightning strike. The
crack of pain through his skull was momentarily blinding. His ears rang. The
jolt took his breath, staggering him, and brought back in a single instant
an avalanche of macabre memories.
Cara was riveted on the kill and furious at any interference. Richard
regained his senses just in time to seize her wrists and pin her to the
ground before she could pounce on Nicci. A Mord-Sith was formidable, to be
sure, but such a woman was instilled with the ability to counter magic, not
muscle. That was why she had been trying to goad Nicci into using her power;
only in that way could she capture the enemy's magic and so overpower her.
Cara's writhing naked body under him hardly registered in Richard's
mind. He tasted blood in his mouth. His attention was focused on her Agiel
and making sure she couldn't use it on him. His head throbbed with a painful
ringing, and he had to fight not only Cara, but encroaching unconsciousness.