She could see the outline of the castle against the starry sky, the notched top edge of the wall, the
towers with lights in them. She was never going back there again, never. Her and Giller were going
to run away to where people were nice and they were never going to come back. While she was
panting,, she heard a voice.
She laid Sara in her lap, on top of the bundle. "We're safe now, Sara. We got away."
"We're never going back to that mean place again."
She had to lean close; she could hardly hear Sara's voice. "What?"
Rachel started to get tears. "But I want him to come with me."
"But I'll be afraid by myself."
"But what am I to do? Where am I to go?"
"All right, if Giller says so, that's what I'll do."
"I love Giller too," Rachel said, "more than anything."
All at once, the woods lit up with blue and yellow light. She looked up. Then came a sudden loud
bang that made her jump. Her mouth dropped open; her eyes were wide as they would go.
The ball of fire lifted into the air. Sparks dropped from it, and black smoke rolled away. The fire
turned to black smoke as it went higher, until it was all dark again.
Sara didn't, say anything.
She looked down at the doll, but she didn't say anything, or even smile back.
"We better get going, like Giller said."
Sara didn't say anything as they rushed away from the castle, down the path. Rachel remembered
what Giller said, that she shouldn't go to the same wayward pine. She turned and went down a deer
trail, through the bramble, in a new direction.
There was someone, or something, near him.
He took a careful peek. With a shock, he saw that it was Kahlan. She was sitting, leaning against
the log, watching him. A rabbit was cooking on the fire. He sat up straight.
"Is it all right if we talk?"
She shrugged in the dim light. "I've been doing a lot of thinking." She had a length of birch branch
that he had cut the night before for the fire, and was stripping off pieces of white bark. "Last night,
after I left, well, I knew you had a headache . . ."
She shrugged again. "I can always tell, by the look in your eyes, when you have a headache." Her
voice was soft, gentle. "I knew you hadn't been getting much sleep lately, and that it was my fault,
so I decided that before I . . . before I left, I would stand watch for you while you slept. So I went
over there," she pointed with the branch, "in those trees, where I could keep my eye on you." She
looked down at the branch as she peeled off strips of bark. "I wanted to make sure you got some
sleep."
She nodded, but didn't look up. "While I was watching, I decided to make a snare, like you taught
me, to see if I could catch you some breakfast. While I was sitting there, I did a lot of thinking.
Mostly, I cried for a long time. I couldn't stand it that you thought those things about me. It hurt
that you thought of me like that. It made me angry too." 10,
"Then I thought about what you said, and I decided there were some things I needed to tell you,
about how to conduct yourself when you are with the Queen. And then I remembered some things I
needed to tell you about which roads to avoid, and about where you might go. I just keep thinking
about things I needed to tell you, things you need to know. Before I knew it, I realized you were
right. About everything."
"Do you think Shota is pretty?"
Kahlan smiled and pushed some hair back over her shoulder. "Not many would dare to say that to a
. . ." She caught herself again. Her secret stood between them like a third person. She started again.
"There is an old women's proverb, maybe you have heard it before. `Never let a beautiful woman
pick your path for you when there is a man in her line of sight.' "
She tossed the branch aside and stood next to him, leaning her hip against the log. She looked into
his eyes at last, her eyebrows wrinkled together. "Richard"-her voice was low, almost a whisper"last night I figured out I was being very stupid. I had been afraid the witch woman would kill me,
and all of a sudden, I realized, she was about to succeed. Only I was doing it for her; letting her
pick my path for me.
Richard couldn't believe it was over. He had never been this happy, this relieved, in his life. Instead
of answering, he reached out and pulled her into his arms, hugged her tight to him. Her arms
slipped around him as she laid her head against his chest for a moment. Then she pushed away.
"Kahlan, I've told you before; you're my friend, and nothing can change that."
Richard wasn't sure anymore that he wanted to hear her secret. He had just gotten her back; he
didn't want to lose her again. He squatted down in front of the fire, picking up the roasting stick
with the rabbit. Sparks swirled up into the waning darkness. He felt proud of her, for catching the
rabbit on her own, the way he had taught her.
Cutting off a piece with his knife, he handed it to her as she sat on the ground next to him, pulling
her hair back off her face. The meat was hot, so she held it lightly with her fingertips, and blew to
cool it. Richard cut a piece for himself and sat back.
He looked over to Kahlan's face, lit by the fire, and nodded before he took a bite.
Richard smiled a little at the memory. "But it wasn't really her."
Richard shrugged, feeling the sting of sorrow. "I guess. It wasn't fair."
Richard looked up at the sky, at the color coming. slowly to it. He suddenly wished Kahlan weren't
telling him what she was; he wished things could stay the way they were. "Don't worry, I'm not
sending you away. We have a job to do. Remember what Shota said? The Queen won't have the
box long; that can only mean someone will take it from her. Better us than Darken Rahl."
He refused to believe that. There was a way, there had to be. Richard took a heavy breath, letting it
out slowly. "All right then, out with it."
"So, what are you?"
Confessor.
Every muscle in his body went stiff. His breath caught in his throat. The Book of Counted Shadows
suddenly flooded through. his mind. Verification of the truth of the words of the Book of Counted
Shadows, if spoken by another, rather than read by the one who commands the boxes, can only be
insured by the use of a Confessor . . . .
Kahlan frowned at the look on his face. "Do you know what a Confessor is?"
Kahlan pulled her knees up, hugging her arms around them, withdrawing just a little. "It's a power,
magic power; that is passed from mother to daughter, going back almost as far as there have been
the lands, back beyond the dark time."
"So you can't get rid of it, even if you wanted to. But what sort of magic is it?"
"Sort of like holding your stomach in?"
"And what does this power do?"
"Try."
"It is the power of love."
Kahlan's back stiffened; indignation flared in her eyes: indignation and the kind of timeless look
Adie and Shota had flashed him, one that said that his words were disrespectful, that even his small
smile was insolent. It was a countenance he was not used to seeing her direct at him. He felt a cold
realization that Kahlan was not used to having anyone smile about her power, and who she was.
Her look said more to him about her power than any words could have. Whatever her magic was, it
was definitely not something to be smiled about. His small grin withered. When she seemed sure he
was not about to say anything else flippant, she went on.
Richard felt bumps on the skin of his arms. "How long does this, this, magic, whatever it is, how
long does it last?"
Richard felt the chill run the rest of the way through him. "So, it's sort of like you bewitch people?"
"The touch of my power is all at once, and final. Nothing could protect you. The person I touch
cannot be brought back, because once I touch them, that person is no longer there. That person is
gone forever. Their free will is gone forever. One reason I was afraid to go to Shota was because
witches hate Confessors. They are fiercely jealous of our power; jealous that once touched, the
person is totally devoted. The one touched by a Confessor would do anything she says." She gave
him a hard look. "Anything."
"Everyone human. Except Darken Rahl. The wizards warned me that the magic of Orden protects
him from our touch. He has nothing to fear from me. On those who are not human, it mostly doesn't
work because they don't have the capacity for compassion, which the magic requires in order to
work. A gar, for example, would not be changed by my touch. It works on some other creatures,
but not exactly the same as it does a human."
Kahlan nodded and leaned back a little, the slump _ settling back into her shoulders. "Yes. She was
dying, and lonely. She was suffering the pain of being away from her kind, the pain of dying alone.
She asked me to touch her. My touch took her fear, and replaced it with a love for me that left no
room for her own pain, for her own loneliness. Nothing was left of her except her love for me."
Kahlan nodded, leaning back the rest of the way against the log, pulling her cloak around her,
looking into the fire. "Even though they are sworn to kill me, once I touch one of them, they are
mine," she said with finality. "They will fight to the death to protect me. That is the reason Rahl
sends four men to kill a Confessor; it's expected she will touch one, then there are three left to kill
him, and her. It takes the three left because the one will fight so fiercely he usually kills one, often
two, but that still leaves at least one to kill the Confessor. On a rare occasion, he will kill the
remaining three. That happened to me with the quad that chased me before the wizards sent me
across the boundary. A quad is the most economical unit to send, they almost always succeed, and
if they don't, Rahl will simply send another.
"Can't you simply touch all four?"
He felt the hilt of his sword against his elbow and a sudden thought came to him. "When we came
through the boundary, and that last man of the quad was after you, and I killed him . . . I wasn't
really saving you, was L"
"Well," he said dryly, "at least I saved you from having to do it."
"How much time does it take to recover after a Confessor has used her power?"
Richard looked over at her. "And in you?"
He turned back to the fire, not liking the sound of her answer. "Is that unusual?" She let out a
breath. "So I have been told." Her voice sounded weary. "Shorter time to recover the power also
means the power is stronger, works more powerfully in the one touched. That is why some of the
quad members I touch are able to kill the other three. It would not be so for a Confessor with a
weaker power.
He knew she wasn't going to say it unless he asked, so he did. "And what is your rank?"
"I'm sorry, Kahlan," he said softly. He was only, just beginning to comprehend the importance of
the woman she was. "So, do you have a title? What do people call you?"
Richard tensed. The sound of "Mother Confessor" had the chill of terrible authority to it. Richard
felt a little overwhelmed. He had always known Kahlan was important, but he had dealt with
important people when he was a guide, and had learned not to be awed by them. But he never knew
she was someone of such prominence. Mother Confessor. Even if he was just a guide, and she was
this important, he didn't care, he could live with that. Surely, she could, too. He wasn't going to lose
her, or send her away because of who she was.
Kahlan lifted an eyebrow to him. "Queens bow down to the Mother Confessor."
"You are more than a queen?" he winced
"Well, I'm not from the Midlands. Just try, I need to understand."
"The place where the Confessors live, my home, is called Aydindril. It is also the home of the
wizards, and the Central Council of the Midlands. Aydindril is a beautiful place. It's been a long
time since I have been home," she said wistfully. "The Confessors and the wizards are closely
linked, bonded; much the way the Old One, Zedd, is linked with the Seeker.
"In the past, arrogant rulers had thought to make the Confessors submit to their word. In those
times, there were farsighted Confessors, now revered as legends, who knew they must lay the
foundation for our independence, or forever submit to domination; so the. Mother Confessor took
the rulers with her power. The rulers were removed from their thrones, and replaced with new
rulers who understood that Confessors were to be left alone: The old rulers, those who were taken,
were kept in Aydindril as little more than slaves. The Confessors took these old rulers with them
when they traveled to the different lands, made them carry the provisions and luxuries of travel.
Back then, there was more ceremony surrounding the Confessors than there is now. Anyway, it
made the intended impression."
"Yes, they have protection, a lot, in fact, but it's not as difficult as it sounds. A Confessor touches
one person, maybe a guard, then she has an ally, he takes her to another, he is taken, soon she is
inside. Each person she touches can get her close to one of higher rank, and gains her more allies.
Working her way up through the trusted positions and advisors, she can be at the king or queen
sooner than you would think, and often before so much as an eyebrow is raised, much less an
alarm. Any Confessor could do it. The Mother Confessor even easier.
"Closing a land to a Confessor is tantamount to an admission of guilt, and is sufficient cause for the
leader to be taken from power. This is why the Mud People, for example, allow me in, even though
they do not often let other outsiders in. Not allowing a Confessor access would raise questions and
suspicions. A leader involved in any sort of plot would gladly grant a Confessor free access, to try
to hide their involvement in any subversion.
Taking a ruler from power. Different times or not, Richard found all this hard to take, to justify.
"What gave these Confessors the right?"
He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I see your point," he admitted. "Have you done this before?
Removing a ruler?"
"I'm not sure that has changed," Richard said, more to himself than to her. "Much of the time, I feel
as if I am nothing more than a pawn, being moved by others. Even by Zedd, and . . ."
"And by me."
Kahlan smiled sadly as she folded her legs under her. "Richard, as you come to understand what I
am, I hope you can remember it's the same with me. I, too, have no choice. But with me, it's worse;
because I was born with my power. At least when this is all done, you can give the sword back if
you want. I am a Confessor .for as long as I live." She paused, then added, "Since I have come to
know you, I would pay any price to be able to give it up, and just be a normal woman."
Kahlan took on an expression of pain that made him feel sorry for her. "It is what we do. We are
the final arbiters of truth. It is the reason the wizards gave us the power, back in times long
forgotten. It is how we serve the people."
She nodded. "Seekers and Confessors are linked in purpose. In a way, we are the opposite ends of
the same magic. The wizards of long ago were almost like rulers, and they became frustrated by the
corruption about them. They hated the lies and deception. They wanted a way to prevent corrupt
leaders from using their power to deceive and subvert the people. You see, these unscrupulous
leaders would simply accuse their political enemies of a crime, and have them executed for it, at
once dishonoring them and eliminating them.
Richard found himself leaning over, the stick frozen in place. He forced himself to move it as she
went on.
"Some peoples of the Midlands won't use a Confessor; the Mud People, for example. They don't
want what they see as outside interference. But they still fear us, because they know what we can
do. We respect the wishes of these people; there is no law forcing them to use our services. But
still, we would force it on them if we suspected there was deception involved. Most lands, though,
do use us. They find it expedient.
"In rare cases, someone who is to be put-to death without the use of a Confessor will call for a
Confessor to be brought in, so that he may give a true confession, and thus prove his innocence. In
all of the Midlands, this is the right of the condemned."
Richard swallowed. "How many confessions have you . . . taken."
Richard tossed the stick aside and took her hand in his, squeezing it tightly. She was starting to cry.
"Kahlan, you don't, have to . . .
"What would they dare to say to a Confessor who has just made a man drop dead in front of their
eyes simply by her command? They all just backed up and got out of our way when we left. It is
not something every Confessor can do. It even scared my wizard speechless."
She nodded as she finished wiping the tears away. "Wizards see it as their duty to protect us, as we
are universally feared and hated. Confessors almost always travel with the protection of a wizard.
One is . . . well, one was, assigned to each of us when we were called to take a confession. Rahl
managed to separate us from our wizards, and now they are dead too. Except Zedd, and Giller."
"The relatives and friends of the man to be executed hate us because they often don't believe their
loved one would do the things they confess to. They would rather believe we somehow trick them
in to confessing." She picked at the meat, pulling off little pieces and chewing. them slowly. "I have
found that people do not often want to believe the truth. It is of little value to them. Some have tried
to kill me. This is one of the reasons a wizard was always with us, to protect us until our power is
recovered."
"It is more than simply what we do. This must all sound very strange to someone who has not lived
with it. The ways of the Midlands, of magic, must seem very odd to you."
"Confessors are independent; people resent that. Men resent that none of them can rule us, or even
tell us what to do. Women resent that we do not live the kind of life they do, that we do not live in
the traditional role of women; we do not take care of a man, or submit to one. We are seen as
privileged. Our hair is long, a symbol of our authority; they are made to keep their hair short, as a
sign of submission to their man and every other per- son of higher status than they. It may seem a
small matter to you, but to our people, no matter having to do with power is small. A woman who
allows her hair to grow beyond the length appropriate to her status is forced to forfeit some of that
status in punishment. In the Midlands, long hair on a woman is a sign of authority, bordering on
defiance. It is a sign that we have the power to do as we wish, and that none may command us; that
we are a threat to all. Much as your sword tells people the same thing. No Confessor would wear
her hair short, and that rankles people, that none could dare make us do so. It is ironic that we are
less free than they, yet they don't see that part of it. We do their distasteful tasks for them, and yet
we are not free to choose what we will do with our own lives. We are prisoners of our power."
"I think your long hair is pretty," he said. "I like it the way it is."
Richard finished his piece of meat and threw the bone in the fire. He leaned back against the log,
not liking the sound of this. "Choosing a mate? What do you mean?"
"Men are terrified of a Confessor who is looking for a mate, because they don't want to be chosen,
to be touched by her. Women are terrified because they don't want their man, or their brother, or
their son to be taken. They all know they have no say in the matter; any who stood in the way of a
Confessor's choosing would be taken by her. People are afraid of me, first because I am the Mother
Confessor, and second because I am long past the time I should have chosen a mate."
Kahlan shook her head sadly. "Confessors have no friends but other Confessors. It is not a problem;
no one would ever have feelings for a Confessor. Every man is afraid of us." She left unsaid that it
was a problem now. Her voice was choking up again. "We are taught from a young age that the
mate we choose must be a man of strength, so that the children we bear will be strong. But it must
not be someone we care for, because we would destroy him. That is why nothing can come of . . .
of us."
"Because . . ." She looked away, her face unable to mask her pain, her green eyes filling with tears.
"Because in the throes of passion, a Confessor's hold on the power would relax, and she would
release it into him, even though she didn't mean to, and then he would no longer be the person she
cared for. There is no way for her to prevent herself from doing it. None. He would be hers, but not
in the same way. The very one she cared for would be with her, but only because of the magic, no
longer by his choice, and not because he wanted to. He would only be a shell, holding what she had
put into him. No Confessor would want that for a man for whom she cared.
"But . . . I could . . ." He could think of no defense for his heart
Richard felt the hopes of his world collapsing in the flames of his understanding. His heart sank
into the ashes.
"Yes." Her voice broke with emotion as she tried to keep from crying. "I'm sorry, Richard." She
knitted her fingers together. "I have never before cared for anyone the way I care for you. I wanted
to be with you so badly. I almost forgot who I was. I almost didn't care." Tears started running
down her cheeks. "Do you see now how dangerous my power is? Do you see how Easily I could
destroy you? If you hadn't stopped me when you did . . . you would have been lost."
Zedd had tried to warn him, tried to save him this pain. Why couldn't he have listened? Why did he
have to be so stupid and think he would be smart enough to figure something out? He knew why.
He stood slowly and took a step to the fire so she wouldn't see his tears. He kept swallowing so he
could try to talk.
He listened to the fire crackling for a long time as she didn't answer. He turned back to her when he
heard her crying. She looked up and held her hand out for him to help her up. Once up, she leaned
against the log, pulled her long hair back from her face, and then folded her arms below her breasts
"They chose women for this very reason, but didn't give sufficient thought to how the power would
take on a life of its own. They didn't foresee how the power would be passed on to the offspring,
and be so different in men.
Kahlan looked down, away from his eyes as she went on. "For some reason, it takes the unique
compassion of a woman to handle the power, to be free from its corrupting influence. The wizards
don't know the reason for this. It is similar with the Seeker: he must be the right one, one found by
a wizard, or he will use the power for corrupt reasons. That is why Zedd was so angry at the council
of the Midlands for taking the naming away from him. Male Confessors, not all, but most, cannot
retain their sense of balance with the power. They don't have the strength to hold it back when they
should." She peered up at him.
"So what happens now?" he asked warily. "What happens when a Confessor bears a male child?"
"When a boy is born to a Confessor, he is brought to a special place in the center of Aydindril,
where his mother places him on the Stone." She shifted her weight; she was clearly having
difficulty telling him about this. He took her soft hand in both of his and rubbed the back of it with
his thumbs, even though he felt for the first time that he had no business touching her in a familiar
manner. "As I told you, a man touched by a Confessor will do whatever she tells him." He could
feel her hand trembling. "The mother commands her husband in what she is to do . . . and he . . . he
places a rod over the baby's throat . . . and . . . and he steps on both ends."
"Yes," she admitted in a voice he could hardly hear. "No chance can be taken that any male
Confessor lives, because he might be one who could not handle the power, and would use it to gain
dominance for himself, bring back the dark times. The wizards and the other Confessors watch
carefully any Confessor who is with child, and do everything they can to comfort her if it is a boy,
and therefore must be . . ." Her voice trailed off.
it with a vengeance second only to what he felt toward Darken
But first, there would be the matter of the sword; he would not give back the Sword of Truth. He
would destroy it.
Not only of Rahl, but of him, too; there was nothing beyond that, everything beyond was dead.
When he stopped Rahl, and Kahlan was safe, he would go back to the Hartland Woods, alone, and
his life would be over.
He looked down at the dying fire for a moment and then closed his eyes tight, forcing back the
lump in his throat, the tears. Pain seared through his chest as it sank with his labored breathing.
"No," she moaned.
"Kahlan," he managed at last, "is there any law, or rule or something, that says we can't, be
friends?"
He turned numbly to her and put his arms around her. "I could really use a friend right now," he
whispered.
"I know," he said as tears ran down his cheeks. "But Kahlan, I love . . .
She could stop him from saying it out loud, but not in his mind.
A small flame of his anger flickered in the ashes of his dreams. "Have you picked your mate .yet?"
"Make one promise for me."
His throat felt so hot he had to swallow twice to talk. "Promise me you won't pick him until I'm
back in Westland. I don't want to know who it is."
After a time of standing, holding her, trying to get control of himself, fighting back the blackness,
he forced a smile. "You're wrong about one thing."
"You said no man can command a Confessor. You are wrong. I command the Mother Confessor
herself. You are sworn to protect me, I hold you to your duty as my guide."
"That she doesn't give me any more trouble about ending her life; I need her. And that she gets us
to the Queen, and the box, before Rahl, and then sees us safely away."
He shrugged, forcing himself to smile for her, even though he was dying inside. "I am the Seeker. I
can do anything." He wanted to say more, but his voice failed him.
He only wished he were alone so he could cry
He felt his face flush with the thought of that, the thought of him, a woods guide, teaching her
things like that. The Mother Confessor. More than a queen. Queens bow to the Mother Confessor,
she had said. He felt as foolish as he had ever felt in his life. Mother Confessor. Who did he think
he was? Zedd had tried to warn him, if he had only listened.
He understood why she had been afraid to tell him. He was her only friend. He felt even more
foolish for thinking only of himself. If her friend was all he could be, then that's what he would be.
Even if it killed him.
She pulled her cloak around herself, against the gusts of cold wind. Her face had resumed once
more the calm expression that showed nothing, except that, as well as he knew her, he could now
read the trace of pain in it. "It would have been easier to have killed myself."
Near to midday, they came to a juncture of trails, marked with a stone half again as tall as he.
Richard stopped, studying the symbols cut into the polished faces.
"They give direction to different towns and villages, and their distances," she said, warming her
hands under her armpits. She inclined her head toward a trail. "If we want to avoid people, this trail
is best."
She looked at the stone again. "I usually travel the roads between towns, not these less-traveled
trails. The stone does not give the distance by the trail, only by the roads, but I would guess a few
more days."
She nodded. "We are an hour or two from Homers Mill. Why?"
She looked up the trail toward the town, as if she could some- how see it. "Homers Mill is a lumber
town, a sawmill. They would have a lot of horses, but it may not be a good idea. I have heard their
sympathies lie with D'Hara."
"I guess if we are careful, we could go have a look. But don't you dare pull out any of your silver or
gold. It is Westland marked, and these people view anyone from across the western boundary as a
threat. Stories and superstition."
She lifted an eyebrow. "Have you forgotten so soon? You are with the Mother Confessor. I have
but to ask."
Homers Mill sat hard on the edge of the Callisidrin River, drawing both power for the sawmills and
transportation for the logs and lumber from the muddy brown water. Spillways snaked through the
work areas, and ramshackle mill buildings loomed over the other structures. Stickered stacks of
lumber lay row upon row under roofs of open buildings, and even more lay under tarps, waiting for
either barges to take them by river or wagons to take them by road. Houses squatted close together
on the hillside above the mill, looking as if they had started life as temporary shelter and as the
years had worn on, became unfortunately permanent.
When they got close enough, the wind brought something, other than flapping tarps and banging
tin; it brought the putrid smell of death. Richard checked that his sword was loose in its scabbard.
"Rahl?" he asked her.
"Looks more like a slaughter to me."
They walked along through the town, staying close to the buildings, away from the center of the
street, occasionally having to step over the gore. Every shop was looted, and what wasn't carried off
was destroyed. From one shop, a bolt of pale blue cloth, with evenly spaced dark- stains, had
unwound itself across the road, as if it had been thrown out because its owner had ruined it in
death. Kahlan pulled his sleeve, and pointed. On the wall of a building was written a message-in
blood. DEATH TO
"What do you suppose that means?" she whispered, as if the dead might hear her.
Richard's eye was caught by a cart sitting in front of a grain store. The cart was half loaded with
small furniture and clothes, the wind whipping at the sleeves of little dresses. He exchanged a
glance with Kahlan. Someone was left alive, and it looked as if they were preparing to leave.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said in a gentle voice, "come out."
Richard and Kahlan frowned at each other. "No," she said. "We are . . . just travelers, passing
through."
The three adults collapsed to their knees, heads bowed, each with their eyes to the floor; the
children buried their faces silently in the women's skirts. With a sideways glance at Richard,
Kahlan quickly motioned with her hands for them to get up. They had their eyes fixed on the floor
and couldn't see her frantic gesturing.
Their heads came up, confused. They looked at her hands, urging them to get to their feet. With
great reluctance, they complied.
The woman bowed deeply from the waist, remaining bent. "I am Regina Clark, Mother Confessor."
Regina's eyes filled with tears, and she cast a shrinking glance toward Richard as her lip trembled.
Kahlan looked back to him.
He understood; the women were too afraid to talk in front of him. He gave a helping arm to the
stooped old man, and herded four of the children out. Two of the youngest girls refused to leave the
women's skirts, but Kahlan nodded to him that it was all right.
"Can you tell me what happened here?" Richard asked him.
Tears welled up and he wouldn't say anything else. Fearing to get any more forceful, he decided to
let the old man be. Richard offered him a piece of dried meat from his pack, but he ignored it. The
children shrank back from his hand as he held it out with the same offer. He put the meat back in
his pack. The oldest girl, just nearing womanhood, looked at him as if he might slay them, or eat
them, on the spot. He had never seen anyone so terrified. Not wanting to frighten her or the other
children more than they were, he kept his distance, smiled reassuringly, and promised he wouldn't
hurt them, or even touch them. They didn't look as if they believed him. Richard turned toward the
door often; he was uncomfortable and wished Kahlan would come out.
"There are no horses here," she said, watching fixedly ahead as she walked back the way they had
come. "I think it best if we stay off the roads, stay to the less-traveled trails."
She glared at the bloody message on the wall as they went past. DEATH TO ALL WHO RESIST
THE WESTLAND.
"That's crazy!" Richard whispered harshly.
Richard shook his head in wonderment. "Then what?"
"From Westland!" Richard was incredulous.
Richard ushered her back onto the trail ahead of him as he gave one last puzzled glance over his
shoulder. "So it .wasn't Rahl's army that did this?"
Richard grabbed a fistful of shirt at her shoulder, jerking her to face him.
She blinked at him. "Richard, I did not say it was true. I am merely telling you what I was told,
what those people back there believe."
"That is not the end of it."
"Those left alive began leaving at once, taking what they could carry. More left the next day, some
after burying members of their families. That night, a detachment of Westlanders came back,
maybe fifty men. There were only a handful of townspeople left by that time. The people were told
that resisters to Westland are not allowed to be buried, that they are to be left, for animals to pick
clean, as a reminder to all of what will happen to any who resist the rule of Westland. To make
their point, they collected all the men still left, even the boys, and executed them." By Kahlan's
inflection of the word executed, and making no mention of the manner, he knew he didn't want to
know. "The little boy and the old man back there were somehow overlooked or they would have
been killed too. The women were made to watch." She paused.
She shook her head. "I don't know, not many." She peered back up the trail, staring off toward the .
town a moment before her intensely angry eyes returned to his. "The soldiers raped the women.
And the girls." Her eyes burned into his. "Each one of those girls you saw back there was raped by
at least . . ."
She studied his face. "I know. But who? Why?" Her expression cooled back to calm.
"Our job is not to protect a few people, or the dead; it is to protect the living, by stopping Darken
Rahl. We do not have the time to give; we must get to Tamarang. Whatever trouble is about, we
had best stay off the roads."
"Nor do L" Her features softened. "Richard, I think they will be safe. Whatever army it was that did
this is not likely to return for a couple of women and children; they will be off to hunt bigger
game."
"A group of soldiers that big isn't going to be traveling by trail through a thick wood such as this,
they'll stay to the roads, but I think it best if we start looking for wayward pines at night. No telling
who could be watching."
He frowned. "Of course not."
It was a hard, uncomfortable moment before she released his eyes, turning at last and starting off.
He pulled his cloak tight, chilled from without, and within.
-+---
"Light for me," Rachel said. The little pile of sticks with rocks all around burst into flame, lighting
the inside of the wayward pine with a bright red glow. She put the fire stick back in her pocket and
with a shiver warmed her hands at the fire as she looked down at Sara lying in her lap.
She pulled some berries from her pocket, eating them one at a time, warming her hands in between
each one. Sara didn't want any berries. Rachel nibbled on the piece of hard cheese; all the other
food she had brought from the castle was gone. Except the loaf of bread, of course. But she couldn't
eat that; the box was hidden inside it.
A pine bough moved by itself, making her start. She saw a big hand holding it back: Then the shiny
blade of a long sword. She stared, her eyes wide. She couldn't move.
Rachel heard a whine, and realized it was coming from her own throat. Still, she couldn't move. A
woman pushed her head in beside the man's. She pulled the man back behind her. Rachel clutched
Sara to her chest
Rachel pulled the partly unbundled loaf of bread close to her hip. She wanted to run, but her legs
didn't work. The woman pushed into the wayward pine, came close and knelt down, sitting back on
her heels, the man right behind her. Rachel's eyes looked up at her face; then she saw the woman's
long hair, lit by the firelight. Her eyes went even wider, and another cry came from her throat. At
last her legs worked, at least a little: they scooted her backward against the trunk -of the tree,
pulling the bread with her. Women with long hair were always trouble. She bit down on Sara's foot,
panting, a whine coming with each breath. She squeezed Sara with all her strength. She tore her
eyes from the woman's hair; she darted glances to the sides, looking for a place to run.
The woman reached out and touched Rachel's arm. She jumped with a cry, pulling back.
"Who's Sara?" the man asked.
"Please," she whined, "can't you just leave us be?"
The man stuck his head around the woman. "My name's Richard. What's yours?" She liked his
eyes. "Rachel."
"Richard!" the woman squawked. "How could you say such a thing!"
Rachel giggled.
"Oh, nonsense. Rachel, I have a little scissors here in my pack, and I'm pretty good at cutting hair.
Would you like me to fix your hair for you? At least I could make it straight. If you leave it like
that, you might scare a dragon or something."
"All right then, come over here and sit on my lap and we'll fix it right up."
Rachel kept an eye toward the woman, fearing a slap. He looked over, too. He pointed with the
scissors.
"Richard! Where did you learn to speak to children like this!"
Rachel giggled at him; she couldn't help it. "I don't think she's ugly, I think she's the prettiest lady I
ever saw." That was the truth. But Kahlan's long hair scared her something fierce.
Rachel wasn't ever supposed to tell anyone with long hair, any lord or lady, that she was hungry.
Princess Violet said it was improper, and punished her one time for telling someone she was
hungry when she was asked. She looked at up Richard's face. He smiled, but still she was too afraid
to tell Kahlan she was hungry
Rachel looked up at Richard again. He gave her a wink, .then sighed. "I'm afraid I caught more than
we can eat. If you don't help us, we'll just have to throw some out."
Kahlan started taking off her pack. "Where are your parents?"
Richard's hands stopped working, then started again. Kahlan got a look like she was sad, but Rachel
didn't know if it was real or not. She gave her a squeeze on her arm with a soft hand "I'm sorry,
Rachel." Rachel didn't feel too sad; she didn't remember her parents, only the place she lived with
the other children.
"You're supposed to keep that. Then someday if you like a boy, you can give him a lock of your
hair, and he can keep it in his pocket, right next to his heart." He winked at her. "To remember you
by."
"Sorry, Rachel, I'm just a woods guide." His face got a little sad then. She was glad he wasn't a
lord. He turned and dug a little mirror out of his pack and handed it to her. "Have a look. Tell me
what you think."
She threw her arm around Richard. "Oh, thank you, Richard, thank you. It's the prettiest my hair
has ever been." He gave her back a hug that felt as good as any Giller had ever given her. One of
his big, warm hands rubbed her back. It was a long hug, too, the longest she had ever got, and she
wished it would never end. But it did.
Kahlan stuck a big piece of fish on a stick for her, and told her to blow on it until it was cool
enough not to burn her mouth. Rachel blew a little, but she was too hungry to blow for long. It was
the bestest fish she ever had. It was as good as the piece of meat the cooks had given her that one
time.
Rachel dove for the loaf of bead, snatching it away just before Kahlan got her hand on it. Rachel
hugged it to her with both arms. "No!" She pushed with her heels, scooting back, away from
Kahlan.
"Rachel? What's the matter?" Kahlan asked.
"It's for my grandmother!" She could feel a tear run down her cheek.
"Of course. I'm song, Rachel, we didn't know. I promise, too. Forgive me?"
"Rachel," Richard asked, "where is your grandmother?"
"Homers Mill."
"Rachel, we won't touch your grandmother's bread," Richard said in a soft voice, "we promise."
Rachel still didn't move. She thought about running away, fast as she could, but she knew they
could run faster, and would catch her. She had to do as Giller told her, hide with the box until
winter, or all those people would get their heads chopped off.
Rachel searched their faces, trying to decide if they were telling the truth. Women with long hair
could lie easily. She looked at Richard; he didn't look like he was lying: She got up and ran over to
him. He pulled her into his lap, then put Sara on her lap.
"Rachel," Richard said, "I'm sorry, but we can't let you go to Homers Mill. There's no one left in
Homers Mill. It's not safe
"I'm afraid it's not safe anywhere, Rachel," Kahlan said. "We will take you with us, so you will be
safe."
Kahlan smiled. "We are going to Tamarang, to see the Queen." Rachel stopped chewing. She
couldn't breathe. "We will take you with us. I'm sure the Queen will be- able to find someone to
take care of you, if I ask."
Kahlan nodded and spoke softly to him. "We will see to her before I skin Giller."
No. Giller said not to trust anyone. He might be too afraid of Kahlan, and tell her. She had to be
brave for Giller. For all the other people. She had to get away.
Richard nodded as he hugged her. "I'll take the first watch. You get some sleep."
Richard mussed her hair. "See you in the morning, little one."
Kahlan held her tight. Rachel shook. Fingers stroked her hair. Kahlan rocked her while Rachel eyed
a dark gap in the boughs on the other side of the wayward pine. Kahlan's chest was making funny
little movements, and Rachel realized with wonder that she was crying, too. Kahlan put her cheek
against the top of her head.
Kahlan took her hands away and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Rachel's legs were too wobbly to
run.
Rachel was afraid that no matter what she said she would get a slap. She gave a nod, ready for what
might happen. Instead, Kahlan took a blanket out of her pack and wrapped it around the both of
them, she guessed so it would be harder to get away.
Rachel lay on her side, her back against Kahlan, who curled all around her and put her arm over
her. It felt nice, but she knew it was a trick. Kahlan's face was close to her ear, and as she lay there,
Kahlan told her a story about a fisherman who turned into a fish. The words made pictures in her
head, and for a while she forgot about her troubles. Once, she and Kahlan even laughed together.
When she was finished with the story, Kahlan kissed the top of her head and then stroked the side
of her forehead.
Against her will, she fell asleep, and had wonderful dreams.
"You want to keep sleeping with her?" he whispered real soft.
"No," Kahlan whispered back, "I'll take my watch."
She could hear him lie on his back and pull his blanket up. Rachel waited until she heard his even
breathing and she knew he was asleep before she slipped out from under the blanket
"Well?" .
"I saw long bruises. They are from a switch."
"I saw no scratches."
"I should have seen her leaving."
It didn't seem to make her feel any better. "But you can track her, right?"
Kahlan's face was ashen as she rose. "This is my fault." She pushed out of the wayward pine. He
tried to grab her arm, but she tore away from him.
"Kahlan, it isn't your fault."
"What?"
He watched the hurt in her eyes. "Why haven't you just cut it yourself?"
"How could that be?" "Remember the pain you suffered, from the magic of the sword, when you
killed a man the first time? It is the same pain. It will render a Confessor unconscious before the
task can be accomplished. I tried only once. Every Confessor tries once. But only once. Our hair
must be cut by another when it needs trimming. But none would dare to cut it all of." She turned to
him once more. "Will you do it for me? Will you cut my hair?"
His eyes returned to her. "No.".
"Because I respect you for who you are. The Kahlan I know wouldn't want to fool people by trying
to make them think she is less than she is. Even if you did fool some, it would change nothing. You
are who you are: the Mother Confessor. We all can be no more, or less, than who we are." He
smiled. "A wise woman, a friend of mine, told me that once."
"Not this one. This one is your friend."
"She didn't take any food either, other than that loaf of bread she's saving for some reason, and she
was starving."
"She isn't going to Homers Mill."
Richard shook his head. "She doesn't have a grandmother. When she said her grandmother was in
Homers Mill, and I told her she couldn't go there, she didn't even falter. She simply said she would
go somewhere else. She never gave it a thought, never asked about her grandmother, or even raised
an objection. She's running from something."
"And on her back. Whenever my hand touched one, she flinched, but she didn't say anything. She
wanted to be hugged that badly." Kahlan's brow wrinkled with sorrow. "I'd say she was running
from whoever cut her hair like that."
He nodded again. "It was meant to mark her, maybe as property. No one would cut someone's hair
like that, except to give a message. Especially in the Midlands, where everyone pays so much
attention to hair. It was deliberate, a message of power over her. That's why I cut it for. her, to
remove the mark."
"There is more to it, though, than simply running away. She lies easier than a gambler. She lies
with the ease of someone who has a powerful need."
"I don't know." He sighed. "But it has something to do with that loaf 'of bread."
"She had no shoes, no cloak, nothing but her doll. It's her most precious possession, she's devoted
to it, yet she let us touch it. But she wouldn't let us get within an arm's length of that loaf of bread. I
don't know much about the magic in the Midlands, but where I come from, a little girl will not
value a loaf of bread more than her doll, and I don't think it's any different here. Did you see the
look in her eyes when you reached for the bread, and she snatched it away? If she had had a knife,
and you hadn't backed off, she would have used it on you."
"No? You said yourself she ate as much as both of us put together. I was beginning to think she was
related to Zedd. Explain why if she was half starved, she hadn't even nibbled on that loaf of bread:"
He shook his head. "There is something going on, and that loaf of bread is at the center of it."
Richard felt the weight of the tooth against his chest. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
"No. As Zedd is fond of saying, nothing is ever easy. How can we justify going after one little girl,
to solve the riddle of her loaf of bread, while Rahl goes after the box?"
Richard gave her a one-armed hug. "That she did. She's one special little girl. I hope she finds what
she's after, and that she is safe." He let go -of Kahlan and started for the wayward pine, to get their
things. "Let's get moving."
Richard was always glad when he saw a spiderweb stretched across the trail; he had begun to think
of spiders as his guardians. When he had been a guide, he had always been annoyed to have them
tickle his face. Thank you, sister spider, he said to himself every time he passed one now.
As much as he tried not to think about Rachel, he found himself frowning with worry before he
realized he was doing it again. He saw Kahlan's brow wrinkle sometimes when she turned,
checking to the sides. One time he asked if she thought he had made the right decision. She didn't
have to ask which decision he was talking about. She asked how long he thought it would have
taken to catch her. He thought two days, if every- thing went right, at least one to catch her and
another back. Two days, she had told him, was more than they could afford. It felt reassuring to
hear her say it.
"Kahlan, Zedd told us we both had to stay away from Darken Rahl, that we have no power against
him, no defense."
Richard frowned. "Well, Shota said the Queen wouldn't have the box for long."
"No, it was a warning, that the Queen wouldn't have it long, meaning we must hurry. So what if
Darken Rahl is already there?"
"Of course not! I'm only saying we should keep in mind what we are walking into; that Darken
Rahl might be there."
He walked next to her for a minute without saying anything. At last he asked, "And what have you
concluded? What will we do if he is there?"
Richard lost a stride; she didn't wait for him, but walked on.
The moon was well up by the time Kahlan had a stew cooking on the fire, and by a bit of luck that
surprised him, Richard had two rabbits in the snare before he expected to, and was able to add them
to the pot.
As if bidden by her words, the old man, white hair in disarray, strode into the circle of light,
stopping on the other side of the fire, hands on his hips, his robes looking a little tattered.
Richard and Kahlan both blinked, wide-eyed, and came to their feet. The old man blinked, too,
when Richard drew the sword. In a heartbeat, Richard was over the fire, the sword's point to his
ribs.
"Back up," Richard ordered. They moved, the sword between them, to the trees. Richard eyed the
trees carefully.
"I've been called by you once, and seen you once, yet neither was you. Third time tricked, marks
the fool," Richard quoted. He saw what he was looking for. "I'll not be tricked the third time, I'll not
be the fool. Over there." He pointed with his chin. "Walk. between those two trees."