The Ride With You Was Worth The Fall (6 Part 2 /16)
Title: The Ride With You Was Worth The Fall (6/?) Part 2
Author: ortunata13
Pairing: ara/Kahlan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-consensual sex with a minor. Please read A/N notes.
Word Count: 7332
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Most certainly, I do not own these characters.
Summary: In this installment, Cara and Kahlan arrive at Veritas, a city build upon a land that has magical properties. Those who cross the city gates are cleansed of their past sins. The effect of this magic on Mord'Siths, however, is very different than on regular people. It is up to Kahlan to essentially save Cara from herself.
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 part 1 | 6 part 2 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16
Chapter 6, Part 2
Veritas
This journey through Cara’s past takes an unexpected turn, one that causes Kahlan to wince, terrified by the thought of what she may be about to witness. She knows this place well. She’s spent many carefree days here in the company of her little sister and other Confessors. For years, she’d held fond memories of this beautiful hideaway, memories that turned into nightmares when this one-time oasis became a mass grave for her sister Dennee and the rest of their kind. Kahlan’s gaze seeks out the Mord’Sith finding her kneeling under the shade of a tall tree. It is the only spot on the island from which the peaks of the snow-covered mountains of Aydindril, which serve as a backdrop to the Confessor’s Palace, are visible.
The island of Valeria, the Confessors’ sanctuary, uncovered by a seer known for doing Darken Rahl’s bidding, is being overrun by Mord’Sith. Dozens of them killing and being killed in their search for a child, an infant boy born to a Confessor. They are to find him and bring him back to their Lord -- alive. His plan is to raise the child as his own son, grooming him into the ultimate weapon. His breaking is to begin as soon as his Confessor magic manifests; a tiny Rada’Han already awaits his arrival at the palace.
It is the Mord’Sith Cara Mason, who since her twelfth summer had developed an uncanny ability to discern even the faintest cries of a child, who finds the infant and his mother. She walks through the door, not at all concerned with the element of surprise, and follows the sounds until she stands before Dennee Amnell, holding the boy, who is her very image, in her arms. The Confessor doesn’t move for there is nowhere to go.
With her brow furrowed and her hand on the hilt of her undrawn weapon, the Mord’Sith leans against the door, bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun that pours through a small window. The rest of the room covered in a blanket of darkness, it is as if Cara Mason herself is luminous.
She stands there, still glimmering, with her gaze fixed on the Confessor. They stay that way for what seems like an eternity. It is the Confessor who, no longer able tolerate the uncertainty, breaks their silence. “What are you waiting for?” she asks, with her head held high, even as tears threaten to leave her eyes.
For the first time, the Mord’Sith veers her gaze toward the boy, her expression never changing. Shaking her head, she says, “I will not tear a child from his mother’s arms.”
The Confessor doesn’t know what to make of the woman standing before her. She’d gone over a thousand possible scenarios when she was told that the Mord’Sith were attacking, but this she hadn’t conceived of for a single moment. “Will you allow us to leave then?” she asks, with no small amount of skepticism.
“I will not allow nor disallow it. You are free to do as you please…but there are dozens of Mord’Sith outside this door who do not see things as I do. One of them will kill you and take your son to Darken Rahl,” she says without a trace of emotion.
“Will you help me then?” Dennee asks, for the first time dropping her Confessor mask, allowing every bit of fear and vulnerability to show through.
Cara looks down at the child again, and without looking up at his mother says, “He is a male Confessor.” Her tone is different this time as is her gaze. It sounds almost like a plea, an interjection of reason into an impossible situation.
Dennee has no reasonable argument to present. “I love him,” she says, “even as he grew inside me I already loved him more than my life.” She pauses for a moment, trying to gather herself, then asks a second time, “Will you help me?”
That’s when it happens, the door swings open revealing a tall Mord’Sith with light hair and delicate features. “Get out of here, Dahlia,” Cara says, in a low, threatening tone.
“Take the child. What are you waiting for?” Dahlia spits out.
“I’m warning you, Dahlia, leave now. I’m going to handle this my way,” Cara says, menacingly.
“You’re a fool, Cara, a weak fool. Be glad that it’s me here and not one of our sisters, or you’d be dead already.” With that she takes a step toward the Confessor and reaches for the child, but the Confessor is faster, much faster. Gripping Dahlia’s throat, while still holding her son in her arms, she releases her magic, not stopping to consider that every Mord’Sith on the island will sense it.
“Dahlia,” Cara murmurs, watching her beg for forgiveness with her last breath.
It’s over, they both know it; already they can hear the Mord’Sith approaching. The Confessor draws her weapon but Cara stops her, pointing down at her agiel with her chin. “No,” she says, “this will be quicker and less painful.” The Confessor weeps, clinging to the boy, but it is already too late, it was too late on the day of his birth but she can’t see that, not loving him much as she does, it isn’t possible.
“I am his mother,” she says, closing her eyes as she drives her weapon through his heart; Cara has to look away.
Kahlan looks on in complete horror. “Little sister,” she cries out, left gasping for air at the sight of Dennee taking her own son’s life, not by choice but to spare him a fate far worse than death. Kahlan notices that present day Cara is in the room too, leaning against a wall, watching the blonde Confessor cradle her dead child.
“Do it,” says Dennee, still holding the boy’s lifeless body in her arms.
“That isn’t necessary,” Cara says, “it’s the child they are after. You can still --“
Looking up from the dead child in her arms, she says, “I just killed my own son. It is necessary.”
Cara nods and, swallowing the lump in her throat, presses her agiel to Dennee Amnell’s heart. She understands, it’s what she would have wanted. Just then a pack of Mord’Sith burst through the door. “Give him the Breath of Life,” one of them says.
“I’ve already tried, I couldn’t bring him back. She drove the dagger through his heart.”
The others pick up their fallen sister, whose body is already cold, but Cara stays behind. “I’ll catch up,” she says.
Kahlan charges at Cara who is kneeling beside Dennee and the dead child. Her eyes are black swirls of rage as she cries out in the grip of the Con'Dar but it’s to no avail, Cara is there and yet not. She pounds her fists against Cara’s back, stabs her with both her daggers even, but the Mord’Sith feels nothing. Finally drained from the release of her magic, she collapses on the ground and weeps.
The sun having finished its descent, it is in complete darkness that Cara buries both mother and child in what she deems to be the most appropriate spot. The wind already carrying the acrid smell of death, Cara Mason leaves Valeria without bothering to retrieve her horse. She decides, instead, to walk with no particular destination in mind.
She has a handful of coins -- enough for a meal and perhaps a room -- but no supplies. It is late into the night when she finally finds an inn. Even before she’s crossed the threshold, the sneers and looks of disdain come at her from every angle. “Please, we don’t want any trouble,” says the man behind the counter.
“All I want is a room and a hot meal,” she says. That’s when she spots him, the stranger who will serve as her distraction for the night. She knows that it isn’t what she needs but she has to do something because this dull, hollow ache behind her ribcage is more than she can bear. It isn’t like the breathtakingly beautiful agony of an agiel nor is it like the white-hot symphony of sensations caused by a blade piercing through flesh and bone -- both of those serve as reminders that one is still alive. No, what she’s experiencing is a kind of death, only it doesn’t involve the body. That type of death she’s experienced several times over. This is far worse. This is the kind of death that culminates in the realization that everything one thought to be true was, in fact, a lie.
She takes her pleasure from the stranger roughly, an act of violence mixed with anguish and disgust -- at herself for who she is and for who she isn’t, and at him for being unable to satisfy the need in her. The act itself leaves her with an emptiness the likes of which she’s never known. Without looking back, she takes leave of him at dawn.
Already a mob has gathered. “We don’t want your kind here,” says the tavern owner, with the courage that comes with numbers. Only Cara is still Mord’Sith and arithmetic may not yield the expected results. Twenty men, maybe more, wielding a variety of weapons, come at her all at once, but they don’t stand a chance, not against Darken Rahl’s finest. Lying on the ground, defeated and bloodied, he says, “Nobody wants you. Why don’t you get out of my tavern and go back to whatever vile pit you crawled out of?” The words cut through her far deeper than any blade ever could.
Without a fixed destination or purpose, she walks. For days she walks, drinking water from streams when she finds them but eating nothing. At night she stops sometimes but sleep never finds her. Instead, she leans against trees and looks up at the stars.
A few days later she stands outside a small farm, the one by the stream she’d fished as a child. There’s a woman tending to the wash, a woman in which even from a distance, Cara sees her own mother’s delicate mannerisms, only she’s far too young. Cara concludes that it’s her mother’s other daughter, the one who wasn’t abducted and tortured by the Mord’Sith. She watches her for a long moment, allowing for the possibility that maybe there is a place where she’s wanted, but she’d lost those illusions long ago.
When she turns to leave she comes face to face with a little girl who, at the mere sight of her, releases a bloodcurdling scream. The girl’s mother calls out her name, running to her side, and in less than a heartbeat a man stands between Cara and the child, aiming an arrow at her. “Get away from my daughter,” he growls.
“I’m not here to hurt anybody,” Cara says, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Then leave, now, before I put an arrow through your eye,” he says. Cara tips her head and turns to go but there’s something about the way in which she quirked up one of the corners of her mouth that sets off a spark of recognition in the other woman.
“Wait,” she says, releasing her daughter and walking past her husband before saying the name, the name she hadn’t uttered in fifteen years. “Cara?” she asks, her question answered the moment the Mord’Sith looks into her eyes, which are the mirror image of her own, and of her daughter’s as well.
“Yes,” Cara says.
“Grace, you know her?” the husband asks, with no small amount of disgust.
“She’s my sister,” Grace replies. “I can’t believe it’s you,” she adds, but Cara flinches when Grace reaches out to touch her cheek. Already Cara understands that she doesn’t belong here.
Still, she’s willing to try.
She’s kind, Cara’s mother’s other daughter, even as a child Cara remembers her as such. Thus, at Grace’s request, she forgoes her Mord’Sith leather for a dress. Gazing at her own image in the mirror, a tidal wave of memories threatens to overwhelm her. She sees the child version of herself reflected back at her, as well as her mother. These are images that she’s buried deep inside herself but standing in her childhood home, they cut through her like a thousand shards of glass.
And still, she’s willing to try.
All the while, present day Cara watches the scene play out, leaning on the threshold of the door that opens to a life that is no longer hers. Kahlan can’t look at her, she’s too angry -- at Cara and at herself -- because for as much as she wants to hate her for taking her sister’s life, she can’t manage it. Not as she watches her try so hard to turn back the hands of time so that she can be the person she would have been had it not been for that fateful day when her life was stolen from her.
Dinner is an awkward affair. The little girl, Ela, and her brother both tremble with fear, and Grace’s husband cannot hide his rage.
It is when the soldiers burst through the door that Cara’s willingness to try comes to an end. Out of habit, she’d kept the pack that held her belongings at her side; quickly able to draw her agiel, she fights her way out of the house.
The next morning, Grace finds the dress Cara wore the night before folded neatly on the small bench next to the door. Grace will always be grateful that Cara had been willing to try.
Three days later, as she leans against a tree, looking up at the stars, she feels a strong hand on her shoulder that she knows all too well. “Berdine,” she says in a whisper, without turning toward her.
“It’s a beautiful night,” Berdine says, handing Cara a water skin and some bread with dry meat.
“It is,” Cara replies.
“I’ve missed our talks, sister,” Berdine says, “Perhaps we can have one now.” Cara purses her lips and tips her head in assent.
“It was different for me, Cara. I was in my sixteenth summer when I was taken, and not because of my potential as a Mord’Sith but because our Lord took an interest in all the nonsense that fills the space between my ears. My breaking, if you can even call it that, took less than a candlemark and within days I found Raina. I have my books and I have my girl,” she says, with a shrug.
“How did you find me?” Cara asks, after a long silence.
“When you didn’t return from Valeria with the others, it was rumored that you were captured, but I didn’t believe it so I set out to find you. Our Lord is too busy raging over the loss of the male Confessor to concern himself with my whereabouts so I left no stone unturned until I found you.” Berdine, too, is now gazing up at the stars.
“So what happens now?” Cara asks.
Berdine ponders the question for a long moment, already knowing that there is only one possible course of action. “I suppose we mount my steed and ride back to the People’s Palace. Where else is a Mord’Sith to find a bed and a hot meal?”
“Nowhere else,” Cara replies, shaking her head.
With that, they are on their feet.
Kahlan struggles to take it all in. She’s caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, oscillating between rage and compassion, and wanting nothing more than to put an end to this madness. There is, however, a perverse need to know how it all ends that keeps her from ripping the blasted amulet off her neck. Whatever it is that’s expected of her in this affair, she’s certain that she does not have it to give. She even suspects that if she did have it, she wouldn’t give it, not to her sister’s murderer.
By the look of her, no one doubts her story of having been captured and thrown into a dungeon for days without food or water. She returns to her duties but with a little less spring in her step, and spends much of her time with Berdine.
During the last few months, the rift between the worlds of the dead and the living had grown much worse. Darken Rahl’s allegiance to the Keeper seems to change from one day to the next. On any given day, the Mord’Sith are ordered to either help save the world or help destroy it. By now every Mord’Sith in the Palace is experiencing one symptom of whiplash or another. It had been the Seeker’s failed attempt at uniting the Boxes of Orden that had set off this sequence of events but, as usual, it was up to the Mord’Sith to fix it.
Her latest assignment is to ensure that Kahlan Amnell, the Mother Confessor of the Midlands, succeeds in her mission to save the Night Wisps from extinction. This is yet another contradiction since it was Darken Rahl himself who had the Night Wisp forest burned to the ground, killing all but one of the creatures. Cara doesn’t care much about the world either way so she goes along with the madness. Except that just as she’s about to set off, Darken Rahl says, “Oh and Cara, while you’re at it, kill Kahlan Amnell.” Cara nods and closes the door behind her.
Making certain that the other woman doesn’t notice her presence, Cara skulks behind her, listening in on her nonsensical prattle with the tiny creature. To an onlooker, the scene would seem absurd. The Mother Confessor prancing around the forest apparently having a conversation with her own hand, which responds in a series of headache-inducing squeaks, is almost laughable. Just as she’s having that thought, a Gar attacks the Confessor. The woman puts up a good fight, but on this moonless night Cara knows that even she would have missed the protruding root that caused Kahlan Amnell to fall. When the Confessor hits the ground, the tiny creature falls out of her hand and, without hesitation, Cara picks it up and heads for the Grottoes of the Northern Foothills. Darken Rahl’s last order replays in head several times over -- each one of them taking her back to her last encounter with a Confessor.
Having been lectured at length by Berdine as to the needs of this particular species, Cara grudgingly engages the creature in a rather one-sided conversation. That she refers to it as ‘bug’ is probably not conducive to any meaningful interaction. Especially since Cara has yet to decode the Wisp’s magical language. Berdine told her she was to listen with her heart but Cara informed Berdine that she did not have ears anywhere other than on the sides of her head.
“I can’t understand a single thing you’re saying,” Cara says. “I’m sorry the Confessor isn’t here to talk to you. She had to draw the Gars away but it’s your good fortune that it happened. Now you have me, which means we’ll succeed.” With that, she takes off running, not stopping until they are safely out of Gar territory. It is midmorning when she finally takes rest for a moment. “Well, Wisp, what do you want to talk about?” The creature chirps in response, earning itself an eye-roll from Cara. “I bet you use words to talk to the Confessor, but she couldn’t have run all night like I did.”
Cara stops dead in her tracks, amazed at herself. “Wait, did you just ask me what I’m doing with my life?” Able to discern the meaning behind the Wisp’s chirps for the first time, Cara’s entire face lights up.
“Mord’Sith serve the Lord Rahl,” she explains.
“Mord’Sith don’t have choices, so no, I can’t choose to serve someone else.” She rolls her eyes, realizing that now she’s the one walking around talking to her own hand.
“Fine, say I did have a choice, who would you have me serve? Some other power-hungry tyrant?”
“I’m a Mord’Sith, nobody wants me.”
“How am I supposed to find someone to serve who won’t make me do terrible things?” Cara flails her arms in frustration. “You really don’t understand, do you?”
“I am not a good person. Ask the Confessor, she’ll tell you.”
“Wisp?” she asks, after a long silence from the creature “Wisp, say something. Please.”
When it finally replies, Cara almost wishes it hadn’t. “What do you mean you’re dying?”
“You used all your strength to save the babies -- hold on, Wisp, I’m going to get you to the birthing ground.”
Running faster than she’d ever thought herself capable of, Cara arrives at the Grottoes of the Northern Foothills just as the tiny creature’s light fades to nothing. She gently lays the lifeless Wisp on a flower petal, and says, “I’m sorry I failed you.” Closing her eyes for a long moment, fighting back tears, Cara turns to leave.
It is the soft humming of hundreds of newborn Wisps that causes her to dare to look back. Like a million stars in the night sky, the babies are all around her, each of them a brightly lit promise that there could perhaps be a place in this world for a Mord’Sith who longs to be more. Cara stays there for a long time, gazing up at them, wishing that their mother had lived, that she were there to keep them well. Just then she hears footsteps approach; it’s the Mother Confessor, she’s certain of it. Tucked away behind some bushes, she watches as the babies flock to her, all of them glowing bright pink when they make contact with her skin. Cara listens as she comforts them, telling them that their mother lives inside each of their hearts and will always be with them.
It sounds like complete nonsense to Cara but the babies seem happier because of it, and since Confessors don’t lie, Cara decides to believe her. She’d been ordered by her Lord to kill Kahlan Amnell and this would be a perfect moment to do it. Not only is she lame, she’s also open and vulnerable in other ways. The Confessor has obviously forgotten herself, focusing only on reassuring the newborn Wisps. It would be easy, too easy, Cara decides.
“You did it, you saved the Night Wisps from extinction,” Kahlan says grudgingly to the Mord’Sith standing beside her. There is softness in Cara’s eyes, a look of pure awe that Kahlan wishes wasn’t there. It’s too beautiful, too pure an expression to be found on the face of a murderer.
For the next three days, she follows Kahlan Amnell, stepping into her every footstep, eating when Kahlan eats, taking her rest when she does, allowing her eyes to fall on the same objects as her, and after a while even favoring her left ankle as she Kahlan does. So great is her focus while carrying out this self-appointed task that by mid-afternoon she can practically predict Kahlan’s next gesture: a slight tilt of the head here, followed by a hand to her forehead to shade her eyes from the sun now, a brief pause to relieve the stiffness in her ankle.
At some point Cara’s thoughts become muddled, the line between her and Kahlan Amnell becomes increasingly blurred. Perhaps it’s the hot sun or maybe exhaustion, but it’s almost as if she’s feeling Kahlan’s feelings, thinking her thoughts, breathing the air in her lungs. She’s supposed to be stalking her prey, but instead she’s losing herself in the Mother Confessor and, much to her surprise, it feels good -- like the bond to the Lord Rahl, except better; like her agiel, except without the pain. At that moment, and for a long time after, she’d rather cut off her own hand or even press her agiel to her own heart than harm Kahlan Amnell. Her mission has changed, she will not kill Kahlan Amnell, she’ll make certain she arrives at her final destination. Unharmed.
The Confessor hastens her pace as she approaches the Seeker’s open arms. Cara’s gaze remains on the Confessor until she’s safe in his embrace. She’ll now return to the palace and deal with the consequences of failing at half of her mission. The Night Wisps were saved from extinction, and so was the line of Confessors.
Kahlan turns toward present day Cara, who, of course, still isn’t aware of her presence, and asks, “Why, why didn’t you kill me? It would have been so easy but you didn’t. Why?” She knows an answer won’t come. By now she feels as if she’s experienced a thousand different versions of Cara, some unbearably beautiful, others cruel beyond measure. None of it matters anymore; all she wants is the ride to be over.
As Cara approaches the People’s Palace, she’s struck by the immensity of it. This massive monstrosity rising up as high as the clouds, a monumental display of arrogance and excess -- its size and form chosen to accommodate the egotistical demands of the Rahl bloodline. “Mord’Sith serve the Lord Rahl,” she mumbles to herself, rather amused by the notion.
The moment she crosses the city gates she sees them, Sisters of the Dark walking about the grounds, talking amongst themselves, plotting no doubt. Her Lord is yet again resorting to magic as a means of bending reality to his will. That the Mord’Sith will have to clean up yet another mess is a given. In an effort to avoid them, she circles around the stables and enters through the north tower, taking the stairs that lead directly into the library. “Berdine,” she calls out, as she slips in through this little known entrance.
“They’re casting a spell,” she blurts out, taking it for granted that Cara spotted the witches. “I haven’t been able to decipher all of it but it has something to do with us, and transferring the Seeker’s Han to the Lord Rahl.” Cara scowls, peering down at the parchment on Berdine’s desk over her shoulder.
Cara’s hand goes to her own chin for a moment as if weighing their options. “Why don’t we kill them?” Cara asks, matter-of-factly.
Berdine rolls her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “Is that your solution for everything?” Cara shrugs and nods her head. “We can’t. The Lord Rahl has tasked the entire D’Haran army with their protection. They are to kill anyone who dares approach them. I’ve learned through journey books from several Sisters that it’s the same at all the temples. We’d be outnumbered five hundred to one if we tried.” Berdine’s voice is thick with concern and her eyelids heavy with sleep. Cara can’t recall ever seeing her like this.
“Where’s Raina?” It doesn’t often happen that she and Berdine are not at each other’s sides.
“The temple at Jandrilyn, she’s to return in three days.” Berdine veers her gaze from the parchments to her friend standing beside her, and says, “I miss her, Cara.” She hasn’t any words that will help matters so she squeezes Berdine’s shoulder, and heads for the door.
“I’ll be back,” she says. “I have to go tell our Lord that Kahlan Amnell isn’t dead.”
***
“Cara, my dear, I was beginning to think you’d joined my brother and his merry band of idiots.” He’s lying on his bed with a half-naked slave girl beside him. She’s not exactly a child, but certainly not a woman; Cara’s hand goes to her agiel and stays there. “The Night Wisps, do they live?”
“Yes, my Lord.” She pauses for a moment, then says, “As does the Mother Confessor.”
“I see, and why is that exactly?” he asks, in that low tone reserved for those who are about to pay the price for having failed him.
Not one for spinning tales, Cara decides to make do with the truth. “I couldn’t do it, my Lord.”
Darken Rahl furrows his brow, as if deep in thought. “A spell of protection,” he declares, as if having arrived at a brilliant conclusion. “Did it feel as if some powerful force were preventing you from killing her?”
Cara found the exchange as comical as it was pathetic. Her Lord had spun a tale all on his own. Pursing her lips for a moment, she raises both her eyebrows, and says, “Yes, I suppose it could be described as such.”
“That damned wizard. It’s just as well, I have far more interesting matters to tend to,” he says, raking his eyes over the frightened girl in his bed. “Leave us,” he says, with the wave of a hand.
Cara returns to the library with a smirk on her face, finding Berdine slumped over her desk in deep slumber, Cara blows out the flame on the lamp that lit the room. Deciphering the spell would have to wait. She spends the night curled up on a small chaise in the back of the room, not at all surprised that behind closed eyelids, the Mother Confessor’s face greets her with a smile so bright it would put the sun to shame. Because it brings her a measure of peace that has escaped her for months, she chooses not to question it.
***
News that the Seeker and his cohorts have succeeded in closing the rift between the world of the living and the world of the dead reaches the People’s Palace, and in the instant it does, the entire world takes on a dizzying momentum. Everything is happening much too fast. Everywhere she turns, Cara sees witches and soldiers rushing from one end of the Palace to the other. The mayhem culminates with Darken Rahl ordering all the Mord’Sith to gather at the Garden of Life. Since she’d given up on following orders weeks ago, Cara heads to the library instead.
Berdine is stuffing various parchments and books into a pack that she tosses at Cara as soon as she crosses the threshold. “Your agiel, Cara,” Berdine says, looking up at her with tears already streaking her cheeks, “drop it, now.” When Cara hesitates, Berdine rips it out of its holster and throws it across the room.
“Have you lost your mind?” Cara asks, clenching her fists at her sides.
“He’s going to kill us, Cara, he’s going to kill us all with our own agiels. Already, our sisters at the outer temples lay dead.” Berdine grips the edge of her desk with both hands to steady herself. “That’s what the spell does, Cara, I deciphered it moments ago; it kills the Mord’Sith with the magic of their agiels.”
“The outer temples,” Cara says, “Raina.”
“Already dead, my girl is already dead, and you have to make it right for me, for all of us.”
“Come with me,” Cara says, grabbing her shoulders.
“And do what? Live in a world without her? Never.” And then the screams come from the Garden of Life. “Take the pack, in it you’ll find everything you need, sister.”
“I’ll make it right,” Cara says, speaking with more conviction and emotion than she ever has in her life. She then jumps out of the window, certain that the fall alone will kill her, but somehow she lands on her feet and has the good fortune of finding a horse waiting for her below. She hasn’t as yet crossed the Palace gates, and already she smells the stench of burning flesh. From that moment on, everything she does is pure instinct.
Traveling all night to the point that her animal is about give out, she finally stops by a stream so that the horse can drink, and she can fill a water skin. Attached to the saddle, she finds a pack and quickly empties its content. A knife catches her eye; staring at it for a long moment, she reaches behind her head hacking off her braid. All of her movements are quick and precise now -- they have to be, or she’ll fall to pieces. The next step is to rid herself of her Mord’Sith leathers… rid herself of her Mord’Sith leathers. The implication of it is staggering but she can’t think about it, attaching meaning to it will surely kill her and that can’t happen, not after she promised Berdine that she’d make things right. Cara will stay alive long enough to make things right.
Just before dawn, she catches a glimpse of the back of a farm. Never in her life has she been reduced to thievery, but on this day, she has no choice. With one swift move, she’s over the fence and skulking over to a clothesline. In the name of the Ancient Order of the Sisters of the Agiel, she confiscates a pair of trousers, a shirt, and pair of boots that lay by the door. Having managed a wardrobe change, she stops just outside the walls of a fairly large city and lights a fire. Holding her hand above the flames, then lowering it enough to feel the burn -- up and then back down, over and over -- she’s finally ready to tie the last loose end. Cara Mason reaches back into her pack and tosses her leathers into the flames, gazing into the crackling fire as it consumes the last remnants of her life as a Mord’Sith.
The city is bustling with activity, everywhere she looks there are merchants peddling their goods. People crowd the streets, going about their lives as if nothing has happened, as if the entire world hadn’t changed. Then again, why would they care? It is only Mord’Sith who have been wiped off the face of the Earth. Most likely the news has already reached the people of the Midlands and they are celebrating the demise of her kind. At this moment, and for a long time after, she wishes that Berdine hadn’t deciphered the spell, that she’d stood beside her sisters in the Garden of Life with her agiel at her side. It would be far better than being all alone in the world, with no Lord, no sisters, and nowhere to go.
The inn at which she takes a room is at least quiet and clean. It will give her an opportunity to think, to devise some sort of plan, a Mord’Sith must always have a plan. It’s been inculcated in her since childhood, except she isn’t really Mord’Sith, not anymore, not without her agiel or her leathers. She isn’t anything anymore. She lies on the bed staring up at the ceiling for days, watching the sun rise and set in nothing but shades of gray, not bothering to take meals, and unable to find sleep. It occurs to her that this is how the Mother Confessor must have felt upon learning of the massacre at Valeria. If she believed in such things, Cara would have categorized the annihilation of the Mord’Sith as some sort of cosmic retribution. The promise she’d made to Berdine feels like a noose around her neck for she has no way of keeping it. Still, she’s willing to try.
It isn’t yet midmorning and already the tavern is filled with patrons. Cara orders her meal then takes a seat at a table in the back of the room, hoping to avoid having to interact with overly friendly strangers who, without her Mord’Sith leathers, will not think twice about approaching her. Being a Sister of the Agiel carried as one of its many benefits the ability to ward off unwanted company.
The barmaid who brings her meal to the table instantly drops her gaze to the not at all unpleasant view provided by the ill-fitting man’s shirt Cara’s wearing. Under different circumstances, the pretty brunette would have made for fairly interesting company but right now Cara has too much on her mind to even consider it. “Will that be all, then?” the woman asks, leaning in just enough so that her breast brushes up against Cara’s arm. Cara allows her eyes to rake over the woman from head to toe but doesn’t reply. “The last woman who spurned my advances was a Confessor, what’s your excuse?” she asked, miffed by the rejection.
In less than a heartbeat, Cara is on her feet with her arm firmly wrapped around the woman’s waist. “Wait, what did you say?”
Taking it as an invitation, her hands quickly go to Cara’s hips, nudging her closer so that their bodies are pressed together. “Mmm, you’re a strong one, and such pretty eyes. Why don’t we --”
“The Confessor was here?” Cara asks, tightening her hold on the woman.
“Yes, three days ago. I could wear a pretty white dress for you,” she breathes into Cara’s ear.
Cara loosens her grip but doesn’t release her. “Where was she headed?”
The barmaid tears away from her with a scowl on her face. “Are you interested in her or in me?”
“I have an important message for her,” Cara says, her hands are now gripping the woman’s arms.
“I don’t know,” she says, “go ask the blacksmith. He tended to her horse.”
Cara rushes toward the door, dropping some coins on the table on her way out. “Nice to meet you, too,” the barmaid adds, walking off in a huff.
Gold, as it turns out, is as effective a means of gathering information as is an agiel. It isn’t long before she pieces together enough details to go about the task of finding Kahlan Amnell, the Mother Confessor of the Midlands -- to what end she does not know but that is her plan. That one look from the Confessor will reveal what she is doesn’t concern her at the moment. Death at the hand of Kahlan Amnell is far more honorable than the way in which her sisters met their end. Wearing a newly acquired black leather armor, and shoulder length hair, she mounts her horse and follows the Confessor into the harshest land in all of the territories.
***
It is with a violent jolt that Kahlan suddenly finds herself back at the inn, kneeling on the floor next to Cara as she had been before placing the amulet around her neck. She’s disoriented, as if just having woken from a dream, or rather a nightmare, that hadn’t reached its logical conclusion. It takes her a moment to situate herself, to gain some clarity as to what is happening or has happened to her. Past and present are jumbled together in a series of images that are still replaying in her head. “Cara,” she murmurs, registering the Mord’Sith’s presence in the room.
The sound of her name leaving Kahlan’s lips stirs something in Cara, something strong enough to draw her back into the present moment. She’s writhing in agony, pain the likes of which she’d never thought possible. Not even dying felt as bad as this wrenching sensation that’s taken hold of her entire body. Coupled with the reality of the things she’s done, of the life she’s lived, the thought of dying feels like a gift. A Mord’Sith never second guesses herself, and more importantly, she never looks back. It had been inculcated in her throughout her training but it’s only at this moment that she fully understands why.
Kahlan furrows her brow and narrows her eyes, listening to the wretched sound coming from the prone form beside her. That’s when it all comes back to her -- the newly gained clarity, renewing her rage. “You killed my sister,” she says. “For months, we’ve traveled together, fought side by side, and it was you who took her from me. I trusted you.” Her hand is already on Cara’s throat, magic teetering on the edge of release.
“Confess me,” Cara says, “I deserve it.” A single tear runs down her cheek as she meets Kahlan’s gaze.
Only it isn’t Kahlan who is looking back at her, it is the Mother Confessor of the Midlands, and her grip tightens for a moment -- leaving no doubt in Cara’s mind that this is how it will end. Kahlan is silent for a long moments. This is an internal struggle that she’s experienced before -- every Confessor has. She know that the choice she’s about to make will define her, and decide Cara’s fate. “No, you don’t,” she says, briefly closing her eyes, and releasing her grip. “Your life was taken from you as a child; I will not take it from you again.”
“But you have to,” Cara pleads, “take your revenge. My crimes are too great. You’ve seen the things I’ve done. Do it, please.” She’s still in agony -- death is her only avenue of escape.
“I’ve looked into your eyes and I have seen that you are truly remorseful. While I would like nothing more than to avenge my sister’s death, I am neither executioner nor murderer, I am the Mother Confessor.” Her hand moves to Cara’s cheek and rests there for a long moment. “AlI I feel for you, and for the child that you were, is compassion.”
The moment Kahlan utters the words, the amulet around her neck glows bright blue and what were previously broken pieces of glass pressed together, becomes whole and complete. The pain leaves Cara’s body and all she can do is look up at Kahlan in complete awe.
Cara’s wails having ceased, the healer gingerly opens the door, knowing either Cara is dead, or Kahlan and the amulet still around her neck succeeded at making the Mord’Sith whole. “You must both take rest now,” she says, surprised to find that Cara is still alive. Turning toward Kahlan, she adds, “You are as formidable a woman as you are reputed to be, Mother Confessor. I did not tell you before, but all others who have attempted to wear the amulet for this purpose have failed. You alone had sufficient courage and goodness in your heart to see it through. Your compassion saved her life.” With that, she nods at Cara and takes leave of them.
“I should go,” Cara says, now seated on the floor resting her elbows on her knees. “You should not be forced to wake up to the face of your sister’s killer every day.”
Drifting out of her own reverie, Kahlan allows Cara’s words to hover above her before finally taking in their meaning. “I can never forgive you for what you did to my sister but if anything were to happen to me, the Seeker will still need rescuing, and it will be up to you to make certain that Darken Rahl pays for what he’s done.”
It’s pity, Cara is certain of it, for Kahlan Amnell needs no one at her side to defeat Darken Rahl or any other enemy. It’s pity, but on this day she feels nothing if not pitiable, so she’ll accept it. What’s more, she will serve Kahlan Amnell for as long as she’ll have her, and just as she’d promised, she’ll protect her with her life.
The sun still shines high in the midday sky when, out of exhaustion, they each settle into their own bed. Things have changed, and while it causes Cara to experience an entirely new type of agony, she knows it could not be otherwise. Neither of them finds sleep easily but the smell of clean linens and the soft pillows supporting their heads provide some measure of comfort. Perhaps not the type they both long for, but comfort nonetheless. For the first time in weeks, Kahlan’s thoughts turn to Richard, to the ease with which he finds ways to make her smile even when she’s angry, to his boundless optimism and the many times it has gotten him into trouble, to that warm expression that rarely leaves his face. It’s tempting, the thought of losing herself in some idealized notion of eternal happiness with Richard by her side, so she allows herself to do just that. Heavy eyelids and the deafening silence between her and Cara finally deliver her into the refuge of sound sleep.
Author: ortunata13
Pairing: ara/Kahlan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-consensual sex with a minor. Please read A/N notes.
Word Count: 7332
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Most certainly, I do not own these characters.
Summary: In this installment, Cara and Kahlan arrive at Veritas, a city build upon a land that has magical properties. Those who cross the city gates are cleansed of their past sins. The effect of this magic on Mord'Siths, however, is very different than on regular people. It is up to Kahlan to essentially save Cara from herself.
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 part 1 | 6 part 2 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16
Chapter 6, Part 2
Veritas
This journey through Cara’s past takes an unexpected turn, one that causes Kahlan to wince, terrified by the thought of what she may be about to witness. She knows this place well. She’s spent many carefree days here in the company of her little sister and other Confessors. For years, she’d held fond memories of this beautiful hideaway, memories that turned into nightmares when this one-time oasis became a mass grave for her sister Dennee and the rest of their kind. Kahlan’s gaze seeks out the Mord’Sith finding her kneeling under the shade of a tall tree. It is the only spot on the island from which the peaks of the snow-covered mountains of Aydindril, which serve as a backdrop to the Confessor’s Palace, are visible.
The island of Valeria, the Confessors’ sanctuary, uncovered by a seer known for doing Darken Rahl’s bidding, is being overrun by Mord’Sith. Dozens of them killing and being killed in their search for a child, an infant boy born to a Confessor. They are to find him and bring him back to their Lord -- alive. His plan is to raise the child as his own son, grooming him into the ultimate weapon. His breaking is to begin as soon as his Confessor magic manifests; a tiny Rada’Han already awaits his arrival at the palace.
It is the Mord’Sith Cara Mason, who since her twelfth summer had developed an uncanny ability to discern even the faintest cries of a child, who finds the infant and his mother. She walks through the door, not at all concerned with the element of surprise, and follows the sounds until she stands before Dennee Amnell, holding the boy, who is her very image, in her arms. The Confessor doesn’t move for there is nowhere to go.
With her brow furrowed and her hand on the hilt of her undrawn weapon, the Mord’Sith leans against the door, bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun that pours through a small window. The rest of the room covered in a blanket of darkness, it is as if Cara Mason herself is luminous.
She stands there, still glimmering, with her gaze fixed on the Confessor. They stay that way for what seems like an eternity. It is the Confessor who, no longer able tolerate the uncertainty, breaks their silence. “What are you waiting for?” she asks, with her head held high, even as tears threaten to leave her eyes.
For the first time, the Mord’Sith veers her gaze toward the boy, her expression never changing. Shaking her head, she says, “I will not tear a child from his mother’s arms.”
The Confessor doesn’t know what to make of the woman standing before her. She’d gone over a thousand possible scenarios when she was told that the Mord’Sith were attacking, but this she hadn’t conceived of for a single moment. “Will you allow us to leave then?” she asks, with no small amount of skepticism.
“I will not allow nor disallow it. You are free to do as you please…but there are dozens of Mord’Sith outside this door who do not see things as I do. One of them will kill you and take your son to Darken Rahl,” she says without a trace of emotion.
“Will you help me then?” Dennee asks, for the first time dropping her Confessor mask, allowing every bit of fear and vulnerability to show through.
Cara looks down at the child again, and without looking up at his mother says, “He is a male Confessor.” Her tone is different this time as is her gaze. It sounds almost like a plea, an interjection of reason into an impossible situation.
Dennee has no reasonable argument to present. “I love him,” she says, “even as he grew inside me I already loved him more than my life.” She pauses for a moment, trying to gather herself, then asks a second time, “Will you help me?”
That’s when it happens, the door swings open revealing a tall Mord’Sith with light hair and delicate features. “Get out of here, Dahlia,” Cara says, in a low, threatening tone.
“Take the child. What are you waiting for?” Dahlia spits out.
“I’m warning you, Dahlia, leave now. I’m going to handle this my way,” Cara says, menacingly.
“You’re a fool, Cara, a weak fool. Be glad that it’s me here and not one of our sisters, or you’d be dead already.” With that she takes a step toward the Confessor and reaches for the child, but the Confessor is faster, much faster. Gripping Dahlia’s throat, while still holding her son in her arms, she releases her magic, not stopping to consider that every Mord’Sith on the island will sense it.
“Dahlia,” Cara murmurs, watching her beg for forgiveness with her last breath.
It’s over, they both know it; already they can hear the Mord’Sith approaching. The Confessor draws her weapon but Cara stops her, pointing down at her agiel with her chin. “No,” she says, “this will be quicker and less painful.” The Confessor weeps, clinging to the boy, but it is already too late, it was too late on the day of his birth but she can’t see that, not loving him much as she does, it isn’t possible.
“I am his mother,” she says, closing her eyes as she drives her weapon through his heart; Cara has to look away.
Kahlan looks on in complete horror. “Little sister,” she cries out, left gasping for air at the sight of Dennee taking her own son’s life, not by choice but to spare him a fate far worse than death. Kahlan notices that present day Cara is in the room too, leaning against a wall, watching the blonde Confessor cradle her dead child.
“Do it,” says Dennee, still holding the boy’s lifeless body in her arms.
“That isn’t necessary,” Cara says, “it’s the child they are after. You can still --“
Looking up from the dead child in her arms, she says, “I just killed my own son. It is necessary.”
Cara nods and, swallowing the lump in her throat, presses her agiel to Dennee Amnell’s heart. She understands, it’s what she would have wanted. Just then a pack of Mord’Sith burst through the door. “Give him the Breath of Life,” one of them says.
“I’ve already tried, I couldn’t bring him back. She drove the dagger through his heart.”
The others pick up their fallen sister, whose body is already cold, but Cara stays behind. “I’ll catch up,” she says.
Kahlan charges at Cara who is kneeling beside Dennee and the dead child. Her eyes are black swirls of rage as she cries out in the grip of the Con'Dar but it’s to no avail, Cara is there and yet not. She pounds her fists against Cara’s back, stabs her with both her daggers even, but the Mord’Sith feels nothing. Finally drained from the release of her magic, she collapses on the ground and weeps.
The sun having finished its descent, it is in complete darkness that Cara buries both mother and child in what she deems to be the most appropriate spot. The wind already carrying the acrid smell of death, Cara Mason leaves Valeria without bothering to retrieve her horse. She decides, instead, to walk with no particular destination in mind.
She has a handful of coins -- enough for a meal and perhaps a room -- but no supplies. It is late into the night when she finally finds an inn. Even before she’s crossed the threshold, the sneers and looks of disdain come at her from every angle. “Please, we don’t want any trouble,” says the man behind the counter.
“All I want is a room and a hot meal,” she says. That’s when she spots him, the stranger who will serve as her distraction for the night. She knows that it isn’t what she needs but she has to do something because this dull, hollow ache behind her ribcage is more than she can bear. It isn’t like the breathtakingly beautiful agony of an agiel nor is it like the white-hot symphony of sensations caused by a blade piercing through flesh and bone -- both of those serve as reminders that one is still alive. No, what she’s experiencing is a kind of death, only it doesn’t involve the body. That type of death she’s experienced several times over. This is far worse. This is the kind of death that culminates in the realization that everything one thought to be true was, in fact, a lie.
She takes her pleasure from the stranger roughly, an act of violence mixed with anguish and disgust -- at herself for who she is and for who she isn’t, and at him for being unable to satisfy the need in her. The act itself leaves her with an emptiness the likes of which she’s never known. Without looking back, she takes leave of him at dawn.
Already a mob has gathered. “We don’t want your kind here,” says the tavern owner, with the courage that comes with numbers. Only Cara is still Mord’Sith and arithmetic may not yield the expected results. Twenty men, maybe more, wielding a variety of weapons, come at her all at once, but they don’t stand a chance, not against Darken Rahl’s finest. Lying on the ground, defeated and bloodied, he says, “Nobody wants you. Why don’t you get out of my tavern and go back to whatever vile pit you crawled out of?” The words cut through her far deeper than any blade ever could.
Without a fixed destination or purpose, she walks. For days she walks, drinking water from streams when she finds them but eating nothing. At night she stops sometimes but sleep never finds her. Instead, she leans against trees and looks up at the stars.
A few days later she stands outside a small farm, the one by the stream she’d fished as a child. There’s a woman tending to the wash, a woman in which even from a distance, Cara sees her own mother’s delicate mannerisms, only she’s far too young. Cara concludes that it’s her mother’s other daughter, the one who wasn’t abducted and tortured by the Mord’Sith. She watches her for a long moment, allowing for the possibility that maybe there is a place where she’s wanted, but she’d lost those illusions long ago.
When she turns to leave she comes face to face with a little girl who, at the mere sight of her, releases a bloodcurdling scream. The girl’s mother calls out her name, running to her side, and in less than a heartbeat a man stands between Cara and the child, aiming an arrow at her. “Get away from my daughter,” he growls.
“I’m not here to hurt anybody,” Cara says, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Then leave, now, before I put an arrow through your eye,” he says. Cara tips her head and turns to go but there’s something about the way in which she quirked up one of the corners of her mouth that sets off a spark of recognition in the other woman.
“Wait,” she says, releasing her daughter and walking past her husband before saying the name, the name she hadn’t uttered in fifteen years. “Cara?” she asks, her question answered the moment the Mord’Sith looks into her eyes, which are the mirror image of her own, and of her daughter’s as well.
“Yes,” Cara says.
“Grace, you know her?” the husband asks, with no small amount of disgust.
“She’s my sister,” Grace replies. “I can’t believe it’s you,” she adds, but Cara flinches when Grace reaches out to touch her cheek. Already Cara understands that she doesn’t belong here.
Still, she’s willing to try.
She’s kind, Cara’s mother’s other daughter, even as a child Cara remembers her as such. Thus, at Grace’s request, she forgoes her Mord’Sith leather for a dress. Gazing at her own image in the mirror, a tidal wave of memories threatens to overwhelm her. She sees the child version of herself reflected back at her, as well as her mother. These are images that she’s buried deep inside herself but standing in her childhood home, they cut through her like a thousand shards of glass.
And still, she’s willing to try.
All the while, present day Cara watches the scene play out, leaning on the threshold of the door that opens to a life that is no longer hers. Kahlan can’t look at her, she’s too angry -- at Cara and at herself -- because for as much as she wants to hate her for taking her sister’s life, she can’t manage it. Not as she watches her try so hard to turn back the hands of time so that she can be the person she would have been had it not been for that fateful day when her life was stolen from her.
Dinner is an awkward affair. The little girl, Ela, and her brother both tremble with fear, and Grace’s husband cannot hide his rage.
It is when the soldiers burst through the door that Cara’s willingness to try comes to an end. Out of habit, she’d kept the pack that held her belongings at her side; quickly able to draw her agiel, she fights her way out of the house.
The next morning, Grace finds the dress Cara wore the night before folded neatly on the small bench next to the door. Grace will always be grateful that Cara had been willing to try.
Three days later, as she leans against a tree, looking up at the stars, she feels a strong hand on her shoulder that she knows all too well. “Berdine,” she says in a whisper, without turning toward her.
“It’s a beautiful night,” Berdine says, handing Cara a water skin and some bread with dry meat.
“It is,” Cara replies.
“I’ve missed our talks, sister,” Berdine says, “Perhaps we can have one now.” Cara purses her lips and tips her head in assent.
“It was different for me, Cara. I was in my sixteenth summer when I was taken, and not because of my potential as a Mord’Sith but because our Lord took an interest in all the nonsense that fills the space between my ears. My breaking, if you can even call it that, took less than a candlemark and within days I found Raina. I have my books and I have my girl,” she says, with a shrug.
“How did you find me?” Cara asks, after a long silence.
“When you didn’t return from Valeria with the others, it was rumored that you were captured, but I didn’t believe it so I set out to find you. Our Lord is too busy raging over the loss of the male Confessor to concern himself with my whereabouts so I left no stone unturned until I found you.” Berdine, too, is now gazing up at the stars.
“So what happens now?” Cara asks.
Berdine ponders the question for a long moment, already knowing that there is only one possible course of action. “I suppose we mount my steed and ride back to the People’s Palace. Where else is a Mord’Sith to find a bed and a hot meal?”
“Nowhere else,” Cara replies, shaking her head.
With that, they are on their feet.
Kahlan struggles to take it all in. She’s caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, oscillating between rage and compassion, and wanting nothing more than to put an end to this madness. There is, however, a perverse need to know how it all ends that keeps her from ripping the blasted amulet off her neck. Whatever it is that’s expected of her in this affair, she’s certain that she does not have it to give. She even suspects that if she did have it, she wouldn’t give it, not to her sister’s murderer.
By the look of her, no one doubts her story of having been captured and thrown into a dungeon for days without food or water. She returns to her duties but with a little less spring in her step, and spends much of her time with Berdine.
During the last few months, the rift between the worlds of the dead and the living had grown much worse. Darken Rahl’s allegiance to the Keeper seems to change from one day to the next. On any given day, the Mord’Sith are ordered to either help save the world or help destroy it. By now every Mord’Sith in the Palace is experiencing one symptom of whiplash or another. It had been the Seeker’s failed attempt at uniting the Boxes of Orden that had set off this sequence of events but, as usual, it was up to the Mord’Sith to fix it.
Her latest assignment is to ensure that Kahlan Amnell, the Mother Confessor of the Midlands, succeeds in her mission to save the Night Wisps from extinction. This is yet another contradiction since it was Darken Rahl himself who had the Night Wisp forest burned to the ground, killing all but one of the creatures. Cara doesn’t care much about the world either way so she goes along with the madness. Except that just as she’s about to set off, Darken Rahl says, “Oh and Cara, while you’re at it, kill Kahlan Amnell.” Cara nods and closes the door behind her.
Making certain that the other woman doesn’t notice her presence, Cara skulks behind her, listening in on her nonsensical prattle with the tiny creature. To an onlooker, the scene would seem absurd. The Mother Confessor prancing around the forest apparently having a conversation with her own hand, which responds in a series of headache-inducing squeaks, is almost laughable. Just as she’s having that thought, a Gar attacks the Confessor. The woman puts up a good fight, but on this moonless night Cara knows that even she would have missed the protruding root that caused Kahlan Amnell to fall. When the Confessor hits the ground, the tiny creature falls out of her hand and, without hesitation, Cara picks it up and heads for the Grottoes of the Northern Foothills. Darken Rahl’s last order replays in head several times over -- each one of them taking her back to her last encounter with a Confessor.
Having been lectured at length by Berdine as to the needs of this particular species, Cara grudgingly engages the creature in a rather one-sided conversation. That she refers to it as ‘bug’ is probably not conducive to any meaningful interaction. Especially since Cara has yet to decode the Wisp’s magical language. Berdine told her she was to listen with her heart but Cara informed Berdine that she did not have ears anywhere other than on the sides of her head.
“I can’t understand a single thing you’re saying,” Cara says. “I’m sorry the Confessor isn’t here to talk to you. She had to draw the Gars away but it’s your good fortune that it happened. Now you have me, which means we’ll succeed.” With that, she takes off running, not stopping until they are safely out of Gar territory. It is midmorning when she finally takes rest for a moment. “Well, Wisp, what do you want to talk about?” The creature chirps in response, earning itself an eye-roll from Cara. “I bet you use words to talk to the Confessor, but she couldn’t have run all night like I did.”
Cara stops dead in her tracks, amazed at herself. “Wait, did you just ask me what I’m doing with my life?” Able to discern the meaning behind the Wisp’s chirps for the first time, Cara’s entire face lights up.
“Mord’Sith serve the Lord Rahl,” she explains.
“Mord’Sith don’t have choices, so no, I can’t choose to serve someone else.” She rolls her eyes, realizing that now she’s the one walking around talking to her own hand.
“Fine, say I did have a choice, who would you have me serve? Some other power-hungry tyrant?”
“I’m a Mord’Sith, nobody wants me.”
“How am I supposed to find someone to serve who won’t make me do terrible things?” Cara flails her arms in frustration. “You really don’t understand, do you?”
“I am not a good person. Ask the Confessor, she’ll tell you.”
“Wisp?” she asks, after a long silence from the creature “Wisp, say something. Please.”
When it finally replies, Cara almost wishes it hadn’t. “What do you mean you’re dying?”
“You used all your strength to save the babies -- hold on, Wisp, I’m going to get you to the birthing ground.”
Running faster than she’d ever thought herself capable of, Cara arrives at the Grottoes of the Northern Foothills just as the tiny creature’s light fades to nothing. She gently lays the lifeless Wisp on a flower petal, and says, “I’m sorry I failed you.” Closing her eyes for a long moment, fighting back tears, Cara turns to leave.
It is the soft humming of hundreds of newborn Wisps that causes her to dare to look back. Like a million stars in the night sky, the babies are all around her, each of them a brightly lit promise that there could perhaps be a place in this world for a Mord’Sith who longs to be more. Cara stays there for a long time, gazing up at them, wishing that their mother had lived, that she were there to keep them well. Just then she hears footsteps approach; it’s the Mother Confessor, she’s certain of it. Tucked away behind some bushes, she watches as the babies flock to her, all of them glowing bright pink when they make contact with her skin. Cara listens as she comforts them, telling them that their mother lives inside each of their hearts and will always be with them.
It sounds like complete nonsense to Cara but the babies seem happier because of it, and since Confessors don’t lie, Cara decides to believe her. She’d been ordered by her Lord to kill Kahlan Amnell and this would be a perfect moment to do it. Not only is she lame, she’s also open and vulnerable in other ways. The Confessor has obviously forgotten herself, focusing only on reassuring the newborn Wisps. It would be easy, too easy, Cara decides.
“You did it, you saved the Night Wisps from extinction,” Kahlan says grudgingly to the Mord’Sith standing beside her. There is softness in Cara’s eyes, a look of pure awe that Kahlan wishes wasn’t there. It’s too beautiful, too pure an expression to be found on the face of a murderer.
For the next three days, she follows Kahlan Amnell, stepping into her every footstep, eating when Kahlan eats, taking her rest when she does, allowing her eyes to fall on the same objects as her, and after a while even favoring her left ankle as she Kahlan does. So great is her focus while carrying out this self-appointed task that by mid-afternoon she can practically predict Kahlan’s next gesture: a slight tilt of the head here, followed by a hand to her forehead to shade her eyes from the sun now, a brief pause to relieve the stiffness in her ankle.
At some point Cara’s thoughts become muddled, the line between her and Kahlan Amnell becomes increasingly blurred. Perhaps it’s the hot sun or maybe exhaustion, but it’s almost as if she’s feeling Kahlan’s feelings, thinking her thoughts, breathing the air in her lungs. She’s supposed to be stalking her prey, but instead she’s losing herself in the Mother Confessor and, much to her surprise, it feels good -- like the bond to the Lord Rahl, except better; like her agiel, except without the pain. At that moment, and for a long time after, she’d rather cut off her own hand or even press her agiel to her own heart than harm Kahlan Amnell. Her mission has changed, she will not kill Kahlan Amnell, she’ll make certain she arrives at her final destination. Unharmed.
The Confessor hastens her pace as she approaches the Seeker’s open arms. Cara’s gaze remains on the Confessor until she’s safe in his embrace. She’ll now return to the palace and deal with the consequences of failing at half of her mission. The Night Wisps were saved from extinction, and so was the line of Confessors.
Kahlan turns toward present day Cara, who, of course, still isn’t aware of her presence, and asks, “Why, why didn’t you kill me? It would have been so easy but you didn’t. Why?” She knows an answer won’t come. By now she feels as if she’s experienced a thousand different versions of Cara, some unbearably beautiful, others cruel beyond measure. None of it matters anymore; all she wants is the ride to be over.
As Cara approaches the People’s Palace, she’s struck by the immensity of it. This massive monstrosity rising up as high as the clouds, a monumental display of arrogance and excess -- its size and form chosen to accommodate the egotistical demands of the Rahl bloodline. “Mord’Sith serve the Lord Rahl,” she mumbles to herself, rather amused by the notion.
The moment she crosses the city gates she sees them, Sisters of the Dark walking about the grounds, talking amongst themselves, plotting no doubt. Her Lord is yet again resorting to magic as a means of bending reality to his will. That the Mord’Sith will have to clean up yet another mess is a given. In an effort to avoid them, she circles around the stables and enters through the north tower, taking the stairs that lead directly into the library. “Berdine,” she calls out, as she slips in through this little known entrance.
“They’re casting a spell,” she blurts out, taking it for granted that Cara spotted the witches. “I haven’t been able to decipher all of it but it has something to do with us, and transferring the Seeker’s Han to the Lord Rahl.” Cara scowls, peering down at the parchment on Berdine’s desk over her shoulder.
Cara’s hand goes to her own chin for a moment as if weighing their options. “Why don’t we kill them?” Cara asks, matter-of-factly.
Berdine rolls her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “Is that your solution for everything?” Cara shrugs and nods her head. “We can’t. The Lord Rahl has tasked the entire D’Haran army with their protection. They are to kill anyone who dares approach them. I’ve learned through journey books from several Sisters that it’s the same at all the temples. We’d be outnumbered five hundred to one if we tried.” Berdine’s voice is thick with concern and her eyelids heavy with sleep. Cara can’t recall ever seeing her like this.
“Where’s Raina?” It doesn’t often happen that she and Berdine are not at each other’s sides.
“The temple at Jandrilyn, she’s to return in three days.” Berdine veers her gaze from the parchments to her friend standing beside her, and says, “I miss her, Cara.” She hasn’t any words that will help matters so she squeezes Berdine’s shoulder, and heads for the door.
“I’ll be back,” she says. “I have to go tell our Lord that Kahlan Amnell isn’t dead.”
***
“Cara, my dear, I was beginning to think you’d joined my brother and his merry band of idiots.” He’s lying on his bed with a half-naked slave girl beside him. She’s not exactly a child, but certainly not a woman; Cara’s hand goes to her agiel and stays there. “The Night Wisps, do they live?”
“Yes, my Lord.” She pauses for a moment, then says, “As does the Mother Confessor.”
“I see, and why is that exactly?” he asks, in that low tone reserved for those who are about to pay the price for having failed him.
Not one for spinning tales, Cara decides to make do with the truth. “I couldn’t do it, my Lord.”
Darken Rahl furrows his brow, as if deep in thought. “A spell of protection,” he declares, as if having arrived at a brilliant conclusion. “Did it feel as if some powerful force were preventing you from killing her?”
Cara found the exchange as comical as it was pathetic. Her Lord had spun a tale all on his own. Pursing her lips for a moment, she raises both her eyebrows, and says, “Yes, I suppose it could be described as such.”
“That damned wizard. It’s just as well, I have far more interesting matters to tend to,” he says, raking his eyes over the frightened girl in his bed. “Leave us,” he says, with the wave of a hand.
Cara returns to the library with a smirk on her face, finding Berdine slumped over her desk in deep slumber, Cara blows out the flame on the lamp that lit the room. Deciphering the spell would have to wait. She spends the night curled up on a small chaise in the back of the room, not at all surprised that behind closed eyelids, the Mother Confessor’s face greets her with a smile so bright it would put the sun to shame. Because it brings her a measure of peace that has escaped her for months, she chooses not to question it.
***
News that the Seeker and his cohorts have succeeded in closing the rift between the world of the living and the world of the dead reaches the People’s Palace, and in the instant it does, the entire world takes on a dizzying momentum. Everything is happening much too fast. Everywhere she turns, Cara sees witches and soldiers rushing from one end of the Palace to the other. The mayhem culminates with Darken Rahl ordering all the Mord’Sith to gather at the Garden of Life. Since she’d given up on following orders weeks ago, Cara heads to the library instead.
Berdine is stuffing various parchments and books into a pack that she tosses at Cara as soon as she crosses the threshold. “Your agiel, Cara,” Berdine says, looking up at her with tears already streaking her cheeks, “drop it, now.” When Cara hesitates, Berdine rips it out of its holster and throws it across the room.
“Have you lost your mind?” Cara asks, clenching her fists at her sides.
“He’s going to kill us, Cara, he’s going to kill us all with our own agiels. Already, our sisters at the outer temples lay dead.” Berdine grips the edge of her desk with both hands to steady herself. “That’s what the spell does, Cara, I deciphered it moments ago; it kills the Mord’Sith with the magic of their agiels.”
“The outer temples,” Cara says, “Raina.”
“Already dead, my girl is already dead, and you have to make it right for me, for all of us.”
“Come with me,” Cara says, grabbing her shoulders.
“And do what? Live in a world without her? Never.” And then the screams come from the Garden of Life. “Take the pack, in it you’ll find everything you need, sister.”
“I’ll make it right,” Cara says, speaking with more conviction and emotion than she ever has in her life. She then jumps out of the window, certain that the fall alone will kill her, but somehow she lands on her feet and has the good fortune of finding a horse waiting for her below. She hasn’t as yet crossed the Palace gates, and already she smells the stench of burning flesh. From that moment on, everything she does is pure instinct.
Traveling all night to the point that her animal is about give out, she finally stops by a stream so that the horse can drink, and she can fill a water skin. Attached to the saddle, she finds a pack and quickly empties its content. A knife catches her eye; staring at it for a long moment, she reaches behind her head hacking off her braid. All of her movements are quick and precise now -- they have to be, or she’ll fall to pieces. The next step is to rid herself of her Mord’Sith leathers… rid herself of her Mord’Sith leathers. The implication of it is staggering but she can’t think about it, attaching meaning to it will surely kill her and that can’t happen, not after she promised Berdine that she’d make things right. Cara will stay alive long enough to make things right.
Just before dawn, she catches a glimpse of the back of a farm. Never in her life has she been reduced to thievery, but on this day, she has no choice. With one swift move, she’s over the fence and skulking over to a clothesline. In the name of the Ancient Order of the Sisters of the Agiel, she confiscates a pair of trousers, a shirt, and pair of boots that lay by the door. Having managed a wardrobe change, she stops just outside the walls of a fairly large city and lights a fire. Holding her hand above the flames, then lowering it enough to feel the burn -- up and then back down, over and over -- she’s finally ready to tie the last loose end. Cara Mason reaches back into her pack and tosses her leathers into the flames, gazing into the crackling fire as it consumes the last remnants of her life as a Mord’Sith.
The city is bustling with activity, everywhere she looks there are merchants peddling their goods. People crowd the streets, going about their lives as if nothing has happened, as if the entire world hadn’t changed. Then again, why would they care? It is only Mord’Sith who have been wiped off the face of the Earth. Most likely the news has already reached the people of the Midlands and they are celebrating the demise of her kind. At this moment, and for a long time after, she wishes that Berdine hadn’t deciphered the spell, that she’d stood beside her sisters in the Garden of Life with her agiel at her side. It would be far better than being all alone in the world, with no Lord, no sisters, and nowhere to go.
The inn at which she takes a room is at least quiet and clean. It will give her an opportunity to think, to devise some sort of plan, a Mord’Sith must always have a plan. It’s been inculcated in her since childhood, except she isn’t really Mord’Sith, not anymore, not without her agiel or her leathers. She isn’t anything anymore. She lies on the bed staring up at the ceiling for days, watching the sun rise and set in nothing but shades of gray, not bothering to take meals, and unable to find sleep. It occurs to her that this is how the Mother Confessor must have felt upon learning of the massacre at Valeria. If she believed in such things, Cara would have categorized the annihilation of the Mord’Sith as some sort of cosmic retribution. The promise she’d made to Berdine feels like a noose around her neck for she has no way of keeping it. Still, she’s willing to try.
It isn’t yet midmorning and already the tavern is filled with patrons. Cara orders her meal then takes a seat at a table in the back of the room, hoping to avoid having to interact with overly friendly strangers who, without her Mord’Sith leathers, will not think twice about approaching her. Being a Sister of the Agiel carried as one of its many benefits the ability to ward off unwanted company.
The barmaid who brings her meal to the table instantly drops her gaze to the not at all unpleasant view provided by the ill-fitting man’s shirt Cara’s wearing. Under different circumstances, the pretty brunette would have made for fairly interesting company but right now Cara has too much on her mind to even consider it. “Will that be all, then?” the woman asks, leaning in just enough so that her breast brushes up against Cara’s arm. Cara allows her eyes to rake over the woman from head to toe but doesn’t reply. “The last woman who spurned my advances was a Confessor, what’s your excuse?” she asked, miffed by the rejection.
In less than a heartbeat, Cara is on her feet with her arm firmly wrapped around the woman’s waist. “Wait, what did you say?”
Taking it as an invitation, her hands quickly go to Cara’s hips, nudging her closer so that their bodies are pressed together. “Mmm, you’re a strong one, and such pretty eyes. Why don’t we --”
“The Confessor was here?” Cara asks, tightening her hold on the woman.
“Yes, three days ago. I could wear a pretty white dress for you,” she breathes into Cara’s ear.
Cara loosens her grip but doesn’t release her. “Where was she headed?”
The barmaid tears away from her with a scowl on her face. “Are you interested in her or in me?”
“I have an important message for her,” Cara says, her hands are now gripping the woman’s arms.
“I don’t know,” she says, “go ask the blacksmith. He tended to her horse.”
Cara rushes toward the door, dropping some coins on the table on her way out. “Nice to meet you, too,” the barmaid adds, walking off in a huff.
Gold, as it turns out, is as effective a means of gathering information as is an agiel. It isn’t long before she pieces together enough details to go about the task of finding Kahlan Amnell, the Mother Confessor of the Midlands -- to what end she does not know but that is her plan. That one look from the Confessor will reveal what she is doesn’t concern her at the moment. Death at the hand of Kahlan Amnell is far more honorable than the way in which her sisters met their end. Wearing a newly acquired black leather armor, and shoulder length hair, she mounts her horse and follows the Confessor into the harshest land in all of the territories.
***
It is with a violent jolt that Kahlan suddenly finds herself back at the inn, kneeling on the floor next to Cara as she had been before placing the amulet around her neck. She’s disoriented, as if just having woken from a dream, or rather a nightmare, that hadn’t reached its logical conclusion. It takes her a moment to situate herself, to gain some clarity as to what is happening or has happened to her. Past and present are jumbled together in a series of images that are still replaying in her head. “Cara,” she murmurs, registering the Mord’Sith’s presence in the room.
The sound of her name leaving Kahlan’s lips stirs something in Cara, something strong enough to draw her back into the present moment. She’s writhing in agony, pain the likes of which she’d never thought possible. Not even dying felt as bad as this wrenching sensation that’s taken hold of her entire body. Coupled with the reality of the things she’s done, of the life she’s lived, the thought of dying feels like a gift. A Mord’Sith never second guesses herself, and more importantly, she never looks back. It had been inculcated in her throughout her training but it’s only at this moment that she fully understands why.
Kahlan furrows her brow and narrows her eyes, listening to the wretched sound coming from the prone form beside her. That’s when it all comes back to her -- the newly gained clarity, renewing her rage. “You killed my sister,” she says. “For months, we’ve traveled together, fought side by side, and it was you who took her from me. I trusted you.” Her hand is already on Cara’s throat, magic teetering on the edge of release.
“Confess me,” Cara says, “I deserve it.” A single tear runs down her cheek as she meets Kahlan’s gaze.
Only it isn’t Kahlan who is looking back at her, it is the Mother Confessor of the Midlands, and her grip tightens for a moment -- leaving no doubt in Cara’s mind that this is how it will end. Kahlan is silent for a long moments. This is an internal struggle that she’s experienced before -- every Confessor has. She know that the choice she’s about to make will define her, and decide Cara’s fate. “No, you don’t,” she says, briefly closing her eyes, and releasing her grip. “Your life was taken from you as a child; I will not take it from you again.”
“But you have to,” Cara pleads, “take your revenge. My crimes are too great. You’ve seen the things I’ve done. Do it, please.” She’s still in agony -- death is her only avenue of escape.
“I’ve looked into your eyes and I have seen that you are truly remorseful. While I would like nothing more than to avenge my sister’s death, I am neither executioner nor murderer, I am the Mother Confessor.” Her hand moves to Cara’s cheek and rests there for a long moment. “AlI I feel for you, and for the child that you were, is compassion.”
The moment Kahlan utters the words, the amulet around her neck glows bright blue and what were previously broken pieces of glass pressed together, becomes whole and complete. The pain leaves Cara’s body and all she can do is look up at Kahlan in complete awe.
Cara’s wails having ceased, the healer gingerly opens the door, knowing either Cara is dead, or Kahlan and the amulet still around her neck succeeded at making the Mord’Sith whole. “You must both take rest now,” she says, surprised to find that Cara is still alive. Turning toward Kahlan, she adds, “You are as formidable a woman as you are reputed to be, Mother Confessor. I did not tell you before, but all others who have attempted to wear the amulet for this purpose have failed. You alone had sufficient courage and goodness in your heart to see it through. Your compassion saved her life.” With that, she nods at Cara and takes leave of them.
“I should go,” Cara says, now seated on the floor resting her elbows on her knees. “You should not be forced to wake up to the face of your sister’s killer every day.”
Drifting out of her own reverie, Kahlan allows Cara’s words to hover above her before finally taking in their meaning. “I can never forgive you for what you did to my sister but if anything were to happen to me, the Seeker will still need rescuing, and it will be up to you to make certain that Darken Rahl pays for what he’s done.”
It’s pity, Cara is certain of it, for Kahlan Amnell needs no one at her side to defeat Darken Rahl or any other enemy. It’s pity, but on this day she feels nothing if not pitiable, so she’ll accept it. What’s more, she will serve Kahlan Amnell for as long as she’ll have her, and just as she’d promised, she’ll protect her with her life.
The sun still shines high in the midday sky when, out of exhaustion, they each settle into their own bed. Things have changed, and while it causes Cara to experience an entirely new type of agony, she knows it could not be otherwise. Neither of them finds sleep easily but the smell of clean linens and the soft pillows supporting their heads provide some measure of comfort. Perhaps not the type they both long for, but comfort nonetheless. For the first time in weeks, Kahlan’s thoughts turn to Richard, to the ease with which he finds ways to make her smile even when she’s angry, to his boundless optimism and the many times it has gotten him into trouble, to that warm expression that rarely leaves his face. It’s tempting, the thought of losing herself in some idealized notion of eternal happiness with Richard by her side, so she allows herself to do just that. Heavy eyelids and the deafening silence between her and Cara finally deliver her into the refuge of sound sleep.