The Ride With You Was Worth The Fall (14/16)
Title: The Ride With You Was Worth The Fall (14/16)
Author: fortunata13
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Word Count: 7078
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Most certainly, I do not own these characters.
Summary: As Cara struggles to find her place in the world, Kahlan struggles to find Cara. In an effort to locate her wayward former Mord'Sith, Kahlan will have to resort to a rather unusual mode of transpiration. Both of them also manage to change lives for the better, and reconnect with friends. Expect a heartbroken Mord'Sith, a lovelorn Confessor, and a bird's eye view of the world. Oh and I almost forgot, Kahlan visits the Island of Lesbos.
A/N: I'm so sorry for the slow update. This is a hectic time of the year. The next chapter is just about ready, and after that comes the grand finale. Much gratitude to statuepup and all of you wonderful ladies who have had the patience to stick with me.
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 part 1 | 6 part 2 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16
Chapter 14
The Hero's Journey
Cara is up at dawn, her eyes searching for something comforting, something to make her feel as if she’s still a part of this world. She hadn’t felt this alone since the death of her sisters but this is different, worse somehow. Her sisters gave her a sense of belonging, yes, but Kahlan made her feel whole and complete. Now it feels as if her lungs and heart are no longer in her body, leaving her a hollow shell. Her eyes go to her bow for a moment, thinking that killing something will perhaps make her feel better; she quickly dismisses the idea. She’s still without an appetite, and it’s never been in her nature to gratuitously kill an animal she has no intention of eating. Since she has plenty of coin and can’t be too far from a town, she waters over the fire she’d made the night before and packs her bedroll. Her destination being the nearest brothel, for surely a bed full of whores will erase all memories of the Mother Confessor.
Traveling at a pace as slow as she had the previous day, Cara arrives at a small village that isn’t very likely to have a brothel. It’s just as well, women are nothing but trouble. Besides, big city brothels have always been her preference. The women are much more likely to willingly accommodate the sexual proclivities of the Mord’Sith -- not that she’s Mord’Sith anymore. Still, whores in this type of place usually run out screaming before she’s had a chance to get warmed up.
Her gaze travels across this desolate dust bowl, reeking of poverty and despair. With the midday sun pounding the back of her neck, she leads her horse to a trough, considering a visit to the local tavern, but the place isn’t the least bit inviting. Just as she’s about to walk off, a faint yet eerily familiar sound takes hold of her. She tilts her head and listens intently as it gets consistently louder, finally drowning out all other sounds in the vicinity. That’s when she realizes what it is -- as well as its only possible source: Horatio Phineas Panza.
“Champion, Champion.” Cara looks down at him in astonishment. Releasing a series of squeals and shrieks and squawks, he bounces circles around her as if he were searching for something she’s deliberately concealing from him. “Where is she, where is she?” When Cara fails to respond, he opts for a more direct approach. “Queeeeeennnnnn,” he calls out in a spectacular squeal that Cara is certain will shatter every bit of glass in the village. Thoroughly dejected by the lack of response, he asks, “Where’s my friend the Queen?” By the tone of his voice, and the expression on his face, Cara suspects Kahlan’s absence is as upsetting to him as it is to her. “Did something happen to the Queen, Champion? The Queen loves you very much. She’d never leave your side of her own free will.”
Cara looks off into the distance for a moment, and says, “The Queen loves the Seeker, not me.”
Horatio Phineas Panza contorts his face to such an extent that Cara frowns and takes a step away from him, thinking perhaps his head will explode all over her leathers. Waving his chubby little arms at his sides, he finally manages to find his voice. “Seeker, shmeeker,” he declares, “Seeker, shmeeker.” He squeals and bounces every syllable then takes to pacing in front of her with his arms crossed over his chest. “The Queen loves you and only you. I saw the way she looked at you. And what about that kiss? Ooh, that kiss was very, very good.”
“Kahlan and I were on a quest and now it’s over. There’s no place for me in her life.”
The little round man pouts and sniffles. “Come meet my family, Champion, I’ve told them all about you.” Cara hesitates for a moment but then walks beside him. For as much she’d wanted to kill him back in Cagliari, at this moment he is her closest friend -- if ever she’s needed a friend, it’s on this day.
“Malèna, this is my friend, the Champion.” His entire face lights up as his wife, a beautiful dark-skinned woman with piercing gray eyes, who had been bent over a loom, rises to her feet to meet the Champion. “I’ll go get the children.” Horatio skips out of the room, leaving Cara awkwardly standing before his unlikely mate.
“My husband has told us all about you and your Queen. It’s an honor to welcome you into our humble home.” And humble it is. The room in which they stand is no bigger than Cara’s old cell at the People’s Palace, with dirt floors, and ceilings so low they scarcely accommodate Malèna’s height. “Where is your Queen? I’d like to thank her. Horatio feels her good influence on the Emperor is responsible for the many improvements in nearby villages, as well in as ours.” If this is an improvement, Cara shudders to think what their lives were like before Kahlan confessed the Emperor.
“Champion, Champion, these are our children. Beautiful, very, very beautiful, like their mother.” His wife doesn’t seem to mind his squeals or his bounces in the least. Cara reasons that love must muffle the squeals.
“And handsome like their father,” Malèna adds, bending at the waist to kiss his cheek.
Two boys and two girls, none more than six summers old, stare up at Cara in awe. Their father had obviously told them all about his friend the Champion and her Queen.
Taking a step away from her siblings, one of the girls, the older of the two, stands before Cara studying her leathers, and the dagger she carries in her holster. “Can I see your sword?” she asks.
Cara glances over at Malèna who nods her approval with a gentle smile. Cara removes the weapon strapped to her back allowing the girl to inspect it. “Someday I’ll be a Champion, too,” she says, in a tone that leaves no room for doubt. Cara purses her lips and tips her head. “And I’ll save the world. Lots of times.” It would seem Horatio had also told them stories about Kahlan.
“I’m going to be a queen,” blurts out the youngest boy. “I’m going to wear pretty dresses and live in a castle. That’s what queens do.”
All eyes are on him for a long moment. “Boys can’t be queens,” says his brother, causing the little one’s eyes to tear up.
“Is that true, Champion?” asks the crestfallen boy.
Cara lifts him off the ground, inspecting him much like his sister had inspected the sword. With a shrug Cara turns toward Horatio, and says, “If that headless woman in Cagliari can be a queen, I don’t see why the boy can’t be.”
“The Champion is right. You children can be anything you’d like,” Horatio declares, earning himself a second kiss from his beautiful wife. All four of them squeal with delight, throwing their arms around Cara, who isn’t exactly sure how to react. Thankfully, they release her and run into their mother’s arms instead.
Clearly, Horatio has been true to his word and shared his stories of the Champion and her Queen with anyone who would listen. Soon neighbors and shopkeepers are standing outside hoping to catch a glimpse of the warrior woman who defeated the Cyclops. Horatio allows it for a while then sends them on their way. “The Champion needs her rest,” he tells them.
Cara watches Horatio tend to his children as his wife prepares their evening meal. She’s suddenly glad Kahlan didn’t confess him during their first encounter. These are good people, she decides, they deserve to live a long, happy life together.
Later that evening, Cara sits out on the front porch staring out into the darkness of night. “I’ve prepared a bed for you,” Malèna says, taking a seat next to her.
Cara turns to her debating whether or not to ask a question that’s been lingering in her mind since she first saw the woman. In her experience, women who look like Malèna only take men like Horatio as a mate to advance their financial position; certainly that isn’t the case here.
As if reading Cara’s mind, Malèna says, “You’re wondering about Horatio and me.” Cara thinks to deny her curiosity but it would be too obvious a lie. “I was born poor. When my father left my mother and me, along with my two younger sisters, she did what she had to do to provide for us.” She pauses, gazing into Cara’s eyes for a moment. “As the daughter of a whore, I too was assumed to be one. Horatio alone showed me respect. He was only sixteen summers old -- just a boy -- but he treated me like a lady. On several occasions he even took beatings to protect my honor. I love my husband for who he is, not for his appearance, or his wealth.” As she rises to go back inside, Malèna rests her hand on Cara’s shoulder, and says, “If Horatio says this Queen of yours loves you, you should believe him. No one knows more about love than my husband.”
The next morning Cara says goodbye to Horatio and his family, but before leaving she reaches into her pack pulling out the hefty bag of gold that, along with the Champion’s sword, had been her reward for winning Kahlan’s heart. She takes two handfuls of coins and tosses them back into her pack. The rest, she places on the table. “This is for you and your family,” she says. While at first Horatio and Malèna refuse to accept it, Cara will not be denied. After much squealing, Horatio finally relents.
“How could the Queen of Hearts not love someone with a heart such as yours?” Malèna says, as Cara mounts her horse and rides on.
***
Leaving the Seeker and the Wizard with a long list of instructions, Kahlan says her farewells and sets out to find Cara but not before securing a journey book to communicate with them. To say that she’s concerned about leaving the two of them to their own devices would be understating matters. Ironically, her one source of comfort is having left Nicci with strict orders to keep them out of trouble -- and not kill either of them to achieve that end.
It isn’t long before she realizes she hasn’t the vaguest idea as to where Cara is headed, nor is she a particularly skilled tracker. Cara has been gone for days and could be anywhere by now. Having no other option, with every league she travels, she does her best to allow her heart to serve as her compass -- not exactly a stellar plan, but it will have to do.
By midmorning she finds herself atop a vertiginous cliff, looking down on an enormous mosaic of colors that makes her feel as if finding Cara will take up the rest of her days. With two deep furrows between her eyebrows, she releases a sigh and rides on.
After almost a full day’s journey, Kahlan decides to see about a meal and room. Sleep, she already knows, will not come easily, but riding through the night in a land she does not know, will not serve her. Were she to even consider such a thing, Cara would wring her neck, she’s certain of it. If only for a brief moment, the thought brings a hint of a smile to her face. She should have gone after her when she left the palace but regrets are pointless. All she can do now is focus on getting Cara back.
The village in which she stops for the night has a small, rather uninviting inn with a tavern that looks as if it hasn’t seen a patron in years. The innkeeper, however, is attentive and polite. After giving Kahlan a key to one of the two rooms in the establishment, he sees to her horse, and brings up her meal. It’s as watery and insipid a concoction as she’s ever tasted but it will fill her belly and help her keep up her strength. For most of the night, she sits on the windowsill counting stars.
It’s the chilly night air that causes her to climb into bed and get under the covers. In the hopes of finding sleep, she hugs a pillow to her chest, doing her best to pretend it’s Cara in her arms. The smell, however, is all wrong, as is the consistency and the texture. Cara’s hair always smells of leather and a hint of vanilla, and her body is a perfect combination of supple curves and lean muscles, and her skin, well, her skin is soft and warm and inviting. Before she even realizes it, tears are streaking her cheeks as if she were some lovesick school girl. She should probably be ashamed of herself, the Mother Confessor of the Midlands, pining away for a woman, a Mord’Sith no less, but she doesn’t care because it’s Cara and she misses her and, what’s more, she loves her and when she finds her she may chain her to the bed in her chambers at the Confessor’s Palace in Aydindril to make certain she never leaves her side again. Yes, that’s exactly what she’ll do. But right now she needs to blow her nose and stop blubbering like an infant. It is lost in such musings that, out of exhaustion, her eyes close, providing her with a few candlemarks of rest.
The sorry image that stares back at her in the looking glass the next morning, causes her to grimace. The dark circles under her bloodshot eyes practically reach her chin and her nose is still red from all of the sniffling. If Cara were here, she’d probably run screaming out of the room the moment she caught sight of her. In an effort to improve her appearance, she asks the innkeeper to bring her a cup of tea, a sliced cucumber for her puffy eyes, and a glass of cold water. Surely out of respect for her station, she must pull herself together before going out in public. Not that anyone in this land knows who she is, but one never knows when an acquaintance may show up unexpectedly.
Her effort is not wasted for as soon as she walks out of the inn, she collides with none other than Horatio Phineas Panza, practically causing her to topple over as he glares up at her with a scowl, loosing a series of those high-pitched, ear-piercing squeals that almost led her to confess him during their first meeting.
“Horatio,” she says, once she’s steadied herself, “it’s so good to see you.” In response, he unceremoniously crosses his chubby little arms over his chest and turns his back toward her.
Puzzled by his behavior, she walks around to face him, but again he gives her his back. It’s when a lovely dark-skinned woman with a brood of bouncing children joins him that he finally turns around. Only he doesn’t speak to her directly. “Malèna, tell the Queen I’m very upset with her.”
“What did I do?” Kahlan asks, with a quizzical look on her face.
No longer able to hold his tongue, with a series of bounces and squeals, he says, “You-you-you-you broke the Champion’s tender heart!”
“Horatio, calm down,” Malèna says. “You’re setting a bad example for the children.” Turning toward Kahlan, she adds with a bowed head, “Forgive my husband, Queen of Hearts. Please do not punish his impertinence. He’s a good man.” Clearly, her concern is for her husband’s head for in this land, heads are known to roll for disrespecting royalty.
“Punish?” Kahlan asks. “No, of course not. Why would you think…? I have no intention of harming anyone.”
“How could you choose that Seeker-shmeeker over the Champion? She fought for your heart!” This time Kahlan’s hands go to her ears as it would seem that as his passion increases so does the pitch of his squeals.
“I didn’t,” she says, “I’d never put anyone above her. It was her choice to leave.”
Horatio eyes her skeptically. “The Champion said you love that shmeeker.”
“I don’t love the shmeeker -- I mean Seeker, I don’t love him. Is Cara here?”
“Horatio, go. The children are going to be late for their lessons. I’ll talk to the Queen.” With that, Malèna guides her into their humble home. Kahlan grimaces at the sight of the place. Not even the poorest of Aydindril’s citizens live in such depressing conditions. “Your Champion passed through here over a week ago.”
“Did she say where she was headed?” Kahlan asks.
“No, she stayed with us for only one night.” Malèna looks into Kahlan’s eyes for a long moment. “But before she left, she saved our family from ruin. Thanks to your Champion’s generosity, my children have a future.”
Realizing Cara must have gifted this family her gold, Kahlan decides to further Cara’s effort at improving their lives. “I know Horatio is a bit upset at me but I’d like to ask a favor of you and your family.” Not accustomed to monarchs asking, rather than taking, what they want, Malèna gives her a tentative nod.
“Cara’s victory earned me a castle. Because of my responsibilities to my people, I won’t have many opportunities to visit it. It has a small staff and a groundskeeper but it lacks the laughter of children to fill its halls. I ask that you please make it your home.” Reading the hesitation in Malèna’s eyes, she adds, “It is not charity that I am offering. Please, I’d consider it a personal favor.”
Malèna tilts her head, gazing at this woman whose mate has already changed her family’s life, thinking she is surely an angel. “You and your Champion, you’ll find your way back to each other,” she says, “The two of you share a single heart as big as this entire world. It cannot be otherwise.”
She bows her head but Kahlan quickly lifts her chin so that their eyes meet. “Bow your head to no one. You are as much a Queen as I am.” With that, she mounts her horse, feeling more certain than ever that she and Cara are meant to be together.
After witnessing the horrid state of the surrounding villages, Kahlan is obliged to make an impromptu visit to the city of Cagliari with the purpose of chastising the confessed Emperor for the deplorable conditions in which his people are living. She has no choice but to set forth a plan for urban renewal and an extensive list of policy changes. Kahlan is anxious to continue her search for Cara but not at the expense of an entire nation.
Her search continues the next morning. With every day that passes, her hopes of finding Cara fade. Still, she will not give up. If necessary, once she makes her way back to the Midlands, she’ll task her entire army with finding her. In fact, she’ll have Richard’s army search for her as well, and the Kelton army, too. Every person under her command will search for Cara, and she’ll also secure the services of seers and listeners and even Gars if she has to. It’s a tremendous abuse of power but she’s a queen and queens aren’t obliged to always be reasonable. It will be her one selfish act as monarch. Releasing a deep sigh, she shakes her head, marveling at her own insanity as she rides on.
The Creator should have shown some restraint, Kahlan decides. Had she not made the world so exceedingly large, Kahlan would have found Cara by now and they would be in Aydindril, dancing in her chambers before climbing into bed in each other’s arms. These unsightly dark circles under her eyes would not be there and her posterior would not ache from days of nonstop riding and, most importantly, Cara would be at her side, where she belongs.
***
It felt good, helping Horatio and his family. Much like when she’d used the Breath of Life to bring back Fernão. It occurs to her that the Mother Confessor would have shown her approval by pressing her lips to Cara’s cheek. For a moment she can almost feel Kahlan’s lips there but the pleasurable sensation fades quickly. She would have liked to hold on to it a bit longer -- or perhaps forever.
These aren’t thoughts she can afford to entertain right now, not when she hasn’t any idea where she’s going or any inkling as to the type of life she’d like to live. D’Hara certainly isn’t a land to which she’ll ever return, nor will she allow herself to be some master’s creature: those days are over. All she can do is ride on in the hopes of finding a place where she belongs, but even that will have to wait until tomorrow; she’s much too tired to do anything other than sleep.
As she lies in her bedroll looking up at the moonless sky, she starts to suspect that her mind is playing tricks on her. It should not be possible -- not having only traveled for such a short time -- but she’s certain that along with ruffling the leaves on the ground, the night breeze carries with it the smell of the sea. Voices coming from just beyond the trees soon follow. It’s one word in particular that causes her to sit up as if propelled by a gigantic spring: ‘Ahoy,’ she hears from the distance.
Even as exhausted as she is, curiosity drives her to put her boots on and investigate further. Peering through the bushes she clearly sees lights dancing on the surface of rippling water and a ship at least ten times the size of Las Reinas del Mar docked on a pier. That such a vessel can stay afloat is inconceivable to her. Surely some sort of magic is at play. Then again, her time in the city of Avenio had given her an entirely new respect for engineering. “I’ll be back, horse,” she says to her animal and follows the sound of the voices.
“Well hello,” says a stout man wearing a hat the likes of which she’s never seen before. The peculiar thing has its brim folded up to form a triangle and is decorated with feathers that must have been plucked from a gigantic bird.
“What sort of ship is this?” she asks, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Why, it’s a cruise ship. Our passengers travel for pleasure.” The images that statement brings to Cara’s mind probably bear no similarity to the events themselves.
She furrows her brow, taking in the vessel and the man she suspects is its captain. “Does this ship cross the sea to Ushuaia?” She hadn’t previously considered returning there but at this moment it seems to her that it’s the perfect solution to all of her woes.
“Not the southernmost tip, no, but we will stop in Bonaria. From there you can easily make your way south.” As with most of the places she and Kahlan visited during their quest, she has never heard of such a city. During this journey she’d seen things she still isn’t sure are possible.
“How much is the fare?” she asks.
“For you, my friend, nothing. You are a living legend in these waters. There is scarcely a sailor alive who hasn’t heard of the leather-clad woman with the golden hair who breathed life back into the lungs of Captain Fernão de Magalhães. Many sailors regard you as a divine apparition.” Cara shrugs at the peculiar remark. “We set sail tomorrow at dawn,” he says. Cara nods and returns to her camp, thinking that a new chapter of her life is about to begin. Still, it won’t be same, being at sea without the Mother Confessor at her side.
***
The hustle and bustle of passengers boarding the ship causes a commotion that unsettles Cara. It’s a wave of colliding bodies that leaves her feeling small somehow, as if she were a child who has lost sight of her mother. There is no greater loneliness than that which is experienced in a sea of unfamiliar faces, Cara decides. Instinctively, she steps into an empty corridor, waiting until her follow passengers find their cabins.
Once they set sail, Cara is reminded of her time with Kahlan on Las Reinas Del Mar. Standing on deck, she watches the landscape fade into nothing, and with it, any possibility of ever crossing paths with Kahlan again. It’s just as well; surely by now she’s planning her nuptials to the Seeker which is, of course, as it should be. Besides, given all the people on board, she’s bound to meet someone who will hold her interest -- at least for a candlemark or two. That is all she needs, a sweet distraction to erase all memories of the Mother Confessor from her brain -- and from another, far more treacherous organ.
And thus, that is the task she sets for herself, to roam the ship in search of a worthy candidate to extricate all traces of Kahlan from her life. It will be her own personal quest and one at which she will surely succeed. Only it will have to wait because, really, one cannot embark on such an undertaking lightly. There are many details to consider, especially since Kahlan is a formidable woman. She’s beautiful and strong and smart and honorable and kind and considerate and the list goes on to such an extent that already Cara finds herself exhausted. The logical decision is to retire to her cabin and take rest. In the interim, she’ll compile a mental list of desirable qualities -- ones that surpass those Kahlan possesses -- and begin her search. Tomorrow.
***
“My friend,” the Captain says, “you’ve been aboard my ship for days and you’ve hardly touched your meals. Do I need to have my chef walk the plank?”
Cara hasn’t any idea what that means but to be on the safe side, she shakes her head no. “Haven’t had an appetite of late,” Cara says.
Giving her a swift pat on the back, he says, “One thing alone can take away the appetite of one as young and beautiful as you. Who has caused you such heartache?” Cara does her best to look offended but all she can manage is a shrug. “Here,” he says, “let’s take a walk around the deck. There is still much beauty in this world you haven’t seen.”
Just then, a gigantic white fish, spewing water out of a hole in its head, flies out of the water. “What sort of sea monster is that?” Cara asks, taking a step backwards.
The Captain chuckles. “It’s no monster at all, it’s a white whale. Few people have ever seen one and yet it came to the surface to make your acquaintance. And do you see that land mass over there?” he asks, pointing at a small island. “Take a gander,” he says, handing her a spyglass. Through it she sees an island populated by the most exquisite of women -- well, none more exquisite than the Mother Confessor -- frolicking around with hardly a stitch of clothing -- not a man in sight. ”That is the Island of Lesbos. No man has ever set foot there and those who have tried paid a high price. The women are eternally young and beautiful, kept that way by the pleasure they take in each other.”
Cara makes a mental note to visit that island as soon as she manages to erase Kahlan’s smile from her memory. Maybe she’ll even take up permanent residence there, but not today. Today even a giant sea creature and a land full of beautiful women are not enough to lift her spirits. The Captain looks over at her and shakes his head. “You’ve got it bad, my friend.” Cara knows she should deny it but it seems pointless. Surely being back in Ushuaia will make her feel better. All she needs is a hearty bowl of Marina’s fish stew and all thoughts of Kahlan will disappear.
***
By end of the week, Cara’s ship makes landfall in the city of Bonaria. It is unlike anything she has ever seen: cobblestone streets, tall buildings, and lights everywhere. There are street performers, horse-drawn carriages, ladies in fine dresses, and squares with huge monuments. It is as impressive a place as the Captain had said, but its diagonal streets and crowded walkways are positively dizzying. The Captain gave her directions that sounded simple enough. Nothing is easy, however, when one’s head is spinning as hers is right now.
The weapon strapped to her back and her dagger garner no small amount of attention. It appears as if this isn’t the sort of place in which violent confrontations take place. “She must be an actress,” a gentleman wearing a tall hat says to the lady walking beside him.
“Yes, of course,” she replies, as if he’d solved a great mystery. “She’s very beautiful. Probably the star of that new production at the Teatro Colon.”
Cara shrugs at the odd remarks she overhears, looking around in an attempt to locate one of the landmarks the Captain had described. She isn’t one to ask for directions but on this day that may have to change. After walking around in circles for nearly a candlemark, she feels a tug on her sleeve. When she looks down, a pair of big brown eyes belonging to a young boy stares up at her. He’s no more than thirteen summers old, wearing a hat and a smile. “Are you lost?” he asks, “Because if you are, for a small fee, I could assist you.”
Cara eyes him with no small amount of skepticism. “You’re just a child.”
“Yes, and a tour guide. Here’s my card.” He hands her something -- that is nothing like parchment -- saying as much. “Marcelo Alejandro Rivadavia, Tour Guide,” it reads.
“I need to get to Ushuaia,” she says, still not convinced this child is trustworthy.
The boy purses his lips, looking at her from head to toe. “Are you prepared to pay for my services?” he asks.
Cara rolls her eyes and produces a gold coin from her pack, causing the boy’s eyes to open as wide and round as the coin. He presses the coin between his teeth, nods approvingly, and says, “Very well, let’s go.” He takes her by the hand, expertly leading her through a series of streets, pointing out various tourist attractions, until they end up at some sort of station where a man, wearing a strange hat, sits in a booth. “They won’t change gold so I’ll buy your ticket for you.”
When the boy returns he again hands her something that certainly isn’t parchment. “Keep that,” he says, “You’ll have to give it to the station master when you board.” Cara nods but hasn’t the vaguest idea as to his meaning. “What do you do?” the boy asks.
Cara thinks for a long moment before finally saying, “I’m an actress.” Since that is what had been assumed about her earlier, it seemed a believable response.
“So you’re going to Ushuaia to star in a play!” he says, thrilled by the notion.
Tilting her head, Cara purses her lips and shrugs. This is a very odd child but she likes him. Children his age in D’Hara beg or steal to get gold. This boy is smart enough to earn his coin. Never will he have to serve some master or sit in a dungeon.
Just then, she jumps to her feet startled by a loud whistle and a roar the likes of which she’s never heard in her life. Turning toward the source of the noise, she’s confronted with a huge steel beast blowing smoke out of its head, coming at her at an alarming rate. Cara starts to reach for her sword but noticing that the boy and the other people standing at the station are perfectly calm, she grasps the hilt of her dagger instead.
The beast comes to a halt with a screech reminiscent of those produced by Horatio Phineas Panza. Inside what she assumes is its belly, are people sitting as if it were as normal as anything. It occurs to her that the beast hires itself out for a fee -- like a whore, except different. Gars, she decides, would do well to be as enterprising as this beast. It would certainly increase their life expectancy. “All aboard,” calls out a man wearing a hat similar to the one worn by the station master.
“Go on,” the boy says, “and don’t forget to hand over your ticket.”
Cara nods, and with a deep intake of air prepares herself to enter the belly of the beast, but not before turning toward her guide. “Marcelo Rivadavia,” she calls out. When he turns to look at her, she tosses him another coin.
“What is your name?” he asks.
“Cara Mason,” she says as she steps inside the beast.
“I’m going to make you the biggest star the world has ever known, Cara Mason.”
Never having thought herself a celestial object, she shakes her head with what could be regarded as a smile on her face. There are many more good people in this world than she would have thought.
A man who appears to be as old as time takes her ticket and walks her to her seat. Next to her sits a young girl, perhaps sixteen summers old, with a stack of those things that are not parchment, looking out at the landscape, attempting to capture it with a stick of charcoal. Cara wishes for a moment that the girl would have been on the ship to capture an image of the white sea monster, and in Bonaria to draw pictures of the impressive city and perhaps a portrait of the enterprising boy so that if ever she were to see the Mother Confessor she could share them with her. With a small sigh, she closes her eyes, allowing the beast’s roars and the cool breeze to lull her to sleep. Lately, it’s all she can do to stay awake.
Quite unexpectedly, the girl places one of her drawings on Cara’s lap, causing Cara’s eyes to snap open. “It’s a portrait of you,” the girl says.
Cara cannot recall ever seeing as much sadness as she finds in this girl’s eyes. Her first instinct is to look away but she thinks better of it. “Thank you,” Cara says, surprised by the unexpected gesture. The girl nods in acknowledgement. After a long pause, Cara asks, “Why are you so sad?” Never in her life has she asked such a question. Other people’s feelings haven’t been something with which she’s ever concerned herself before -- except maybe Kahlan’s.
The girl sighs. “I am traveling home to see my brother. He has fallen ill and isn’t expected to live through this day.” Cara listens with great interest. “He’s a hero,” she says. “He traveled to a land no one dared visit for the purpose of delivering an herb that was the only cure to a plague that was consuming them. He saved thousands of lives.” Wiping away her tears, she continues, “As he journeyed back, he was attacked by a band of thieves. His injuries are too great.” The girl leans into Cara’s chest and weeps. Cara silently closes her eyes and presses her palm on the girl’s back causing her tears to eventually subside. Cara rests her chin on the top of the girl’s head and sleep for the remainder of their long journey.
***
When Kahlan arrives at an empty pier next to a tavern with a prominent ‘Closed’ sign nailed to its door, she looks out into the vastness of the sea, just as she and Cara had done when they arrived at Ushuaia. It is then that she accepts her utter lack of control over the situation. The time has come to let go and move on with the rest of her life. Far too many people are counting on her, people whom she is sworn to serve and protect.
She opens her pack with the purpose of reaching for her journey book but instead pulls out a neatly wrapped bundle. She tilts her head staring at it for a long moment before recognizing it as the package Jamal had given Cara after they defeated the pirates -- attached to it, a piece of white cloth. Running her fingers over it several times, it dawns on her that it came from her Confessor gown. “Cara,” she says, “how could I not be in love with you when you do something like this for me?” she says, knowing that the Mord’Sith had been the last person to handle the dress before handing it over to the Wizard of the Fourth Order. If Cara had placed the package in her pack, it must be important somehow.
Hoping that its contents will help her find her way back to Cara, she sits on a small bench outside the tavern and unwraps the package, rolling her eyes and throwing her arms up in frustration when she sees what’s in it. “Floor covering? For Spirits’ sake, Jamal gave Cara floor covering. Why not cutlery or perhaps a nice vase?” she says with as much sarcasm and frustration as she can muster. Just as she’s about to toss the useless thing aside, a note written on something that most certainly isn’t parchment slips to the ground in front of her.
My friend,
I owe you and your lady everything. If ever you lose your way, lay this, my gift to you, upon the ground and take a seat. With your heart as its compass, it will take you where you need to be. Its place of origin is Bisnagar, where all things are possible and also the city of my birth. This is the highest gift I can bestow upon you and, still, it falls short of what you have given me.
With my deepest gratitude,
Jamal
Kahlan hasn’t a clue as to how this unsightly green silk thing with frilly golden tassels will reveal Cara’s whereabouts but being fresh out of ideas, she follows Jamal’s instructions. Dropping her pack, she sits down and waits, and waits some more, and some more after that. “Oh for Spirits’ sake, are you going to take me to Cara or not?” The moment the words leave her lips, she finds herself flying through the air at an alarming velocity with nothing but a piece of floor covering sustaining her weight -- the scream she looses, probably loud enough to be heard across all of the territories. With nothing else handy, she takes hold of her pack and hugs it to her chest, if only for the illusion of safety. “Don’t look down, don’t look down,” she repeats over and over. Still, she looks down which causes her to release yet another blood-curdling scream.
After almost two candlemarks, however, she loosens her grip on her pack, and decides to enjoy the ride. If she hasn’t come crashing down to the ground yet, it’s possible that she will survive the experience. Of one thing she is certain, if after enduring this mode of transportation Cara rejects her, she will hurl herself off the Great Tower back at the Palace in Aydindril for surely no one has ever gone to such lengths for love. “A born flier,” she says, “how I wish you were here to share this with me, Cara.”
Kahlan soon realizes that Jamal’s gift is much more sophisticated than meets the eye. When nature calls, the thing actually knows what is required of it and promptly lands her on an island that, much to her surprise, is populated by beautiful, frolicking women who greet her enthusiastically. “Welcome to the Island of Lesbos,” a rather fetching blonde says, her lips lingering on Kahlan’s cheek for a little longer than necessary. She promptly makes a mental note to never, ever allow Cara to set foot on this island. The rest of the afternoon is spent enjoying a delicious meal and learning about how their island came to be -- not to mention enduring various rather enticing sexual overtures. While they are nice enough, Cara is still never, ever setting foot on this island. “Good bye,” she calls out as she takes flight. The women wave back at her from the shore.
After three days of soaring through the clouds without a sign of Cara, Kahlan decides that if this flying contraption doesn’t deliver her into Cara’s arms, she’ll have one of the seamstresses at the Palace chop it up into tiny flying doilies. Her eagerness to find Cara aside, she’s enjoying the ride. Never has she experienced such beauty as this magnificent world seen from above -- mountain ranges and deserts and breathtaking waterfalls from a birds-eye view that she never imagined possible. She tries her best to memorize it all so that she can tell Cara about it but it’s too much to take in. If Cara returns her love, she’ll do it all over again with Cara seated beside her. And even if she doesn’t love her, the ride with Cara was worth the fall.
Her comfort level with this peculiar mode of transportation has grown to such an extent that she’s even corresponding with Richard via journey book. It would seem Nicci is terrorizing him and the Wizard enough to motivate them to forgo their usual meandering. At their current pace, they will reach D’Hara in half the time they had originally planned. When she writes that she is currently soaring through the air on a piece of floor covering in an attempt to reunite with Cara, the Seeker assumes it’s some sort of metaphor. Kahlan decides to leave it at that.
With nothing but the night sky surrounding her, she wishes upon star after star that they lead her to Cara. She then lies back and gazes up at the heavens. Every bit of this life is a miracle, she decides. Surely, her miracle will come to pass. That thought paints a bright smile on her face that stays there as the morning light tints the sky a pale blue that matches her eyes.
Author: fortunata13
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Word Count: 7078
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Most certainly, I do not own these characters.
Summary: As Cara struggles to find her place in the world, Kahlan struggles to find Cara. In an effort to locate her wayward former Mord'Sith, Kahlan will have to resort to a rather unusual mode of transpiration. Both of them also manage to change lives for the better, and reconnect with friends. Expect a heartbroken Mord'Sith, a lovelorn Confessor, and a bird's eye view of the world. Oh and I almost forgot, Kahlan visits the Island of Lesbos.
A/N: I'm so sorry for the slow update. This is a hectic time of the year. The next chapter is just about ready, and after that comes the grand finale. Much gratitude to statuepup and all of you wonderful ladies who have had the patience to stick with me.
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 part 1 | 6 part 2 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16
Chapter 14
The Hero's Journey
Cara is up at dawn, her eyes searching for something comforting, something to make her feel as if she’s still a part of this world. She hadn’t felt this alone since the death of her sisters but this is different, worse somehow. Her sisters gave her a sense of belonging, yes, but Kahlan made her feel whole and complete. Now it feels as if her lungs and heart are no longer in her body, leaving her a hollow shell. Her eyes go to her bow for a moment, thinking that killing something will perhaps make her feel better; she quickly dismisses the idea. She’s still without an appetite, and it’s never been in her nature to gratuitously kill an animal she has no intention of eating. Since she has plenty of coin and can’t be too far from a town, she waters over the fire she’d made the night before and packs her bedroll. Her destination being the nearest brothel, for surely a bed full of whores will erase all memories of the Mother Confessor.
Traveling at a pace as slow as she had the previous day, Cara arrives at a small village that isn’t very likely to have a brothel. It’s just as well, women are nothing but trouble. Besides, big city brothels have always been her preference. The women are much more likely to willingly accommodate the sexual proclivities of the Mord’Sith -- not that she’s Mord’Sith anymore. Still, whores in this type of place usually run out screaming before she’s had a chance to get warmed up.
Her gaze travels across this desolate dust bowl, reeking of poverty and despair. With the midday sun pounding the back of her neck, she leads her horse to a trough, considering a visit to the local tavern, but the place isn’t the least bit inviting. Just as she’s about to walk off, a faint yet eerily familiar sound takes hold of her. She tilts her head and listens intently as it gets consistently louder, finally drowning out all other sounds in the vicinity. That’s when she realizes what it is -- as well as its only possible source: Horatio Phineas Panza.
“Champion, Champion.” Cara looks down at him in astonishment. Releasing a series of squeals and shrieks and squawks, he bounces circles around her as if he were searching for something she’s deliberately concealing from him. “Where is she, where is she?” When Cara fails to respond, he opts for a more direct approach. “Queeeeeennnnnn,” he calls out in a spectacular squeal that Cara is certain will shatter every bit of glass in the village. Thoroughly dejected by the lack of response, he asks, “Where’s my friend the Queen?” By the tone of his voice, and the expression on his face, Cara suspects Kahlan’s absence is as upsetting to him as it is to her. “Did something happen to the Queen, Champion? The Queen loves you very much. She’d never leave your side of her own free will.”
Cara looks off into the distance for a moment, and says, “The Queen loves the Seeker, not me.”
Horatio Phineas Panza contorts his face to such an extent that Cara frowns and takes a step away from him, thinking perhaps his head will explode all over her leathers. Waving his chubby little arms at his sides, he finally manages to find his voice. “Seeker, shmeeker,” he declares, “Seeker, shmeeker.” He squeals and bounces every syllable then takes to pacing in front of her with his arms crossed over his chest. “The Queen loves you and only you. I saw the way she looked at you. And what about that kiss? Ooh, that kiss was very, very good.”
“Kahlan and I were on a quest and now it’s over. There’s no place for me in her life.”
The little round man pouts and sniffles. “Come meet my family, Champion, I’ve told them all about you.” Cara hesitates for a moment but then walks beside him. For as much she’d wanted to kill him back in Cagliari, at this moment he is her closest friend -- if ever she’s needed a friend, it’s on this day.
“Malèna, this is my friend, the Champion.” His entire face lights up as his wife, a beautiful dark-skinned woman with piercing gray eyes, who had been bent over a loom, rises to her feet to meet the Champion. “I’ll go get the children.” Horatio skips out of the room, leaving Cara awkwardly standing before his unlikely mate.
“My husband has told us all about you and your Queen. It’s an honor to welcome you into our humble home.” And humble it is. The room in which they stand is no bigger than Cara’s old cell at the People’s Palace, with dirt floors, and ceilings so low they scarcely accommodate Malèna’s height. “Where is your Queen? I’d like to thank her. Horatio feels her good influence on the Emperor is responsible for the many improvements in nearby villages, as well in as ours.” If this is an improvement, Cara shudders to think what their lives were like before Kahlan confessed the Emperor.
“Champion, Champion, these are our children. Beautiful, very, very beautiful, like their mother.” His wife doesn’t seem to mind his squeals or his bounces in the least. Cara reasons that love must muffle the squeals.
“And handsome like their father,” Malèna adds, bending at the waist to kiss his cheek.
Two boys and two girls, none more than six summers old, stare up at Cara in awe. Their father had obviously told them all about his friend the Champion and her Queen.
Taking a step away from her siblings, one of the girls, the older of the two, stands before Cara studying her leathers, and the dagger she carries in her holster. “Can I see your sword?” she asks.
Cara glances over at Malèna who nods her approval with a gentle smile. Cara removes the weapon strapped to her back allowing the girl to inspect it. “Someday I’ll be a Champion, too,” she says, in a tone that leaves no room for doubt. Cara purses her lips and tips her head. “And I’ll save the world. Lots of times.” It would seem Horatio had also told them stories about Kahlan.
“I’m going to be a queen,” blurts out the youngest boy. “I’m going to wear pretty dresses and live in a castle. That’s what queens do.”
All eyes are on him for a long moment. “Boys can’t be queens,” says his brother, causing the little one’s eyes to tear up.
“Is that true, Champion?” asks the crestfallen boy.
Cara lifts him off the ground, inspecting him much like his sister had inspected the sword. With a shrug Cara turns toward Horatio, and says, “If that headless woman in Cagliari can be a queen, I don’t see why the boy can’t be.”
“The Champion is right. You children can be anything you’d like,” Horatio declares, earning himself a second kiss from his beautiful wife. All four of them squeal with delight, throwing their arms around Cara, who isn’t exactly sure how to react. Thankfully, they release her and run into their mother’s arms instead.
Clearly, Horatio has been true to his word and shared his stories of the Champion and her Queen with anyone who would listen. Soon neighbors and shopkeepers are standing outside hoping to catch a glimpse of the warrior woman who defeated the Cyclops. Horatio allows it for a while then sends them on their way. “The Champion needs her rest,” he tells them.
Cara watches Horatio tend to his children as his wife prepares their evening meal. She’s suddenly glad Kahlan didn’t confess him during their first encounter. These are good people, she decides, they deserve to live a long, happy life together.
Later that evening, Cara sits out on the front porch staring out into the darkness of night. “I’ve prepared a bed for you,” Malèna says, taking a seat next to her.
Cara turns to her debating whether or not to ask a question that’s been lingering in her mind since she first saw the woman. In her experience, women who look like Malèna only take men like Horatio as a mate to advance their financial position; certainly that isn’t the case here.
As if reading Cara’s mind, Malèna says, “You’re wondering about Horatio and me.” Cara thinks to deny her curiosity but it would be too obvious a lie. “I was born poor. When my father left my mother and me, along with my two younger sisters, she did what she had to do to provide for us.” She pauses, gazing into Cara’s eyes for a moment. “As the daughter of a whore, I too was assumed to be one. Horatio alone showed me respect. He was only sixteen summers old -- just a boy -- but he treated me like a lady. On several occasions he even took beatings to protect my honor. I love my husband for who he is, not for his appearance, or his wealth.” As she rises to go back inside, Malèna rests her hand on Cara’s shoulder, and says, “If Horatio says this Queen of yours loves you, you should believe him. No one knows more about love than my husband.”
The next morning Cara says goodbye to Horatio and his family, but before leaving she reaches into her pack pulling out the hefty bag of gold that, along with the Champion’s sword, had been her reward for winning Kahlan’s heart. She takes two handfuls of coins and tosses them back into her pack. The rest, she places on the table. “This is for you and your family,” she says. While at first Horatio and Malèna refuse to accept it, Cara will not be denied. After much squealing, Horatio finally relents.
“How could the Queen of Hearts not love someone with a heart such as yours?” Malèna says, as Cara mounts her horse and rides on.
***
Leaving the Seeker and the Wizard with a long list of instructions, Kahlan says her farewells and sets out to find Cara but not before securing a journey book to communicate with them. To say that she’s concerned about leaving the two of them to their own devices would be understating matters. Ironically, her one source of comfort is having left Nicci with strict orders to keep them out of trouble -- and not kill either of them to achieve that end.
It isn’t long before she realizes she hasn’t the vaguest idea as to where Cara is headed, nor is she a particularly skilled tracker. Cara has been gone for days and could be anywhere by now. Having no other option, with every league she travels, she does her best to allow her heart to serve as her compass -- not exactly a stellar plan, but it will have to do.
By midmorning she finds herself atop a vertiginous cliff, looking down on an enormous mosaic of colors that makes her feel as if finding Cara will take up the rest of her days. With two deep furrows between her eyebrows, she releases a sigh and rides on.
After almost a full day’s journey, Kahlan decides to see about a meal and room. Sleep, she already knows, will not come easily, but riding through the night in a land she does not know, will not serve her. Were she to even consider such a thing, Cara would wring her neck, she’s certain of it. If only for a brief moment, the thought brings a hint of a smile to her face. She should have gone after her when she left the palace but regrets are pointless. All she can do now is focus on getting Cara back.
The village in which she stops for the night has a small, rather uninviting inn with a tavern that looks as if it hasn’t seen a patron in years. The innkeeper, however, is attentive and polite. After giving Kahlan a key to one of the two rooms in the establishment, he sees to her horse, and brings up her meal. It’s as watery and insipid a concoction as she’s ever tasted but it will fill her belly and help her keep up her strength. For most of the night, she sits on the windowsill counting stars.
It’s the chilly night air that causes her to climb into bed and get under the covers. In the hopes of finding sleep, she hugs a pillow to her chest, doing her best to pretend it’s Cara in her arms. The smell, however, is all wrong, as is the consistency and the texture. Cara’s hair always smells of leather and a hint of vanilla, and her body is a perfect combination of supple curves and lean muscles, and her skin, well, her skin is soft and warm and inviting. Before she even realizes it, tears are streaking her cheeks as if she were some lovesick school girl. She should probably be ashamed of herself, the Mother Confessor of the Midlands, pining away for a woman, a Mord’Sith no less, but she doesn’t care because it’s Cara and she misses her and, what’s more, she loves her and when she finds her she may chain her to the bed in her chambers at the Confessor’s Palace in Aydindril to make certain she never leaves her side again. Yes, that’s exactly what she’ll do. But right now she needs to blow her nose and stop blubbering like an infant. It is lost in such musings that, out of exhaustion, her eyes close, providing her with a few candlemarks of rest.
The sorry image that stares back at her in the looking glass the next morning, causes her to grimace. The dark circles under her bloodshot eyes practically reach her chin and her nose is still red from all of the sniffling. If Cara were here, she’d probably run screaming out of the room the moment she caught sight of her. In an effort to improve her appearance, she asks the innkeeper to bring her a cup of tea, a sliced cucumber for her puffy eyes, and a glass of cold water. Surely out of respect for her station, she must pull herself together before going out in public. Not that anyone in this land knows who she is, but one never knows when an acquaintance may show up unexpectedly.
Her effort is not wasted for as soon as she walks out of the inn, she collides with none other than Horatio Phineas Panza, practically causing her to topple over as he glares up at her with a scowl, loosing a series of those high-pitched, ear-piercing squeals that almost led her to confess him during their first meeting.
“Horatio,” she says, once she’s steadied herself, “it’s so good to see you.” In response, he unceremoniously crosses his chubby little arms over his chest and turns his back toward her.
Puzzled by his behavior, she walks around to face him, but again he gives her his back. It’s when a lovely dark-skinned woman with a brood of bouncing children joins him that he finally turns around. Only he doesn’t speak to her directly. “Malèna, tell the Queen I’m very upset with her.”
“What did I do?” Kahlan asks, with a quizzical look on her face.
No longer able to hold his tongue, with a series of bounces and squeals, he says, “You-you-you-you broke the Champion’s tender heart!”
“Horatio, calm down,” Malèna says. “You’re setting a bad example for the children.” Turning toward Kahlan, she adds with a bowed head, “Forgive my husband, Queen of Hearts. Please do not punish his impertinence. He’s a good man.” Clearly, her concern is for her husband’s head for in this land, heads are known to roll for disrespecting royalty.
“Punish?” Kahlan asks. “No, of course not. Why would you think…? I have no intention of harming anyone.”
“How could you choose that Seeker-shmeeker over the Champion? She fought for your heart!” This time Kahlan’s hands go to her ears as it would seem that as his passion increases so does the pitch of his squeals.
“I didn’t,” she says, “I’d never put anyone above her. It was her choice to leave.”
Horatio eyes her skeptically. “The Champion said you love that shmeeker.”
“I don’t love the shmeeker -- I mean Seeker, I don’t love him. Is Cara here?”
“Horatio, go. The children are going to be late for their lessons. I’ll talk to the Queen.” With that, Malèna guides her into their humble home. Kahlan grimaces at the sight of the place. Not even the poorest of Aydindril’s citizens live in such depressing conditions. “Your Champion passed through here over a week ago.”
“Did she say where she was headed?” Kahlan asks.
“No, she stayed with us for only one night.” Malèna looks into Kahlan’s eyes for a long moment. “But before she left, she saved our family from ruin. Thanks to your Champion’s generosity, my children have a future.”
Realizing Cara must have gifted this family her gold, Kahlan decides to further Cara’s effort at improving their lives. “I know Horatio is a bit upset at me but I’d like to ask a favor of you and your family.” Not accustomed to monarchs asking, rather than taking, what they want, Malèna gives her a tentative nod.
“Cara’s victory earned me a castle. Because of my responsibilities to my people, I won’t have many opportunities to visit it. It has a small staff and a groundskeeper but it lacks the laughter of children to fill its halls. I ask that you please make it your home.” Reading the hesitation in Malèna’s eyes, she adds, “It is not charity that I am offering. Please, I’d consider it a personal favor.”
Malèna tilts her head, gazing at this woman whose mate has already changed her family’s life, thinking she is surely an angel. “You and your Champion, you’ll find your way back to each other,” she says, “The two of you share a single heart as big as this entire world. It cannot be otherwise.”
She bows her head but Kahlan quickly lifts her chin so that their eyes meet. “Bow your head to no one. You are as much a Queen as I am.” With that, she mounts her horse, feeling more certain than ever that she and Cara are meant to be together.
After witnessing the horrid state of the surrounding villages, Kahlan is obliged to make an impromptu visit to the city of Cagliari with the purpose of chastising the confessed Emperor for the deplorable conditions in which his people are living. She has no choice but to set forth a plan for urban renewal and an extensive list of policy changes. Kahlan is anxious to continue her search for Cara but not at the expense of an entire nation.
Her search continues the next morning. With every day that passes, her hopes of finding Cara fade. Still, she will not give up. If necessary, once she makes her way back to the Midlands, she’ll task her entire army with finding her. In fact, she’ll have Richard’s army search for her as well, and the Kelton army, too. Every person under her command will search for Cara, and she’ll also secure the services of seers and listeners and even Gars if she has to. It’s a tremendous abuse of power but she’s a queen and queens aren’t obliged to always be reasonable. It will be her one selfish act as monarch. Releasing a deep sigh, she shakes her head, marveling at her own insanity as she rides on.
The Creator should have shown some restraint, Kahlan decides. Had she not made the world so exceedingly large, Kahlan would have found Cara by now and they would be in Aydindril, dancing in her chambers before climbing into bed in each other’s arms. These unsightly dark circles under her eyes would not be there and her posterior would not ache from days of nonstop riding and, most importantly, Cara would be at her side, where she belongs.
***
It felt good, helping Horatio and his family. Much like when she’d used the Breath of Life to bring back Fernão. It occurs to her that the Mother Confessor would have shown her approval by pressing her lips to Cara’s cheek. For a moment she can almost feel Kahlan’s lips there but the pleasurable sensation fades quickly. She would have liked to hold on to it a bit longer -- or perhaps forever.
These aren’t thoughts she can afford to entertain right now, not when she hasn’t any idea where she’s going or any inkling as to the type of life she’d like to live. D’Hara certainly isn’t a land to which she’ll ever return, nor will she allow herself to be some master’s creature: those days are over. All she can do is ride on in the hopes of finding a place where she belongs, but even that will have to wait until tomorrow; she’s much too tired to do anything other than sleep.
As she lies in her bedroll looking up at the moonless sky, she starts to suspect that her mind is playing tricks on her. It should not be possible -- not having only traveled for such a short time -- but she’s certain that along with ruffling the leaves on the ground, the night breeze carries with it the smell of the sea. Voices coming from just beyond the trees soon follow. It’s one word in particular that causes her to sit up as if propelled by a gigantic spring: ‘Ahoy,’ she hears from the distance.
Even as exhausted as she is, curiosity drives her to put her boots on and investigate further. Peering through the bushes she clearly sees lights dancing on the surface of rippling water and a ship at least ten times the size of Las Reinas del Mar docked on a pier. That such a vessel can stay afloat is inconceivable to her. Surely some sort of magic is at play. Then again, her time in the city of Avenio had given her an entirely new respect for engineering. “I’ll be back, horse,” she says to her animal and follows the sound of the voices.
“Well hello,” says a stout man wearing a hat the likes of which she’s never seen before. The peculiar thing has its brim folded up to form a triangle and is decorated with feathers that must have been plucked from a gigantic bird.
“What sort of ship is this?” she asks, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Why, it’s a cruise ship. Our passengers travel for pleasure.” The images that statement brings to Cara’s mind probably bear no similarity to the events themselves.
She furrows her brow, taking in the vessel and the man she suspects is its captain. “Does this ship cross the sea to Ushuaia?” She hadn’t previously considered returning there but at this moment it seems to her that it’s the perfect solution to all of her woes.
“Not the southernmost tip, no, but we will stop in Bonaria. From there you can easily make your way south.” As with most of the places she and Kahlan visited during their quest, she has never heard of such a city. During this journey she’d seen things she still isn’t sure are possible.
“How much is the fare?” she asks.
“For you, my friend, nothing. You are a living legend in these waters. There is scarcely a sailor alive who hasn’t heard of the leather-clad woman with the golden hair who breathed life back into the lungs of Captain Fernão de Magalhães. Many sailors regard you as a divine apparition.” Cara shrugs at the peculiar remark. “We set sail tomorrow at dawn,” he says. Cara nods and returns to her camp, thinking that a new chapter of her life is about to begin. Still, it won’t be same, being at sea without the Mother Confessor at her side.
***
The hustle and bustle of passengers boarding the ship causes a commotion that unsettles Cara. It’s a wave of colliding bodies that leaves her feeling small somehow, as if she were a child who has lost sight of her mother. There is no greater loneliness than that which is experienced in a sea of unfamiliar faces, Cara decides. Instinctively, she steps into an empty corridor, waiting until her follow passengers find their cabins.
Once they set sail, Cara is reminded of her time with Kahlan on Las Reinas Del Mar. Standing on deck, she watches the landscape fade into nothing, and with it, any possibility of ever crossing paths with Kahlan again. It’s just as well; surely by now she’s planning her nuptials to the Seeker which is, of course, as it should be. Besides, given all the people on board, she’s bound to meet someone who will hold her interest -- at least for a candlemark or two. That is all she needs, a sweet distraction to erase all memories of the Mother Confessor from her brain -- and from another, far more treacherous organ.
And thus, that is the task she sets for herself, to roam the ship in search of a worthy candidate to extricate all traces of Kahlan from her life. It will be her own personal quest and one at which she will surely succeed. Only it will have to wait because, really, one cannot embark on such an undertaking lightly. There are many details to consider, especially since Kahlan is a formidable woman. She’s beautiful and strong and smart and honorable and kind and considerate and the list goes on to such an extent that already Cara finds herself exhausted. The logical decision is to retire to her cabin and take rest. In the interim, she’ll compile a mental list of desirable qualities -- ones that surpass those Kahlan possesses -- and begin her search. Tomorrow.
***
“My friend,” the Captain says, “you’ve been aboard my ship for days and you’ve hardly touched your meals. Do I need to have my chef walk the plank?”
Cara hasn’t any idea what that means but to be on the safe side, she shakes her head no. “Haven’t had an appetite of late,” Cara says.
Giving her a swift pat on the back, he says, “One thing alone can take away the appetite of one as young and beautiful as you. Who has caused you such heartache?” Cara does her best to look offended but all she can manage is a shrug. “Here,” he says, “let’s take a walk around the deck. There is still much beauty in this world you haven’t seen.”
Just then, a gigantic white fish, spewing water out of a hole in its head, flies out of the water. “What sort of sea monster is that?” Cara asks, taking a step backwards.
The Captain chuckles. “It’s no monster at all, it’s a white whale. Few people have ever seen one and yet it came to the surface to make your acquaintance. And do you see that land mass over there?” he asks, pointing at a small island. “Take a gander,” he says, handing her a spyglass. Through it she sees an island populated by the most exquisite of women -- well, none more exquisite than the Mother Confessor -- frolicking around with hardly a stitch of clothing -- not a man in sight. ”That is the Island of Lesbos. No man has ever set foot there and those who have tried paid a high price. The women are eternally young and beautiful, kept that way by the pleasure they take in each other.”
Cara makes a mental note to visit that island as soon as she manages to erase Kahlan’s smile from her memory. Maybe she’ll even take up permanent residence there, but not today. Today even a giant sea creature and a land full of beautiful women are not enough to lift her spirits. The Captain looks over at her and shakes his head. “You’ve got it bad, my friend.” Cara knows she should deny it but it seems pointless. Surely being back in Ushuaia will make her feel better. All she needs is a hearty bowl of Marina’s fish stew and all thoughts of Kahlan will disappear.
***
By end of the week, Cara’s ship makes landfall in the city of Bonaria. It is unlike anything she has ever seen: cobblestone streets, tall buildings, and lights everywhere. There are street performers, horse-drawn carriages, ladies in fine dresses, and squares with huge monuments. It is as impressive a place as the Captain had said, but its diagonal streets and crowded walkways are positively dizzying. The Captain gave her directions that sounded simple enough. Nothing is easy, however, when one’s head is spinning as hers is right now.
The weapon strapped to her back and her dagger garner no small amount of attention. It appears as if this isn’t the sort of place in which violent confrontations take place. “She must be an actress,” a gentleman wearing a tall hat says to the lady walking beside him.
“Yes, of course,” she replies, as if he’d solved a great mystery. “She’s very beautiful. Probably the star of that new production at the Teatro Colon.”
Cara shrugs at the odd remarks she overhears, looking around in an attempt to locate one of the landmarks the Captain had described. She isn’t one to ask for directions but on this day that may have to change. After walking around in circles for nearly a candlemark, she feels a tug on her sleeve. When she looks down, a pair of big brown eyes belonging to a young boy stares up at her. He’s no more than thirteen summers old, wearing a hat and a smile. “Are you lost?” he asks, “Because if you are, for a small fee, I could assist you.”
Cara eyes him with no small amount of skepticism. “You’re just a child.”
“Yes, and a tour guide. Here’s my card.” He hands her something -- that is nothing like parchment -- saying as much. “Marcelo Alejandro Rivadavia, Tour Guide,” it reads.
“I need to get to Ushuaia,” she says, still not convinced this child is trustworthy.
The boy purses his lips, looking at her from head to toe. “Are you prepared to pay for my services?” he asks.
Cara rolls her eyes and produces a gold coin from her pack, causing the boy’s eyes to open as wide and round as the coin. He presses the coin between his teeth, nods approvingly, and says, “Very well, let’s go.” He takes her by the hand, expertly leading her through a series of streets, pointing out various tourist attractions, until they end up at some sort of station where a man, wearing a strange hat, sits in a booth. “They won’t change gold so I’ll buy your ticket for you.”
When the boy returns he again hands her something that certainly isn’t parchment. “Keep that,” he says, “You’ll have to give it to the station master when you board.” Cara nods but hasn’t the vaguest idea as to his meaning. “What do you do?” the boy asks.
Cara thinks for a long moment before finally saying, “I’m an actress.” Since that is what had been assumed about her earlier, it seemed a believable response.
“So you’re going to Ushuaia to star in a play!” he says, thrilled by the notion.
Tilting her head, Cara purses her lips and shrugs. This is a very odd child but she likes him. Children his age in D’Hara beg or steal to get gold. This boy is smart enough to earn his coin. Never will he have to serve some master or sit in a dungeon.
Just then, she jumps to her feet startled by a loud whistle and a roar the likes of which she’s never heard in her life. Turning toward the source of the noise, she’s confronted with a huge steel beast blowing smoke out of its head, coming at her at an alarming rate. Cara starts to reach for her sword but noticing that the boy and the other people standing at the station are perfectly calm, she grasps the hilt of her dagger instead.
The beast comes to a halt with a screech reminiscent of those produced by Horatio Phineas Panza. Inside what she assumes is its belly, are people sitting as if it were as normal as anything. It occurs to her that the beast hires itself out for a fee -- like a whore, except different. Gars, she decides, would do well to be as enterprising as this beast. It would certainly increase their life expectancy. “All aboard,” calls out a man wearing a hat similar to the one worn by the station master.
“Go on,” the boy says, “and don’t forget to hand over your ticket.”
Cara nods, and with a deep intake of air prepares herself to enter the belly of the beast, but not before turning toward her guide. “Marcelo Rivadavia,” she calls out. When he turns to look at her, she tosses him another coin.
“What is your name?” he asks.
“Cara Mason,” she says as she steps inside the beast.
“I’m going to make you the biggest star the world has ever known, Cara Mason.”
Never having thought herself a celestial object, she shakes her head with what could be regarded as a smile on her face. There are many more good people in this world than she would have thought.
A man who appears to be as old as time takes her ticket and walks her to her seat. Next to her sits a young girl, perhaps sixteen summers old, with a stack of those things that are not parchment, looking out at the landscape, attempting to capture it with a stick of charcoal. Cara wishes for a moment that the girl would have been on the ship to capture an image of the white sea monster, and in Bonaria to draw pictures of the impressive city and perhaps a portrait of the enterprising boy so that if ever she were to see the Mother Confessor she could share them with her. With a small sigh, she closes her eyes, allowing the beast’s roars and the cool breeze to lull her to sleep. Lately, it’s all she can do to stay awake.
Quite unexpectedly, the girl places one of her drawings on Cara’s lap, causing Cara’s eyes to snap open. “It’s a portrait of you,” the girl says.
Cara cannot recall ever seeing as much sadness as she finds in this girl’s eyes. Her first instinct is to look away but she thinks better of it. “Thank you,” Cara says, surprised by the unexpected gesture. The girl nods in acknowledgement. After a long pause, Cara asks, “Why are you so sad?” Never in her life has she asked such a question. Other people’s feelings haven’t been something with which she’s ever concerned herself before -- except maybe Kahlan’s.
The girl sighs. “I am traveling home to see my brother. He has fallen ill and isn’t expected to live through this day.” Cara listens with great interest. “He’s a hero,” she says. “He traveled to a land no one dared visit for the purpose of delivering an herb that was the only cure to a plague that was consuming them. He saved thousands of lives.” Wiping away her tears, she continues, “As he journeyed back, he was attacked by a band of thieves. His injuries are too great.” The girl leans into Cara’s chest and weeps. Cara silently closes her eyes and presses her palm on the girl’s back causing her tears to eventually subside. Cara rests her chin on the top of the girl’s head and sleep for the remainder of their long journey.
***
When Kahlan arrives at an empty pier next to a tavern with a prominent ‘Closed’ sign nailed to its door, she looks out into the vastness of the sea, just as she and Cara had done when they arrived at Ushuaia. It is then that she accepts her utter lack of control over the situation. The time has come to let go and move on with the rest of her life. Far too many people are counting on her, people whom she is sworn to serve and protect.
She opens her pack with the purpose of reaching for her journey book but instead pulls out a neatly wrapped bundle. She tilts her head staring at it for a long moment before recognizing it as the package Jamal had given Cara after they defeated the pirates -- attached to it, a piece of white cloth. Running her fingers over it several times, it dawns on her that it came from her Confessor gown. “Cara,” she says, “how could I not be in love with you when you do something like this for me?” she says, knowing that the Mord’Sith had been the last person to handle the dress before handing it over to the Wizard of the Fourth Order. If Cara had placed the package in her pack, it must be important somehow.
Hoping that its contents will help her find her way back to Cara, she sits on a small bench outside the tavern and unwraps the package, rolling her eyes and throwing her arms up in frustration when she sees what’s in it. “Floor covering? For Spirits’ sake, Jamal gave Cara floor covering. Why not cutlery or perhaps a nice vase?” she says with as much sarcasm and frustration as she can muster. Just as she’s about to toss the useless thing aside, a note written on something that most certainly isn’t parchment slips to the ground in front of her.
My friend,
I owe you and your lady everything. If ever you lose your way, lay this, my gift to you, upon the ground and take a seat. With your heart as its compass, it will take you where you need to be. Its place of origin is Bisnagar, where all things are possible and also the city of my birth. This is the highest gift I can bestow upon you and, still, it falls short of what you have given me.
With my deepest gratitude,
Jamal
Kahlan hasn’t a clue as to how this unsightly green silk thing with frilly golden tassels will reveal Cara’s whereabouts but being fresh out of ideas, she follows Jamal’s instructions. Dropping her pack, she sits down and waits, and waits some more, and some more after that. “Oh for Spirits’ sake, are you going to take me to Cara or not?” The moment the words leave her lips, she finds herself flying through the air at an alarming velocity with nothing but a piece of floor covering sustaining her weight -- the scream she looses, probably loud enough to be heard across all of the territories. With nothing else handy, she takes hold of her pack and hugs it to her chest, if only for the illusion of safety. “Don’t look down, don’t look down,” she repeats over and over. Still, she looks down which causes her to release yet another blood-curdling scream.
After almost two candlemarks, however, she loosens her grip on her pack, and decides to enjoy the ride. If she hasn’t come crashing down to the ground yet, it’s possible that she will survive the experience. Of one thing she is certain, if after enduring this mode of transportation Cara rejects her, she will hurl herself off the Great Tower back at the Palace in Aydindril for surely no one has ever gone to such lengths for love. “A born flier,” she says, “how I wish you were here to share this with me, Cara.”
Kahlan soon realizes that Jamal’s gift is much more sophisticated than meets the eye. When nature calls, the thing actually knows what is required of it and promptly lands her on an island that, much to her surprise, is populated by beautiful, frolicking women who greet her enthusiastically. “Welcome to the Island of Lesbos,” a rather fetching blonde says, her lips lingering on Kahlan’s cheek for a little longer than necessary. She promptly makes a mental note to never, ever allow Cara to set foot on this island. The rest of the afternoon is spent enjoying a delicious meal and learning about how their island came to be -- not to mention enduring various rather enticing sexual overtures. While they are nice enough, Cara is still never, ever setting foot on this island. “Good bye,” she calls out as she takes flight. The women wave back at her from the shore.
After three days of soaring through the clouds without a sign of Cara, Kahlan decides that if this flying contraption doesn’t deliver her into Cara’s arms, she’ll have one of the seamstresses at the Palace chop it up into tiny flying doilies. Her eagerness to find Cara aside, she’s enjoying the ride. Never has she experienced such beauty as this magnificent world seen from above -- mountain ranges and deserts and breathtaking waterfalls from a birds-eye view that she never imagined possible. She tries her best to memorize it all so that she can tell Cara about it but it’s too much to take in. If Cara returns her love, she’ll do it all over again with Cara seated beside her. And even if she doesn’t love her, the ride with Cara was worth the fall.
Her comfort level with this peculiar mode of transportation has grown to such an extent that she’s even corresponding with Richard via journey book. It would seem Nicci is terrorizing him and the Wizard enough to motivate them to forgo their usual meandering. At their current pace, they will reach D’Hara in half the time they had originally planned. When she writes that she is currently soaring through the air on a piece of floor covering in an attempt to reunite with Cara, the Seeker assumes it’s some sort of metaphor. Kahlan decides to leave it at that.
With nothing but the night sky surrounding her, she wishes upon star after star that they lead her to Cara. She then lies back and gazes up at the heavens. Every bit of this life is a miracle, she decides. Surely, her miracle will come to pass. That thought paints a bright smile on her face that stays there as the morning light tints the sky a pale blue that matches her eyes.