Faith of the Fallen

by Terry Goodkind

  The climb was steep, but not arduous. As they ascended, the big trees grew farther and farther apart. The boughs became scraggly, allowing more of the somber light to seep in. For the most part, the rocks higher up were bare of moss and leaves. In places they had to use handholds on the rock, or else roots, to help them climb. Kahlan pulled deep breaths of the cold air; it felt good to test her muscles.

  They came out of the forest into the steel-gray light of late afternoon and the moaning voice of the wind. They were in the crooked wood.

  The scree and rock were naked of the thick moss common lower down the mountain, but they bore yellow-green splotches of lichen outlined in black. Only a bit of scraggly brush clung to the low places here and there. But it was the trees that were the most odd, and gave the place at the top of the tree line its name. They were all stunted—few taller than Kahlan or Richard. Most of the branches grew to one side because of the prevailing winds, leaving the trees looking like grotesque, running skeletons frozen in torment.

  Above the crooked wood, few things other than sedges and lichens grew. Above that, the snowcap held sway.

  “Here it is,” Cara said.

  They found the wolf sprawled on the scree beside a low boulder with a dark stain of dried blood at the sharp edge. Up higher, the pack of gray wolves had been trying to take down a woodland caribou. The old bull had grazed the unlucky wolf with a kick. That in itself would likely not have been anything more than painful, but the wolf had slipped from the higher ledge and fallen to its death. Kahlan ran her fingers through the thick, yellow-gray coat tipped in black. It was in good condition, and would be a warm addition to Cara’s winter mantle.

  Richard and Cara started skinning the good-sized female animal as Kahlan went out to the edge of an overhang. She drew her own mantle up around her ears as she stood in the bitter wind surveying the approaching clouds. She was somewhat startled by what she saw.

  “Richard, it’s not drizzle coming our way,” Kahlan said. “It’s snow.”

  He looked up from his bloody work. “Do you see any wayward pines down in the valley?”

  She squinted down to the valley floor spread out before her.

  “Yes, I see a couple. The snow is still a ways off. If you’re not long at that, we can probably make it down there and collect some wood before it gets wet.”

  “We’re almost done,” Cara said.

  Richard stood to have a quick look for himself. With a bloody hand, he absently lifted his real sword a few inches and then let it drop back, a habit he had of checking to make sure the weapon was clear in its scabbard. It was an unsettling gesture. He had not drawn the weapon from its hilt since the day he had been forced to kill all those men who had attacked them back near Hartland.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “What?” Richard saw where her eyes were looking and glanced down at the sword on his hip. “Oh. No, nothing. Just habit, I guess.”

  Kahlan pointed. “There’s a wayward pine, there. It’s the closest, and good-sized, too.”

  Richard wiped the back of his wrist across his brow, swiping his hair away from his eyes. His fingers glistened with blood. “We’ll be down there, sheltered by a wayward pine, sitting beside a cozy fire having tea before dark. I can stretch the hide on the branches inside and scrape it there. The snow will help insulate us inside the tree’s boughs. We’ll have a good rest before heading back in the morning. Down a little lower, it will only be rain.”

  Kahlan snuggled her cheek inside her wolf fur as a shiver tingled through her shoulders and up the back of her neck. Winter had snuck up on them.

  Chapter 20

  When they arrived home two days later, the little fish in the jars were all dead.

  They had used the same easier route over the pass that they had originally used to enter the valley when they had first come in with the horses, months before. Of course, Kahlan didn’t recall that trip; she had been unconscious. It seemed a lifetime ago.

  There was now a shorter trail to their home, one they had blazed down from the pass. They could have used that alternative route, but it was narrow and difficult and would have saved them only ten or fifteen minutes. They had been out for days, and as they had wearily stood in the windswept notch at the top of the pass looking down at their cozy home far below at the edge of the meadow, they had decided to take the easier passage, even though it took a little longer. It had been a relief to finally get inside the house, out of the wind, and drop all their gear.

  As Richard brought in firewood and Cara fetched water, Kahlan pulled out a little square of cloth with some small bugs she’d caught earlier that day, intending to give her fish a treat, since they were sure to be hungry. She let out a little groan when she saw that they were dead.

  “What’s the matter?” Cara asked as she walked in lugging a full bucket. She came over to see the fish.

  “Looks like they starved,” Kahlan told her.

  “Little fish like that don’t often live long in a jar,” Richard said as he knelt and started stacking birch logs atop kindling in the fireplace.

  “But they did live a long time,” Kahlan said, as if to prove him wrong and somehow talk him out of it.

  “You didn’t name them, did you? I told you not to name them because they would die after a time. I warned you not to let yourself get emotionally attached when it can only come to no good end.”

  “Cara named one.”

  “Did not,” Cara protested. “I was just trying to show you which one I was talking about, that’s all.”

  After the flames took from his flint, Richard looked up and smiled. “Well, I’ll get you some more.”

  Kahlan yawned. “But these were the best ones. They needed me.”

  Richard snorted a laugh. “You’ve got quite the imagination. They only depended on us because we artificially altered their lives. Just like the chipmunks would stop hunting seeds for their winter stores if we gave them handouts all the time. Of course, the fish had no choice, because we kept them in jars. Left to their own initiative, the fish wouldn’t need any help from us. After all, it took a net to catch them. I’ll catch you some more, and they’ll come to need you just as much.”

  Two days later, on a thinly overcast day, after they’d had a big lunch of thick rabbit stew with turnips and onions along with bread Cara had made, Richard went off to check the fishing lines and to catch some more of the blacknose dace minnows.

  After he’d left, Cara picked up their spoons and put them in the bucket of wash water on the counter.

  “You know,” she said, looking back over her shoulder, “I like it here, I really do, but it’s starting to make me jumpy.”

  Kahlan scraped the plates off into a wooden bowl with the cooking leavings for the midden heap. “Jumpy?” She brought the plates to the counter. “What do you mean?”

  “Mother Confessor, this place is nice enough, but it’s starting to make me go daft. I am Mord-Sith. Dear spirits, I’m starting to name fish in jars!” Cara turned back to the bucket and bent to cleaning the spoons with a washcloth. “Don’t you think it’s about time we convinced Lord Rahl that we need to get back?”

  Kahlan sighed. She loved their home in the mountains, and she loved the quiet and solitude. Most of all, she treasured the time she and Richard were able to spend together without other people making demands of them. But she also missed the activity of Aydindril, the company of people, and the sights of cities and crowds. There was a lot not to like about being in places like that, but there was an excitement about it, too.

  She’d had a lifetime to become used to the way people didn’t always want or understand her help, and forging ahead anyway because she knew it was in their best interest. Richard never had to learn to face that cold indifference and go about his duty despite it.

  “Of course I do, Cara.” Kahlan placed the bowl of scraps on a shelf, reminding herself to empty it later. She wondered if she was to be a Mother Confessor who forever lived in the woods, away from he
r people, a people struggling for their liberty. “But you know how Richard feels. He thinks it would be wrong—more than that, he thinks it would be irresponsible to give in to such a wish when reason tells him he must not.”

  Cara’s blue eyes flashed with determination. “You are the Mother Confessor. Break the spell of this place. Tell him that you are needed back there, and that you are going to return. What’s he going to do? Tie you to a tree? If you leave, he will follow. He will have to return, then.”

  Kahlan shook her head emphatically. “No, I can’t do that. Not after what he’s told us. That’s not the kind of thing you do to a person you respect. I may not exactly agree with him, but I understand his reasons and know him well enough to dread that he’s right.”

  “But going back doesn’t mean he would have to lead our side. You would only be making him follow you back, not making him return to leadership.” Cara smirked. “But maybe when he sees how much he is needed, he will come to his senses.”

  “That’s part of the reason he’s brought us so far out in the mountains: he fears that if he’s near the struggle, or if he goes back, he will see all that’s happening and be drawn in. I can’t use his feelings for me to force him into such a corner. Even if we did go back and he resisted the temptation to help people fighting for their lives and wasn’t drawn into the struggle against the brutality of the Imperial Order, such an overt act of coercion on my part would create an enduring rift between us.”

  Kahlan shook her head again. “This is something he believes too strongly. I won’t force him into returning.”

  Cara gestured with the dripping washcloth. “Maybe he doesn’t really believe it, not really, not deep down inside. Maybe he doesn’t want to go back because he doubts himself—over the Anderith thing—and so he thinks it’s just easier for him to stay away.”

  “I don’t believe Richard doubts himself in this. Not in this. Not for a second. Not one tiny little bit. I think that if he had any doubt whatsoever, he would return, because that is really the easier path. Staying away is harder—as you and I can attest.

  “But you can leave at any time, Cara, if you feel so strongly about going back. He has no claim on your life. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t wish to.”

  “I am sworn to follow him no matter what foolish thing he does.”

  “Foolish? You follow him because you believe in him. So do I. That’s why I could never walk away, forcing him to follow.”

  Cara pressed her lips tight. Her blue eyes lost their fire as she turned away and flopped the cloth back into the bucket of water. “Then we will be stuck here, condemned to live out our lives in paradise.”

  Kahlan smiled in understanding of Cara’s frustration. While she wouldn’t try to force Richard into something he was dead set against, that didn’t preclude her from trying to change his mind. She drained her teacup and plunked it down on the counter. That would be different.

  “Maybe not. You know, I’ve been thinking the same thing—that we need to go back, I mean.”

  Cara peered over with a suspicious sidelong glance. “So, what do you think we can do to convince him?”

  “Richard is going to be gone for a while. Without him here to bother us, how about we have a bath?”

  “A bath?”

  “Yes, a bath. I’ve been thinking about how much I’d like to get cleaned up. I’m tired of looking like a backcountry traveler. I’d like to wash my hair and put on my white Mother Confessor’s dress.”

  “Your white Mother Confessor’s dress…” Cara smiled conspiratorially. “Ah. Now that will be the kind of battle a woman is better equipped to fight.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Kahlan could see Spirit standing in the bedroom window, looking out at the world, her robes flowing in the wind, her head thrown back, her back arched, her fists at her sides in defiance of anything that would think to bridle her.

  “Well, not exactly a battle the way you’re thinking, but I believe I can state the case better if I’m dressed properly. That wouldn’t be unfair. I will be putting the issue to him as the Mother Confessor. I believe that in some ways his judgment has been clouded; it’s hard to think about anything else when you’re worried sick about someone you love.”

  Kahlan’s fists tightened at her sides as she thought about the danger hanging over the Midlands. “He’s got to see that all of that is in the past, that I’m healthy, now, and that the time has come to return to our duties to our people.”

  Smirking, Cara swiped back a wisp of her blond hair. “He will see that, and more, if you were in that dress of yours, that’s for sure.”

  “I want him to see the woman who was strong enough to win against him with a sword. I want him to see that Mother Confessor in the dress, too.”

  From the corner of her mouth, Cara puffed another strand of hair off her face. “To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t mind a bath myself. You know, I think that if I stand beside you in a proper Mord-Sith outfit and my hair is washed and my braid is done up fresh and I’m looking properly Mord-Sith-like and I speak my agreement with what you say, Lord Rahl will be all the more convinced that we’re right and inclined to see that the time has come for us to return.”

  Kahlan set the plates into the bucket of water. “It’s settled, then. We’ve enough time before he comes back.”

  Richard had made them a small wooden tub, big enough to sit in and have a nice bath. It wasn’t big enough to lie back and luxuriate in, but it was still quite the luxury for their mountain home.

  Cara towed the tub from the corner, leaving drag marks across the dirt floor. “I’ll put it in my room. You go first. That way, if he comes back sooner rather than later, you can keep your nosy husband busy and out of my hair while I wash it.”

  Together, Kahlan and Cara hauled in buckets of water from the nearby spring, heating some in a kettle over a roaring fire. When Kahlan finally sank into the steaming water, she let out a long sigh. The air was chilly, and the hot bath felt all the better for it. She would have liked to linger, but decided not to.

  She smiled at recalling all the trouble Richard had had with women in bathwater. It was a good thing he wasn’t there. Later, after they had their talk, she thought she would ask him to take a bath before bed. She liked the aroma of his sweat when it was clean sweat.

  With the knowledge that she would face Richard with her hair washed and sparkling, and in her white dress, Kahlan felt more confident about the real possibility of their return than she had in a long time. She dried and brushed her hair by the heat of the fire as Cara boiled some more water. While Cara went in to take her bath, Kahlan went to her room to slip into her dress. Most people feared the dress because they feared the woman who wore it; Richard had always liked her in the dress.

  As she tossed the towel on the bed, her eye was caught by the statue in the window. Kahlan fisted her hands at her sides and, standing naked, arched her back and threw her head back, mimicking Spirit, letting the feeling of it overcome her, letting herself be that strong spirit, letting it flow through her.

  For that moment, she was the spirit of the statue.

  This was a day of change. She could feel it.

  It seemed a little odd, after being a woods woman for so long, to be back in her Mother Confessor’s dress, to feel the satiny smooth material against her skin. Mostly, though, the feeling was the comfort of the familiar.

  As Mother Confessor, Kahlan felt sure of herself. On a fundamental level, the dress was a form of battle armor. Wearing the dress, Kahlan also felt a sense of importance, in that she carried the weight of history, of exceptional women who had gone before her. The Mother Confessor bore a terrible responsibility, but also had the satisfaction of being able to make a real difference for the better in people’s lives.

  Those people depended on her. Kahlan had a job to do, and she had to convince Richard that she needed to do it. They needed him, too, but even if he would not issue orders, he needed to at least willingly return with her. Those
fighting for their cause deserved to know the Mother Confessor was with them, and that she had not lost faith in them or their cause. She had to make Richard see that much of it.

  Once she was back out in the main room, Kahlan could hear Cara splashing in the tub. “Need anything, Cara?” she called out.

  “No, I’m fine,” Cara called from her room. “This feels so good! I think there’s enough dirt in this water to plant potatoes.”

  Kahlan laughed knowingly. She saw a chipmunk casting about outside the house. “I’m going to go feed Chippy some apple cores. If you need anything, call out.”

  Their universal name for all the chipmunks was “Chippy.” They all answered to it; they knew the name augured well for a handout.

  “All right,” Cara said from her tub. “If Lord Rahl gets back, though, just kiss him or something to keep him busy but wait until I’m done before you talk to him. I want to be with you to help you convince him. I want to be sure we make him see the light.”

  Kahlan smiled. “I promise.”

  She plucked an apple core from the wooden bucket of little animal snacks they kept hanging on a piece of twine where the chipmunks couldn’t get to them on their own. The squirrels loved apple cores, too. The horses preferred their apples whole.

  “Here, Chippy,” Kahlan called out through the door in the voice she always used with them. She raised the bucket back toward the ceiling and hooked the line to the peg on the wall. “Chip, Chip, you want an apple?”

  Outside, Kahlan saw the chipmunk off to the side, foraging through the grass. The chill breeze caressed the long folds of her dress to her legs as she walked. It was almost cold enough to need the fur mantle. The bare branches of the oaks behind the house creaked and groaned as they rubbed together. The pines, reaching toward the sky where the wind was stronger, bowed deeply with some of the gusts. The sun had taken refuge behind a steel-gray overcast that made her white dress all the more striking in the gloom.