Severed Souls(59)

What if, because she didn’t want to climb a hillside in the dark, that remaining Shun-tuk killed Zedd, or Nicci? Or Richard.

Or any of them, for that matter. Each life was precious. That was, after all, ultimately what they were fighting to protect—the sanctity of every life. Kahlan didn’t want any of these men dying. She wanted them to be able to live in peace and not have to do the job at which they were so good.

Perhaps worst of all, the thought of being awakened suddenly and trying to scramble up out of the gorge in the dark with bloodthirsty Shun-tuk grabbing their ankles and pulling them back down into waiting arms of flesh-eating half people had her more than willing to do what was necessary to get up and out of the gorge before they stopped for the remainder of the night.

With the sword no longer gripped in her fist, exhaustion was setting in, but she was mostly interested in Zedd and Nicci having a safe place to get the rest and food they needed so they would be able to apply their full gifted ability to strengthen Richard and bring him back from the pull of death.

When Kahlan agreed to the commander’s advice to press on and make the difficult climb to find a safer place to set up camp, he sent some men ahead first to scout the best way up.

Kahlan’s clothes were stiff and sticky from all the blood of the Shun-tuk she had killed. She had no idea how many she had slaughtered. The memory of it was a blur of relentless fighting interspersed with halting mental visions of particularly desperate, violent moments.

Her hair was stiff and matted with blood. She was glad she didn’t have a mirror handy, but by the looks she got, she could imagine well enough what a sight she must be.

In the war, some of the men she had led in battle at the time had called her their warrior queen. They hadn’t meant it as the demotion such a title actually was, but it was meant as their highest tribute, so she had always accepted it in the spirit in which it had been intended.

Titles meant more to Kahlan than they did to Richard, but probably because she had been born a Confessor—her title was part of her inherent nature. That power she carried within her couldn’t be separated from her by removing the title. It had taken the touch of death from the Hedge Maid to block her from that inner ability.

People had avoided and feared her all her life for the power she carried. That fear set her apart, kept her from so many of the simple pleasures of life that they could enjoy without a thought, even as simple a thing as a benevolent smile or nod in passing. It was not because she wanted to be set apart—she didn’t—but because people had always distanced themselves from Confessors.

Most everyone feared Confessors, and in many, that fear had curdled into hatred.

No one smiled or nodded at a Confessor the way they did a normal person. Even those who respected the Confessors still feared them. She had always been able to see the tension in the faces of anyone who spotted her. All her life, she could detect the tremble in most people’s voice when they spoke to her. She could often see their hands start to shake when she spoke to them. She always did her best to pretend not to notice in order to as gracefully as possible put them at ease. That was usually the best she could do. They feared what they feared.

Most of those who had been close to her for a time grew more used to her as they came to realize that a Confessor was not going to suddenly lose control and unleash her power on them. At times they came to almost forget about her power. Almost.

That inherent nature also drew those who wanted to kill her. For that reason, Confessors had once each been assigned a wizard to protect them. But all those other Confessors were long dead, as were the wizards assigned to them, including Giller, the wizard once assigned to Kahlan. Those who hated a Confessor’s ability to uncover truth had finally been able to kill them all. All but her.

Now, Kahlan was married to her wizard, Richard, who was more importantly the man she loved.

In a way, her title, the one she was born with, Confessor, and then Mother Confessor, the title given her by her sister Confessors, represented her armor, the armor she wore to fight for truth. In that way, she was a warrior queen. Those other Confessors had wanted her to be the one who led them in that fight for truth. She was the one.

Born a simple Confessor, she now was and always would be the Mother Confessor, the last of her kind.

Richard was the first man who had not avoided her because of what she was. Of course, he hadn’t known at the time that she was the Mother Confessor, or even known what being a Confessor really meant. As she had come to know Richard, though, she came to understand that even had he known, it wouldn’t have stopped him from wanting to get closer to her. Nothing would have.