Stone of Tears (12 page)

Kahlan didn’t know what to say. He didn’t look well. “I think I know what you mean. I was sick once and they fed me some cheese. I threw it all back up. They thought it would be good for me, and every day fed me more, and I would throw it up, until I was well again. That is why, to this day, I don’t like cheese. Maybe it’s something like that, because you have a headache.”

“Maybe,” he said in a weak voice. “I spent a long time at the

Peoples’ Palace. They don’t eat meat there. Darken Rahl doesn’t—didn’t—eat meat, so none was served at the Palace. Maybe I just got used to not eating meat.”

She rubbed his back as he put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair. First cheese, and now meat. His eating habits were becoming as peculiar as … a wizard’s.

“Kahlan … I’m sorry, but I need to go somewhere where it’s quiet. My head really hurts.”

She put her hand on his forehead. His skin was cold and clammy. He looked about ready to fall over. Her insides fluttered with worry.

Kahlan squatted in front of the Bird Man. “
Richard doesn’t feel well. He needs to go somewhere quiet. Is that all right?
”

At first he thought he knew why they wanted to leave. His smile faded when he saw the anxiety on her face. “
Take him to the spirit house. It is quiet there. No one will bother him. Get Nissel if you think there be need.
” A little of his smile came back. “
Maybe he has spent too much time on the dragon. I thank the spirits my gift of flight was short.
”

She nodded, unable to manage much of a smile and said a quick good night to the others. Picking up both their packs, she put a hand under Richard’s arm and helped him to his feet. His eyes were squeezed shut, his eyebrows wrinkled together in pain. The pain seemed to pass a little, and he opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and started off with her across the open area.

The shadows were thick among the buildings, but the moon was up, giving them enough light to see their way. The sounds of the feast faded into the background, leaving only the slow scrape of Richard’s boots scuffing on the dry ground.

He straightened a little. “I think some of it has passed.”

“Do you get headaches often?”

He smiled over to her in the moonlight. “I’m famous for my headaches. My father told me that my mother used to get headaches like the ones I get, where you feel sick to your stomach because your head hurts so much. But this one is different. I’ve never had ones like this before. It’s like something inside my head is trying to get out.” He took his pack from her and hoisted it to his shoulder. “It hurts more that my other headaches.”

They passed from the narrow passageways to the wide space around the spirit house. It sat by itself, moonlight reflecting off the tile roof Richard had helped the Mud People build. Wisps of smoke rose from the chimney.

Around the side, by the door, a row of chickens roosted on a low wall. They watched as she pulled the door open for him, starting a little at the squeak of the hinges, and settled down as the two of them passed inside.

Richard flopped down in front of the fireplace. Kahlan pulled out a blanket and made him lay back, bunching the blanket under his head. He rested the back of his wrist over his eyes as she sat, cross-legged, next to him.

Kahlan felt helpless. “I think I should go get Nissel. Maybe a healer can do something for you.”

He shook his head. “I’ll be all right. I just need to be away from all the noise.” He smiled, his arm still over his eyes. “Have you ever noticed how badly we do at parties? Every time we are at a party something happens.”

Kahlan thought back to every gathering they had been at together. “I think you’re right.” She rubbed a hand on his chest. “I think the only solution is for us to be alone.”

Richard kissed her hand. “I would like that.”

She enfolded his big hand in both of hers, wanting to feel the warmth of him as she watched him rest. It was dead quiet in the spirit house, except for the slow crackling of the fire. She listened to his slow, steady breathing.

After a while, he slid his hand away, and looked up at her. Firelight reflected in his eyes. There was something about his face, his eyes; something her mind was trying to tell her. He looked like someone else she had met, but who? A name whispered in the back of her thoughts, but she couldn’t quite hear it. She stroked his hair back off his forehead. His skin didn’t feel quite so cold.

He sat up. “I just thought of something. I asked the elders for permission to marry you, but I haven’t really asked you.”

Kahlan smiled. “No, you haven’t.”

Suddenly he looked embarrassed and unsure of himself. His eyes wandered a little. “That was really stupid. I’m sorry. That wasn’t the right way to do it. I hope you’re not angry. I guess I’m not very good at this. I’ve never done it before.”

“Me neither.”

“And I guess this isn’t the most romantic place to do it. It should be someplace beautiful.”

“Wherever you are is the most romantic place in the world to me.”

“And I guess I must look pretty silly asking you something like this when I’m lying here with a headache.”

“If you don’t ask me pretty soon, Richard Cypher,” she whispered, “I’m going to choke it out of you.”

His eyes finally found hers, found hers so intently it nearly took her breath away. “Kahlan Amnell, will you marry me?”

Quite unexpectedly, she found she couldn’t speak. She closed her eyes and kissed his soft lips as a tear rolled down her cheek. His arms closed around her, hugging her tight against the heat of him. She pulled back breathlessly. Her voice at last returned. “Yes.” She kissed him again. “Please, yes.”

Kahlan laid her head against his shoulder. Richard gently stroked her hair as she listened to his breathing and the crackle of the fire. He held her tenderly and kissed the top of her head, there being no need for words. She felt safe in his arms.

Kahlan let loose her pain: the pain of loving him more than life itself and thinking he had been tortured to death by the Mord-Sith before she could tell him how much she loved him; the pain of having thought she could never have him because she was a Confessor and her power would destroy him; the hurt of how much she needed him, how uncontrollably she loved him.

As her anguish expended itself, it was replaced by her joy in what lay ahead: a lifetime, together. The breathless excitement of it seeped into her. She clutched at him, wanting to melt into him, wanting to be one with him.

Kahlan smiled. That was what being married to him would be: being one with him, as Zedd had told her once—like finding the other half of herself.

When she finally looked up, there was a tear on his face. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, and he did the same. She hoped his tears meant he had let his demons go, too.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Richard pulled her tight against him. His fingers traced a trail down the bumps of her spine.

“I feel so frustrated that there aren’t any better words than ‘I love you’,” he said. “It doesn’t seem enough for the way I feel about you. I’m sorry there aren’t any better words to tell you.”

“They are words enough for me.”

“Then, I love you, Kahlan. A thousand times, a million times, I love you. Forever.”

She listened to the snap and pop of the fire, and to his heart beating. To her own heartbeat. He rocked her gently. She wanted to stay there in his arms forever. Suddenly the world seemed a wonderful place.

Richard grasped her shoulders and held her away to better see her. A wonderful smile spread across his face. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are. I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you.” He ran a hand down her hair. “I’m so glad I didn’t cut your hair that time. You have beautiful hair. Don’t ever change it.”

“I’m a Confessor, remember? My hair is a symbol of my power. Besides, I can’t cut it. Only another can do that.”

“Good. I would never cut it. I love you the way you are, power and all. Don’t ever let anyone cut it. I’ve liked your long hair ever since the first day I saw you, in the Hartland Woods.”

She smiled as she remembered that day. Richard had offered her help in escaping from the quads. He had saved her life. “It seems so long ago. Will you miss that life? Being a simple, carefree woods guide?” She smiled coquettishly. “And single?”

Richard grinned. “Single? Not with you as my wife. But a woods guide? Maybe a little.” He stared off at the fire. “I guess that for better of worse, I am the true Seeker. I hold the Sword of Truth, and the responsibilities that go with it, whatever they are. Do you think you can be happy being the wife of the Seeker?”

“I would be happy living in a tree stump, if you were there with me. But Richard, I’m afraid I’m still the Mother Confessor. I have responsibilities, too.”

“Well, you told me what it meant to be a Confessor, how when you touch someone with your power it forever destroys who they were, replacing it with absolute, magical devotion to you, to your wishes, and in that way you can have them confess the truth of their crimes, or for that matter you can make them do anything you would wish, but what other responsibilities do you have?”

“I guess I never told you about everything else that it means to be the Mother Confessor. It wasn’t important at the time; I didn’t think we could ever be together. I thought we would die, or even if we somehow won, you would go home to Westland and I would never see you again.”

“You mean the part about it meaning that you are more than a queen?”

She nodded. “The Central Council of the Midlands in Aydindril is made up of representatives of the more important Lands of the Midlands. Together, the Central Council more or less rules the Midlands. Even though the lands are independent, they still bow to the word of the Central Council. In that way, through the Confederation of Lands, common goals are protected and peace is maintained. It keeps people talking instead of fighting. If one land were to attack another, it would be viewed as an attack against unity, against all, and all would put the aggression down. Kings, queens, rulers, officials, merchants, and others come to the Central Council to petition for what they want: trade agreements, boundary treaties, accords dealing with magic—an endless list of wants and wishes.”

“I understand. It’s something like that in Westland. The council rules in much the same way. Although Westland isn’t nearly big enough to have kingdoms, there are districts that govern themselves, but are represented by councilors in Hartland.

“Since my brother was a councilor, and then First Councilor, I was around the dealings of government. I saw the councilors coming from different places to ask for things. Being a guide, I was always leading them to and from Hartland. I learned a lot about it from talking to them.”

Richard folded his arms. “So what is the Mother Confessor’s part in it?”

“Well, the Central Council rules the Midlands …” she cleared her throat as she looked down at her hands in her lap, “and the Mother Confessor rules the Central Council.”

His arms came unfolded. “You mean to say that you rule all the kings and queens? All the lands? You rule the Midlands?”

“Well … yes, in a way, I guess. You see, not all the lands are represented on the Central Council. Some are too small, like Queen Milena’s Tamarang, and the Mud People, and a few others are lands of magic, the land of the night wisps, for example. The Mother Confessor is the advocate for these lesser lands. Left to their own wishes, the Council would decide to carve up these smaller lands. And they have the armies to do it easily. Only the Mother Confessor stands for those who have no voice.

“The other problem is that these lands are often in disagreement. Some have been bitter adversaries for as long as anyone can remember. The Council is often deadlocked as rulers or their representative each stubbornly demand their own way, to the detriment of the greater interests of the Midlands. The Mother Confessor has no interest but the good of the Midlands.

“Without leadership the different Lands, through the Central Council, would only be interested in vying for power. The Mother Confessor counters these parochial interests with a larger view, with direction and leadership.

“Just as the Mother Confessor is the final arbiter of truth through her magic, she is also the final arbiter of power. The word of the Mother Confessor is law.”

“So it is you who tells all the kings and queens, all the lands, what to do?”

She took one of his hands and held it. “I, and most of the Mother Confessors before me, let the Central Council decide for themselves what they wish, how they want the Midlands ruled. But when they fail to come to agreement, or to a just agreement, it is to the disadvantage of those not represented. Only then do I step in and tell them how it shall be.”

“And they always do as you say?”

“Always.”

“Why?”

She took a deep breath. “Well, they know that if they don’t bow to the Mother Confessor’s leadership, they will be alone and vulnerable to any stronger neighbor who craves power. There would be war until the strongest among them crushed all the rest, as Darken Rahl’s father, Panis Rahl, did in D’Hara. They know that ultimately it is in their own interest to have an independent Council leader, who sides with no land.”

“But it’s not in the best interest of the strongest. Something other than a good heart or common sense must keep the strongest of these lands in line.”

She nodded with a smile. “You understand the games of power well. You are right. They know that if they were bold enough to allow their ambitions a free rein, I, or any of the Confessors, could take their ruler with our magic. But there is more. The wizards back the Mother Confessor.”

“I thought wizards didn’t want anything to do with power.”

“They don’t, exactly. The threat of their intervention makes it unnecessary. Wizards call it the paradox of power: if you have power, and are ready, able, and willing to use it, you don’t need to exercise your power. The Lands know that if they don’t work together, and use the impartial leadership of the Mother Confessor, then the wizards are always in the background, ready to teach the disadvantages of being unreasonable or greedy.