Richard shook his head in wonderment. “Then what?”
“Word spread; there was more work here than the town people could handle. Work for Father Rahl. More people came in to work the orders for lumber. While all this was going on, the missionaries told the people of the threat to them from Westland. The threat to Father Rahl from Westland.”
“From Westland!” Richard was incredulous.
She nodded. “Then the People’s Peace Army moved out, saying they were needed to fight the Westland forces, to protect the other towns that had sworn allegiance to D’Hara. The people begged for some to stay, for protection. In return for their loyalty and devotion, a small detachment was left behind.”
Richard ushered her back onto the trail ahead of him as he gave one last puzzled glance over his shoulder. “So it wasn’t Rahl’s army that did this?”
The trail was wide enough, so she waited until he was next to her before she went on. “No. They said everything was fine for a while. Then, about a week ago, at sunrise, a military unit of the Westland army swept in, killing the D’Hara detachment to a man. After that, they went on a rampage, killing people indiscriminately, and sacking the town. As the Westland soldiers killed, they yelled that this was what happens to anyone following Rahl, to anyone who resists Westland. Before the sun set, they were gone.”
Richard grabbed a fistful of shirt at her shoulder, jerking her to face him.
“That’s not true! Westlanders wouldn’t do this! It wasn’t them! It couldn’t be!”
She blinked at him. “Richard, I did not say it was true. I am merely telling you what I was told, what those people back there believe.”
He released his grip of her shirt, his face having a second reason for its flush. He couldn’t help himself from adding, “No Westland army did this.” He started to turn back to the trail, but she took his arm, halting him.
“That is not the end of it.”
By her eyes, he knew he didn’t want to hear the end of it. He nodded for her to go on.
“Those left alive began leaving at once, taking what they could carry. More left the next day, some after burying members of their families. That night, a detachment of Westlanders came back, maybe fifty men. There were only a handful of townspeople left by that time. The people were told that resisters to Westland are not allowed to be buried, that they are to be left, for animals to pick clean, as a reminder to all of what will happen to any who resist the rule of Westland. To make their point, they collected all the men still left, even the boys, and executed them.” By Kahlan’s inflection of the word executed, and making no mention of the manner, he knew he didn’t want to know. “The little boy and the old man back there were somehow overlooked or they would have been killed too. The women were made to watch.” She paused.
“How many women were left?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, not many.” She peered back up the trail, staring off toward the town a moment before her intensely angry eyes returned to his. “The soldiers raped the women. And the girls.” Her eyes burned into his. “Each one of those girls you saw back there was raped by at least…”
“Westlanders did not do this!”
She studied his face. “I know. But who? Why?” Her expression cooled back to calm.
He stared back at her in frustration. “Isn’t there anything we can do for them?”
“Our job is not to protect a few people, or the dead; it is to protect the living, by stopping Darken Rahl. We do not have the time to give; we must get to Tamarang. Whatever trouble is about, we had best stay off the roads.”
“You’re right,” he admitted reluctantly. “But I don’t like it.”
“Nor do I.” Her features softened. “Richard, I think they will be safe. Whatever army it was that did this is not likely to return for a couple of women and children; they will be off to hunt bigger game.”
Some solace that was, that the killers would be off to hunt larger groups of people to hurt, in the name of his homeland. Richard thought about how he hated all this, and remembered how when he was back in Hartland, his biggest trouble was his brother always telling him what to do.
“A group of soldiers that big isn’t going to be traveling by trail through a thick wood such as this, they’ll stay to the roads, but I think it best if we start looking for wayward pines at night. No telling who could be watching.”
She nodded her agreement. “Richard, many people of my homeland have joined with Rahl, and done unspeakable crimes. Does that make you think less of me?”
He frowned. “Of course not.”
“And I would think no less of you were it Westland soldiers. It is no crime upon you, to have your countrymen do things you abhor. We are at war. We are trying to do as our ancestors have done in the past, Seekers and Confessors alike; dethrone a ruler. In this, there are only two we can count on. You and me.” She studied him with an intense, timeless expression. He realized he was gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. “A time may come when it is only you. We all do as we must.” It was not Kahlan who had spoken; it was the Mother Confessor.
It was a hard, uncomfortable moment before she released his eyes, turning at last and starting off. He pulled his cloak tight, chilled from without, and within.
“It was not Westlanders,” he muttered under his breath, following behind her.
“Light for me,” Rachel said. The little pile of sticks with rocks all around burst into flame, lighting the inside of the wayward pine with a bright red glow. She put the fire stick back in her pocket and with a shiver warmed her hands at the fire as she looked down at Sara lying in her lap.
“We’ll be safe here tonight,” she told her doll. Sara didn’t answer—she hadn’t talked since the night they ran away from the castle—so Rachel just pretended the doll was talking, telling her she loved her. She gave Sara’s silent words an answering hug.
She pulled some berries from her pocket, eating them one at a time, warming her hands in between each one. Sara didn’t want any berries. Rachel nibbled on the piece of hard cheese; all the other food she had brought from the castle was gone. Except the loaf of bread, of course. But she couldn’t eat that; the box was hidden inside it.
Rachel missed Giller something fierce, but she had to do as he had said; she had to keep running away, finding a new wayward pine every night. She didn’t know how far she was from the castle; she just kept going while it was day, the sun at her back in the morning and in her face at evening. She had learned that from Brophy. He called it traveling by the sun. She guessed that was what she was doing. Traveling.
A pine bough moved by itself, making her start. She saw a big hand holding it back. Then the shiny blade of a long sword. She stared, her eyes wide. She couldn’t move.
A man stuck his head in. “What have we here?” He smiled.
Rachel heard a whine, and realized it was coming from her own throat. Still, she couldn’t move. A woman pushed her head in beside the man’s. She pulled the man back behind her. Rachel clutched Sara to her chest.
“Put the sword away,” the woman scolded, “you’re scaring her.”
Rachel pulled the partly unbundled loaf of bread close to her hip. She wanted to run, but her legs didn’t work. The woman pushed into the wayward pine, came close and knelt down, sitting back on her heels, the man right behind her. Rachel’s eyes looked up at her face; then she saw the woman’s long hair, lit by the firelight. Her eyes went even wider, and another cry came from her throat. At last her legs worked, at least a little: they scooted her backward against the trunk of the tree, pulling the bread with her. Women with long hair were always trouble. She bit down on Sara’s foot, panting, a whine coming with each breath. She squeezed Sara with all her strength. She tore her eyes from the woman’s hair; she darted glances to the sides, looking for a place to run.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” the woman said. Her voice sounded nice, but Princess Violet said the same thing, sometimes, just before she slapped her.
The woman reached out and touched Rachel’s arm. She jumped with a cry, pulling back.
“Please,” she said, her eyes filling with tears, “don’t burn Sara up.”
“Who’s Sara?” the man asked.
The woman turned and made him hush. She turned back, her long hair falling from her shoulder, Rachel’s eyes fixed on it. “I won’t burn Sara,” she said in a nice voice. Rachel knew that when a woman with long hair talked in a nice voice, it meant she was probably lying. Still, her voice did sound like it was really nice.
“Please,” she whined, “can’t you just leave us be?”
“Us?” The woman glanced around. She looked back, right to Sara. “Oh. I see. So this is Sara?” Rachel nodded, biting down harder on Sara’s foot. She knew she would get a hard slap if she didn’t answer a woman with long hair. “She’s a very nice-looking doll.” She smiled. Rachel wished she wouldn’t smile. When women with long hair smiled, it usually meant there was going to be trouble.
The man stuck his head around the woman. “My name’s Richard. What’s yours?”
She liked his eyes. “Rachel.”
“Rachel. That’s a pretty name. But I have to tell you, Rachel, you have the ugliest hair I’ve ever seen.”
“Richard!” the woman squawked. “How could you say such a thing!”
“Well, it’s true. Who cut it all crooked like that, Rachel, some old witch?” Rachel giggled.
“Richard!” the woman squawked again. “You’re going to frighten her.”
“Oh, nonsense. Rachel, I have a little scissors here in my pack, and I’m pretty good at cutting hair. Would you like me to fix your hair for you? At least I could make it straight. If you leave it like that, you might scare a dragon or something.”