Faith of the Fallen (Sword of Truth 6)

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.”