Faith of the Fallen (Sword of Truth 6)

“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.