Confessor: Chainfire Trilogy Part 3

Chapter 56

Kahlan woke in a flash of icy fright.

She was lying slightly on her right side, her head turned all the way to the right, her jaw lying against the pillow of a saddlebag. She took a careful peek through the narrow slits of her eyelids. The overcast was just blushing with a hint of the approaching dawn.

While she hadn’t known why she’d awakened so abruptly, she soon realized the reason.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Samuel was right above her—hovering over her. He was still and silent, mere inches away, like a mountain lion poised over prey.

He was completely naked.

Kahlan was so startled that for an instant she lay frozen in confusion, wondering if she really was awake or if she was having some kind of bizarre nightmare. Her disorientation evaporated in urgent alarm as her instincts took charge.

Without letting on that she was awake, she inched her hand downward toward her belt to get at her knife. Since she was turned to the right the sheath for her knife was somewhat under her. She had to squirm her fingers under her to get at the knife, trying not to betray the fact that she was awake. She counted on her blanket to help hide the movement of her hand.

The knife wasn’t there.

She glanced down a little, hoping it had fallen out somehow and that it would be on the ground nearby. It wasn’t. As she was feeling around under the blanket, trying to find her knife, she saw the pile of Samuel’s clothes not far away. Then she saw the knife. It had been tossed beyond his clothes, well out of reach.

She was sickened by the mental image of him stealthily removing his clothes as he stared at her while she slept. She was appalled by the thought that he had been so close to her, watching her, taking her knife, preparing for the obscene things he wanted to do to her, and that she hadn’t even been aware of it. Besides being appalled, she was angry at herself for letting him get this far.

While Samuel had always seemed timid and shy, and sometimes eager to curry favor, this didn’t entirely surprise her. She remembered all too well the times she’d caught him staring at her. Those looks had always seemed to contain a sneaky craving that he never otherwise betrayed. She controlled her outrage, focusing instead on survival.

Being hesitant and indecisive, Samuel was moving ever so slowly, inching into position, skulking in close rather than boldly pouncing. He apparently wanted to get completely over her, and then when he felt he was close enough to be sure that she couldn’t get away, he would muscle her under control and then live out the dark thoughts that had always been hidden behind his golden-yellow eyes.

Samuel wasn’t a big man, but he was muscular. He was certainly stronger than she was. There was no way she could escape without a fight, and she was in a poor position to grapple with him. From this close she couldn’t even punch effectively. In this close, without a knife, without anyone to help her, she had little hope of fending him off.

Even though he was considerably stronger and she had been asleep, he had been wary. His mistake had been in not acting swiftly to incapacitate her. It hadn’t been a question of lack of ability or advantage, but a lack of courage. Her only edge at that moment was that he hadn’t acted swiftly and he didn’t know she was awake. She didn’t want to squander that advantage. When she acted, that surprise would help even the equation and give her an opportunity she would not get again.

Her mind raced through a list of options. She would have only one chance to strike first. She would have to make it count.

Her first thought was to bring her knee up where it would hurt him most, but the way she was lying, turned to her right, her legs trapped under a blanket, and with the way he was positioned over her pinning that blanket down, she deemed it a poor choice for a first strike.

Her left hand was free, though, just outside the blanket. That seemed her best choice. Without further delay, before it was too late, she struck hard and fast, as quick as a viper, trying to gouge out his eye with her thumb. She pressed with all her strength into the soft tissue of his eye.

He cried out in fright, immediately jerking his face back and away.

Quickly regaining his wits, he used his arm to slam hers away as she clawed at his face. At the same time he dropped his weight down, driving the air from her lungs in a whoosh.

Before she could draw a breath he rammed his other forearm across her throat, both pinning her head to the ground and preventing her from getting a breath. Kahlan kicked and twisted with all her might, trying to get away. It was like trying to fight off a bear. She was no match for his strength and weight, especially not in the vulnerable position she was in. She had no leverage to push him away and no effective way to strike.

Kahlan twisted her head more to the right to get her windpipe out from the direct weight his forearm was putting across her throat. Her straining neck muscles at least took the full load off her throat long enough for her to get a breath.

As she gasped in that needed breath, her sight was focused on his clothes lying not far away. She spotted the hilt of the sword just sticking out from under his trousers. She could see the early-morning light glinting off the gold word truth on the silver wire of the hilt.

Kahlan desperately grasped for the hilt of the sword. It was just beyond the reach of her fingers. She knew that, since she was on the ground and didn’t have full use of her arm, even if she could get ahold of it she had no chance to draw the blade from its scabbard in order to stab Samuel or even slash at him. Her aim was simply to get her hand around the hilt and then bash the point of the pommel into his face or skull. A sword was heavy enough to do substantial damage in that manner. A good hit in the right place, such as his temple, could even kill her attacker.

But the hilt of the sword was just out of reach.

At the same time she was desperately stretching, trying to reach the sword, Samuel was having difficulty having his way with her. The blanket was interfering with his lust to get at her. Crouching on top of her to keep her down was proving a troublesome complication. It seemed he hadn’t taken the practical aspects of the procedure into consideration. He was quite effectively pinning her down, but the blanket was part of the means by which he was keeping her arms and legs under control. At the same time it was preventing him from getting to his ultimate goal.

She knew that it was going to be only a moment until it dawned on him to simply knock her unconscious.

As if reading her mind, she saw his right arm cock back. She could see his big fist tighten. As he drove the fist down toward her face, she used all her strength to twist her body and lunge away from the blow.

His fist slammed the ground just behind her head.

Her fingers found the gold wire spelling out truth on the hilt of the sword.

The world seemed to come to an abrupt halt.

In an instant, she was flooded with understanding.

Things within her that had been entirely lost were suddenly right there.

She didn’t remember who she was, but she instantly remembered what she was.

A Confessor.

It was far from a complete joining with her past, but in that thread of linkage she knew what being a Confessor meant. It had been a complete mystery for so long, but now she not only remembered all that it meant, she felt that birthright within her, felt its bond to her.

She still didn’t know who she was, who Kahlan Amnell was, and she didn’t remember anything of her past, but she remembered what it meant to be a Confessor.

Samuel drew back his arm to punch at her again.

Kahlan pressed her hand to his chest. It no longer felt like there was a powerful man atop her, controlling her. She no longer felt panic or fury. She no longer struggled. She felt as if she were as light as a breath of air and that he no longer had any power over her.

There was no longer any frantic rush, any sense of desperation.

Time was hers.

She didn’t need to consider, evaluate, or decide. She knew with complete certainty what to do. She didn’t even have to think it through.

It was not necessary for Kahlan to invoke her birthright, but merely to withdraw her restraint of it.

She could see his furious, focused expression frozen above her. His fist remained poised unmoving in an ever-expanding spark of time, as it would until this was finished.

She had no need to hope, or expect, or act. She knew that time was hers. She knew what was going to be, almost as if it had already happened.

Samuel had come into the Imperial Order camp not to rescue her but—for reasons she would know before this was finished—to capture her.

This was not her savior.

This was the enemy.

The inner violence of her power’s cold coiled force slipping its bounds was breathtaking. It surged up from that deep dark core within, obediently inundating every fiber of her being.

Time was hers.

She could have counted every whisker on his frozen face had she wanted to and he still would not have moved an inch in his headlong rush to hit her.

Her fear was gone; the calm of purpose and control had replaced it. There was no hate; the cold appraisal of justice had taken over.

In a state of profound peace born of the command of her own ability, and through it her own destiny, she contained no hate, no rage, no horror . . . nor any sorrow. She saw the truth of what was. This man had condemned himself. He had made the choice; now he would have to encounter the immutable consequence of his choices. In that infinitesimal spark of existence, her mind was in a void where the all-consuming rush of time seemed suspended.

He had no chance. He was hers.

Even though she had all the time she could want, doubt did not exist.

Kahlan unleashed her power.

From her innermost being, that power became all.

Thunder without sound jolted the air—exquisite, violent, and for that pristine instant, sovereign.

The memory of that instant of effect was an island of sanity for her in the dark river of her unknown self.

Samuel’s face was frozen in twisted hate for that which he had hoped to possess.

Kahlan stared up into his golden-yellow eyes, knowing that he saw only her merciless eyes.

In the twist of that instant, his mind, who he was, who he had been, was already gone.

Trees all around in the frigid early-morning air shook from the violent blow of the concussion. Small twigs and dry bark dropped from branches and boughs. The profound shock to the air lifted a ring of dust and dirt all around that raced away in an ever-expanding circle.

Samuel’s strange eyes went wide. “Mistress,” he whispered, “command me.”

“Get off me.”

He immediately rolled away to end up on his knees, his hands pressed together in supplication as his gaze remained fixed on her.

As Kahlan sat up, she realized that the sword was still gripped in her right hand. She let go of it. She needed no sword to deal with Samuel.

Deeply distressed as he waited, Samuel looked on the verge of tears. “Please . . . how may I serve you?”

Kahlan tossed the blanket aside. “Who am I?”

“Kahlan Amnell, the Mother Confessor,” he answered immediately.

Kahlan already knew that much. She thought a moment.

“Where did you get that sword?”

“I stole it.”

“Who does it rightfully belong to?”

“Before, or now?”

She was a bit confused by the response. “Before.”

Samuel became distraught by the question. He began to cry in earnest as he wrung his hands.

“I don’t know his name, Mistress. I swear, I don’t know his name. I never knew his name.” He fell to sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Mistress, I don’t know, I don’t, I swear I don’t know—”

“How did you get it away from him?”

“I snuck up and cut his throat while he was asleep—but I swear I don’t know his name.”

Those touched by a Confessor confessed without the slightest hesitation anything they had done—anything. Their only concern was their constant, torturous dread that they might not please the woman who had touched them with her power. Their mind’s only remaining purpose was to do her bidding.

“Have you murdered other people?”

Samuel looked up sharply with the sudden joy of having a question he could fully answer. His face beamed with a smile.

“Oh, yes, Mistress. Many. Please, may I kill someone for you? Anyone. Just name them. Just tell me who I am to kill. I will do it as quickly as possible. Please, Mistress, tell me who and I will do your bidding and dispatch them for you.”

“Who does the sword belong to now?”

He paused at the change of subject. “It belongs to Richard Rahl.”

Kahlan was not surprised.

“How does Richard Rahl know me?”

“He is your husband.”

Kahlan froze with the shock of what she thought she had just heard. She blinked, her thoughts suddenly scattered in every direction at once.

“What?”

“Richard Rahl is your husband.”

She stood staring for a long moment, unable to reconcile it all in her mind. In one way it was a stunning shock. At the same time, it made sense in a way she couldn’t begin to fathom.

Kahlan stood struck speechless.

Finding that she was married to Richard Rahl was a terrifying revelation. In another way . . . it made her heart swell with profound joy. She thought of his gray eyes, thought of the way he looked at her, and the frightening aspect of it seemed to evaporate. It was if all the dreams she had not dared to dream had just come true.

She felt a tear roll down her cheek. With her fingers she wiped it away, but it was quickly followed by another. She almost let out a jubilant laugh.

“My husband?”

Samuel nodded furiously. “Yes, Mistress. You are the Mother Confessor. He is the Lord Rahl. He is married to you. He is your husband.”

Feeling herself trembling, Kahlan tried to think, but her mind just didn’t respond, as if it had so many thoughts all at once that they simply jumbled together in a tangled mess.

She suddenly remembered Richard lying on the ground in the Order’s camp, crying out for her to get away.

Richard was a captive of the Order at best, but more likely, he was dead.

She had only just learned her connection to him, and now he was lost to her.

She felt a tear roll down her cheek, but this time there was no joy behind it, only horror.

She finally collected herself and focused her attention on the man on his knees before her. “Where were you taking me?”

“To Tamarang. To my . . . my other mistress.”

“Other mistress?”

He nodded hurriedly. “Six.”

She recalled Jagang talking about her. Kahlan frowned. “The witch woman?”

Samuel looked terrified to answer, but he did. “Yes, Mistress. I was told to bring you and to give you over to her.”

She gestured to where she had been sleeping. “Did she tell you to do that?”

Even more reluctantly, Samuel licked his lips. Confessing to murder was one thing, but this was entirely different.

“I asked if I could have you,” he whined. “She said that if I wanted to take you I could, as my reward for my service, but that I was to bring you to her alive.”

“And what did she want with me?”

“I believe she wanted you as a bargaining tool.”

“With who?”

“Emperor Jagang.”

“But I was already with Jagang.”

“Jagang wants you very badly. She knows how valuable you are to him. She wanted to take possession of you and then trade you back to Jagang in return for favors for herself.”

“How far are we from Tamarang, from the witch woman?”

“Not far.” Samuel pointed southwest. “If we don’t delay, we can get there by the end of tomorrow, Mistress.”

Kahlan suddenly felt very vulnerable being this close to a woman as powerful as that. She knew without doubt that she had to get out of the area or she might be located without the benefit of Samuel dragging her right up to Six’s feet.

“And since you were to turn me over tomorrow, you knew that your time with me was running out. You were going to rape me.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.

Samuel wrung his hands, tears streaming down his red face. “Yes, Mistress.” In the terrible silence he became even more distraught as she stood staring down at him. Kahlan knew that a person touched was no longer who they were, no longer had all the mind they once had. Once taken, they were completely devoted to the Confessor.

It occurred to her that something very much like that had been done to her. She wondered if her memory was as lost to her as Samuel’s past was now forever lost to him. It was a terrifying thought.

“Please, Mistress . . . forgive me?”

In the dragging silence he could not endure the guilt of his intent. He began to cry hysterically, unable to endure the condemnation in her eyes.

“Please, Mistress, find mercy for me in your heart.”

“Mercy is a contingency plan devised by the guilty in the eventuality that they are caught. Justice is the domain of the just. This is about justice.”

“Then please, Mistress, please . . . forgive me?”

Kahlan stared into his eyes to be sure that he would not mistake her words or her intent.

“No. That would be a corruption of the concept of justice. I will not forgive you, not now, not ever—not out of hate but because you are guilty of more crimes than those against me.”

“I know, but you could forgive me of my crimes against you. Please, Mistress, just those things. Just forgive me for what I have done to you, and for what I intended to do to you?”

“No.”

The reality of the finality of that proclamation settled into his eyes. He gasped in horror at the realization that his actions, the choices he had made, were irredeemable. He felt nothing for his other crimes, but he felt the full weight of responsibility for his crimes against her.

He saw himself, probably for the first time in his life, for what he really was—the way she saw him.

Samuel gasped again as he clutched his chest, and then crumpled onto his side, dead.

Without delay, Kahlan began gathering up her things. With the witch woman this close she had to get away as fast as possible. She didn’t know where she would go, but she knew where she couldn’t go.

She suddenly realized that she should have thought more about it and asked Samuel a great many more questions. She had let those many answers slip through her fingers.

The news about Richard—about Richard being her husband—had so scrambled her thoughts that she simply hadn’t considered asking Samuel anything else. She suddenly felt like a monumental fool for missing such an invaluable opportunity.

Done was done. She had to concentrate on what to do now. She rushed over in the dim, early light to saddle the horse.

She found the horse on the ground, dead. Its throat had been cut. Samuel, probably fearing that she might use the horse to somehow escape before he could have his way with her, had cut the poor animal’s throat.

Without delay she rolled as much as she could carry into her blanket and stuffed it into the saddlebags. She tossed the saddlebags over a shoulder and picked up the Sword of Truth in its scabbard. Sword in hand, Kahlan started away, in the opposite direction of Tamarang.