THAT PLACE YOU THOUGHT YOU GREW OUT OF
"You will not bind his hands," Kahlan said with a voice that roared forward from decades lived and gone. "You will not."
Kahlan's hands, the hands she used to confess hundreds of people and enslave them under her indelible power, were gripped hard around Cara's arm. The Mord-Sith tried to pull away, but the Confessor was stronger somehow.
"Kahlan, let go of me," Cara answered decisively, voice cold and calm, all her smoking irritation towards Renn now completely dissipated. She hated that Kahlan's hands were on her, for the Confessor's fingers and palm felt like blades freshly pulled from the blacksmith's flame. It was an enduring, searing pain that lessened over time, for it was a pain of the mind, not the body. The dulling heat did not mean that Cara forgave the touch, but there was something wrong here. Cara was no stranger to threats from the Confessor, but they had never been like this.
"I won't tie him up."
Kahlan was somewhere else entirely. Cara had seen that far off look before in places she would rather not confess to anyone, especially not in this group of righteous heroes. It occurred to Cara that Richard was standing near, staring at her, staring at Kahlan. The boy was frightened too, which had been the original intention of threatening to tie him up and carry him like a sack of potatoes until they reached whatever backwater Midlands farming village he had come from.
"Kahlan, let Cara go," Richard cautioned, careful not to reach out and touch the distant Confessor. Even in all his naivety, he knew better than to make contact with an upset Confessor.
"Kahlan, let her go."
Kahlan was back in a flash, all softness and justice but still swirling in a pit of memory. Cara locked eyes with her, for the first time realizing what a calming, brilliant blue Kahlan's gaze was. It pulled her in like the tides, and for a moment she was sure that Kahlan had confessed her, accidentally or not. But there was no pain, no collapsing lungs, no headache like a dragon's fire. Kahlan withdrew her shaky hand as tears unwillingly poured down her face.
Then Kahlan was up, turned away, and wordlessly ran into the thicket of the wood. She could barely hear the protests behind her, there was nothing now but this sensation of panic. The world felt as though it was made of moss, soft and spongy and infirm and hard to steady herself on. The trees were growing and shrinking, taking in deep breaths. The rocks seemed to move, and all around her she saw darkness circling like a vulture. It had been waiting for her, it seemed, this horror from beyond remembering.
Kahlan had to ground herself somehow, and the best way she thought was to sink to the forest floor and grasp the pine needles and soil beneath her hands. She dug her fingers into the cool earth as she took deep, stabilizing breaths.
She remembered darkness and the whimpering of her little sister, Denee. She could not shut her eyes and ears to it now just like she could not then. And the tight feeling of rope around her thin, child's wrists, and how it would itch and ache in the days beyond those trapped hours. The noises that came from her father outside the closet, in that place she hated. As then, Kahlan shed a tear for her mother who she knew would never let this happen. Kahlan never knew exactly why the man who would cut her apples into stars was capable of such neglect, such abject hatred.
Kahlan heard footsteps behind her, but they were not Richard's bounding footsteps, nor Zedd's careful tread, they were unabashed stomps through the woods. Kahlan did not bother to turn around, instead she tried to wipe the tears from her face that she hadn't even remembered shedding. It was too late, the ghost had given up.
Cara stood up, her arms crossed over her chest as she calmed herself. She had found the Confessor, now all there was to do was get her up and back to the group.
"Why are you so upset?" Cara asked, not really caring about the answer but knowing that asking questions was required to get what she wanted. She could have used her agiel, but that would have made Richard angry with her. "It's just a length of rope. And he's just a boy."
"I don't want to talk about this," Kahlan said in a voice that Cara did not recognize. It made her draw back like she would at the sight of a snake, her eyebrow raised and her weight shifted to her other hip. "Leave me be."
"Where did you go?"
"I'm right here."
"No, you aren't," Cara sighed. This was already far more interaction than either of them intended or desired.
"I didn't know Mord-Sith spoke in such riddles."
"You're still there. In that place, that old place," Cara murmured. "That place you thought you'd grown out of."
Kahlan drew her knees up to her chin and let her soft lips press against the fabric of her pants. Cara watched her with careful eyes, like she had with so many of the people she had broken for Darken Rahl. She watched for all of the responses that meant something frantic was about to happen—avoiding eye contact, increased breathing, fast heartbeat, twitching fingers. Although escalated and clearly at the brink of abject distress, Kahlan would not hurt her. Not now, anyway.
"Mord-Sith know of such places," Cara told her, cold and unfeeling and so far away from it all. She had to be, feelings could swallow her whole were she not so careful.
"What do you mean?"
Everything that had been and would be Cara was lit into flames, flames that threatened to lick at her skin and eat her until there was nothing left if she did what was the human thing to do. Cara's leather gloved hand creaked with the effort of restraint.
"I remembered something I didn't know I had experienced," Kahlan said after a long time of watching the sweet summer wind blow through the trees. It had been Cara who had chased after her, not Richard. That had to mean something. "It hurt just like it did when I was a little girl."
Cara grunted in agreement. "It does that."
"What did you mean that you knew of such places, Cara?"
"You don't really mean to ask that."
"Why can't I?"
"You don't care about me. We are rivals. You threatened to kill me when we first met."
"So did you."
Cara had no rejoinder— for once, she agreed and conceded to the Mother Confessor.
"I don't care about you, specifically, in the same way I care about Richard, or about Zedd," Kahlan told her gently. "But I feel as though I should know you, somewhat."
Cara's eyes drank of Kahlan in quick sips, all feral and wild like a cornered animal. Her chest felt tight, her vision tunneled, and everything came to a screeching halt.
"Where is it that you have gone to, now?" Kahlan asked, without a drop of taunt or tease. There was only worry in her deep, blue eyes.
"You don't want to know," Cara said with an old anger she had forgotten the name of. It chilled Kahlan and rattled her heart, this decayed but still living rage, this opened wound. She saw within Cara a sameness, a mirrored existence.
"When I was little, my father was confessed to my mother. When she died, he was so, so angry. Angry at a wasted life that he did not choose. And we… well I looked just like my mother," Kahlan told her in small bits, pausing as if it would be all too much for Cara to take in. Cara crouched there solid as stone, never letting her gaze waver from Kahlan. "He would force us to use our powers to his benefit. And when we would scream and reject him…"
"He would bind your hands," Cara finished.
"He would bind my hands," Kahlan repeated, bringing the feeling of rope around small wrists and with this unearthing of the truth came more tears. "Did that happen to you, too?"
Cara shook her head, unsure of what she should divulge.
"Your parents were kind to you?"
Cara nodded.
"I have heard what must be done in order to be a true Mord-Sith."
"And I have heard what Confessors do to innocent men. What are you driving at?"
Kahlan shook her head and crept back into herself. Cara could not relent, the fear of being known too much was breathing hot down her neck.
"I'm not the one crying in the forest."
"I hear you in your sleep. You call out for your mother."
Cara turned her back to Kahlan even though they had not once glanced at each other. She pressed her gloved hand to her mouth and held it tightly there, taking in the scent of leather through her mouth and nose. She would not give into the stabbing feeling in her stomach now, just as she did not give into it then.
"I did what I was told. I did what needed to be done to survive," Cara muttered. "Do not expect me to sit here and feel sorry over the people who gave me up. I didn't then, I won't now."
Kahlan did not dare to ask another question, she did not dare to tread on territory that was clearly marked forbidden. Instead, she turned around, reached forward, and stood up. Without pause, Kahlan reached for Cara's gloved hand. The Mord-Sith froze again but did not withdraw. She wondered if this was meant to be her demise; not quite old or toothless or in bed, but not in the holiest of fashions either. Cara supposed she deserved a lukewarm ending, she had never been anyone's favorite.
"You and I understand each other. We are different, but not as much as I thought," Kahlan told her, their eyes never leaving each other's hallowed gaze. "Richard would never understand if I told him something like this. Thank you, Cara."
"I do not wish to say anything more to you," Cara admitted, yanking her hand from Kahlan's grasp. The Confessor relented with a small, sad smile and downcast eyes. Something was there between them, something bigger than tears and shared experiences. It was an energy that neither of them had ever felt before yet both were terrified of it.
"You don't have to say anything, especially to placate me."
"We're not friends. We are just working together to help Lord Rahl."
"Richard."
"... yes. We are working together to help Richard."
Cara was no longer sure if they were enemies still.
I'm living in an age
That calls darkness light
Though my language is dead
Still the shapes fill my head
"My Body Is A Cage" - Arcade Fire