CHAPTER THREE: CURSE OF THE FATHER

Vincent is gone. He left yesterday night, without a single word of farewell. He'd seemed agitated when I saw him last, as he readied his horse for departure. He did not seem to notice I was there. After laying a rose on Emily's grave, Vincent mounted the steed and left in such a manner that it can only be described as flight: the Father Confessor fled the People's Palace as fast as the stallion could carry him, his crimson eyes glinting; a wraith in the night.

Mother, Father, and Grandfather all know why her left. They talk about it when they think I am not around. (Who says I can't be stealthy? J) But they tell me nothing. Whenever I ask, Grandfather pretends to be hard of hearing, Mother changes the subject, and Father looks at me with sad eyes before saying that I should not ask such things. I asked Cara once. She just stared at me with no discernable expression. I left as soon as she started to finger her agiels; I was not in any hurry to feel those things again. Now don't get me wrong, I love my family, but there are times when I think the lot of them exist solely to annoy me.

Despite our differences, (mainly his cold, military treatment of me, but I'm over that now.)Vincent and I had been close. He is the only other male Confessor besides myself. Of all the people who surround me, the Mother Confessor notwithstanding, he is the only one who truly understands what I am feeling. How could he not? He lived through this, he knows. He is familiar with the hatred, the revulsion I feel for myself. He has felt the fear of losing control, felt the pull of the power as it tries to subvert you, to claim you, to force you to submit to the male Confessor's darker nature.

For you see, my power differs from my mother's. Whereas her power is composed mainly of Additive magic, the magic of life, my power is mainly Subtractive, the magic of the Underworld, of death. Mother's power is not as dark as mine; it does not constantly threaten to overwhelm her, as mine does. Though she may empathize with me because of her experiences in the Con Dar, the Blood Rage, Mother will never be able to truly comprehend. The rage, the sheer adrenaline, the desire to kill and destroy anyone or anything that dares defy my will. Mother felt the pull of that terrible power for mere minutes. I have endured it for every second of my life. It is a constant battle. The prize? Control. I've lost count of how many times I've nearly lost control of myself, nearly damned my soul to eternal darkness. Mother does not understand. She could not. Her struggle is nothing compared to mine.

Vincent knew. He understood. There was a time when I had had been afraid of him, a male Confessor who did not fear himself. A man who drew strength from his gifts, rather than ignore or fight them; a man with the potential to destroy the world and fashion it in his image. But I was wrong to be afraid. When I confronted him in front of the grave of the woman I k-… when I confronted him in the Gardens of Life, I realized that Vincent is everything I want to be, minus the eyes. All I wish to accomplish, he has achieved. He is strong, sure of himself. He rose above the shackles of his blood, the curse of his ancestry, and found peace.

Vincent was my lifeline, the anchor of my sanity. But now he has left me utterly alone, and I hate him for it.

It has been three weeks since Vincent's departure. Grandfather has placed a Rada'Han around my neck.

"Your are eighteen now," he told me. "The same age as Vincent when his Wizard Gift painfully manifested itself. Wearing the Rada'Han will allow the gift to awaken without any repercussions." Whatever, as long as I don't end up with red eyes, I'm happy.

Sure enough, three days later, I felt my Han awaken inside me. Being the great wizard that he is, Grandfather linked my Confessor power to my Han, giving me voluntary control of both. I could finally take off these gloves! Thus, Grandfather and I began my magical education. I had always thought Vincent would be my teacher, as he was in everything else, but things change.

Father is now teaching me the sword. He is faster than my previous teacher, and his blows are harder, but he does not challenge me. The moment I become tired, he stops. He does not go for the kill. When I make a mistake, he stops to explain how I can avoid making that mistake in the future, unlike my previous instructor, who would have had me learn through experience.

I beat Father once; I disarmed him. He clapped on the back and said, "Good job!" and that was it for the day.

I have never bested Vincent.

I was poking around Vincent's room today, and I discovered a treasure among treasures: Vincent's journal. Maybe this would tell me why he left! I open it towards the end, searching for the most recent entries, and begin to read. You know, for a guy who was supposed to have heralded the end of the world, he has really loopy handwriting.

Aaron followed me to Emily's grave the other day. He blames himself for her death, which is absolutely ridiculous. How can he blame himself for something he had no control over? He has a good heart, and I applaud him for it, but hopefully, I have put an end to those thoughts. Or at the very least, lessened their hold on him.

But something about our conversation that day has been haunting me, plaguing my dreams.

When I found Emily standing over Aaron's crib, ready to plunge a dagger into his heart, I tried to confess her. It did not work; she resisted my touch and left me to die with her dagger in my abdomen. Had it not been for Richard, she would have escaped. I had never seen my uncle in such a fury. Then, when Kahlan tried to confess her, Emily fled from my aunt's touch, seeking refuge near Aaron's crib. It was then that Aaron, under heightened emotional stress, first used his power and confessed Emily.

But how is it possible that Emily submitted to Aaron's confession, but was immune to mine? She fled from Kahlan's touch, so it stands to reason that her will would have crumbled beneath the Mother Confessor's. But my power could not touch her. Why!? Zedd's explanation, that his combining of my gifts cancelled out anything my power had done before makes sense, but it only applies to the first confession! Why could I not confess her the second time?

I have spent my life searching for a counter to the Confessor's magic, and when one was standing before me, I let it die, I let her die. It is my curse, it seems, to lose those I love: Mother, Emily, and even Shota, who was confessed by my hand.

I have often wondered of the secret to the counter magic that allows Richard and Kahlan to be together. I asked them again toady, but my aunt and uncle were as helpful as ever, saying only that "The good spirits are with us."

I have made my decision. I will continue my search for the counter to the confessor power. It may be that Richard and Kahlan are right, that this counter does not exist. But if it does exist, then I will find it. This I swear.

I close the journal. So that was why Vincent left. I felt my hatred for my cousin slipping away, to be replaced by a deep respect and a sense of awe. I sent a silent prayer up to the good spirits, asking them to help Vincent find whatever it is he is looking for, and bring him home.