IV. CONSEQUENCE
Her moon blood never came.
Kahlan waited and waited for it, counting each passing day on her fingers. She walked around in a daze, consumed by constant, gnawing worry. There were moments when she felt desperate enough and almost asked Zedd to use his magic, to stretch out his hand and search for a new life already growing silently in her womb. But she always pushed the desire aside and buried it deep. If she was with child, he would want her safely sent to Aydindril, and then the gulf that now stretched between her and Richard would widen and worsen into something insurmountable. She feared if she left him now, the man who had once been her dearest friend would forever be a stranger to her.
Though they traveled together day in and day out, it felt like she saw less of him than before. She suspected some sort of conspiracy had taken place between the two most unlikely allies – Zedd and Cara managed to never leave her alone with Richard for more than mere moments at a time. Somehow, the space between their bedrolls had grown greater, and neither of them had said a word about it.
Silence had spilled into every corner of her life. Her feelings had all become gnarled into a knot in her chest that she couldn't begin to unravel. And Richard had turned solemn and stoic, saying little to anyone that did not directly pertain to the quest. Kahlan found she missed him fiercely even when they stood side by side.
They had stopped for the night in a thick forest of pine trees, and sat eating on opposite sides of the fire, spooning in mouthfuls of stew in heavy silence. She had no appetite, but she fought off a wave of nausea and took a bite, her teeth tearing through a soggy mess of roots and greens. Zedd jabbered on about the progress they had made that day. It was a futile effort against the dreary mood that pervaded the camp night after night. Only Cara bothered to say anything in response, and she did little more than grunt her acknowledgment. Richard pushed at his stew with his spoon. Now and then, Kahlan caught him glancing her way, a haunted look in his eyes.
"Aren't you hungry?" she asked at last, mostly to hear his voice. Richard lifted his head, giving a halfhearted shrug.
"Not so much," he said quietly. His eyes met hers for a fleeting moment, but even that brief connection hit her like a bolt from a crossbow.
She flinched and looked back down at her stew. "Right," she murmured. "Me too."
Though Zedd had made an effort with herbs and spices and a prized bit of rabbit, she found the smell of it about as appetizing as the rotting flesh of a baneling. Even one more bite held a very real chance of making her vomit. Zedd and Cara were busy with their meals, chewing noisily, spoons clinking against bowls, and Richard had resumed staring at his feet. Acting quickly, she slipped her bowl behind her back and poured what remained into a patch of underbrush.
She set the empty bowl to the side and twisted her hands together, trying not to think about her missing moon blood. The constant fear and worry were getting unbearable; she felt as if she was losing her mind. Kahlan brushed a hand across her churning stomach and decided she needed to at least know tonight.
They had passed a village earlier in the day's march, and if there was one thing every village had, it was a midwife. She would find her.
With her plan formed, the rest of the evening dragged endlessly on. Zedd talked too long by the fire. Richard and Cara took too long laying out bedrolls. But eventually, they all began settling for the night. Cara called first watch, pacing a circle through the towering maze of pines, tapping her Agiel against her thigh every other step. Kahlan lay down and drummed nervous fingers against the ground, waiting until Richard's breathing evened out and Zedd began to snore. As soon as they were both asleep, she bolted upright, reaching for her pack. Cara looked at her when she stood, but said nothing.
"My hair feels too dirty," she announced. "I'm going to go wash it at the stream before I sleep." It was easiest to lie to the one she liked least; still she held her breath until the Mord-Sith nodded her head.
"Suit yourself," said Cara without breaking her stride.
Kahlan hurried off towards the stream, but soon switched directions and broke into a run. She had to make it to the midwife's and back before Cara woke up one of the others to take second watch. The Mord-Sith might have accepted her lie, but she knew neither Zedd nor Richard would be fooled. They would want to know exactly where she'd been.
She forced herself to run faster, and by the time she reached the sleepy village, she was breathing hard, her brow damp with sweat. She stopped the first man she met. By the smell of his breath, he was on his way home from an evening at the tavern. He chuckled when she asked for the midwife, but after eyeing her up and down, he gave her directions to a house on the outskirts of town.
A strong wind had picked up, and a harsh, spitting rain began to fall. Kahlan drew her hood up against the storm as she thanked the man and raced down the wide, muddy street that cut through the village proper. Her belly felt tied in knots, and she tried not to imagine what Richard would say if he knew where she was. No doubt his dark eyes would fill with fresh guilt, and he would apologize again and again. She wanted him to be able to take her hand and tell her it would all be okay. Instead, she walked up to the midwife's small, weather beaten cottage alone, hands hanging empty at her sides.
She rapped her knuckles on the door, shouting to be heard above the rising howl of the wind. A light moved across the house's solitary windowpane, and a moment later, the door opened a crack.
"Who's there?" called an old woman, pressing the lantern she held up to the crack in the dark. Kahlan caught a glimpse of wild, white hair and a billowing white nightgown.
"Are you the midwife here?" She pushed back her hood so the old woman could see her face and hopefully find her none too threatening.
The woman considered her a moment, her expression softening some. "I am," she said. "Who are you?"
Kahlan hesitated, grateful that she had on her plain traveling clothes instead of her Confessor's dress. Rumors about the Mother Confessor being with child would spread all too quickly if she announced herself.
"Bah!" said the midwife when she stayed silent. "You don't stay a midwife long if you run your tongue about the women who come to your door, but no matter. Get in out of the wet!" She opened the door further and shuffled back to let her in.
Kahlan crossed the threshold and stood dripping water on the hardpacked floor. Above her, countless bundles of herbs hung drying in the rafters. Crucibles were piled high on the table, and jar after jar of mysterious liquids lined the shelf above the hearth. The air had a curious smell she could not identify, something sweet and strong. The midwife set her lantern down on the table and turned Kahlan around by the shoulders.
"Well aren't you a bedraggled little thing," she said, her green eyes surprisingly kind and surrounded by a fine web of wrinkles. "Here, have a sit down there." She urged her towards a rocking chair by the fire, and Kahlan sank into it without protest. Outside, the wind still moaned, but her back began to warm from the heat of the cheery, flickering flames. The old woman dragged a three-legged stool over and perched across from her, the voluminous folds of her nightgown nearly swallowing her whole.
She leaned forward, resting bony elbows on bony knees. "My name's Jara," she said. "Now, do you want to tell me what's been done to you?"
"Done to me?" echoed Kahlan.
Jara gave her a knowing look. "The only girls who come knocking on my door alone in the dead of night are ones who've had a man do them harm, in one way or another."
"Oh…" Kahlan pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with unexpected tears. She could not imagine Richard ever doing harm to her. Not the real Richard. But that day was seared into her mind. She could recall in perfect clarity how he'd looked down at her without a trace of his love for her in his eyes, as he forced himself inside her for the first time. And now he was afraid to look at her at all.
She clenched her hands into fists so tight they left rows of crescent moons across her palms. It wasn't fair. She could deal with her memories; she would master them eventually. Already she had recovered from the physical pain she'd endured that day. But what hurt far worse – and didn't go away – was the haunted look that had taken over Richard's eyes, and the knowledge that she had helped put it there.
She had gone over the events of that day a thousand times, analyzing all the ways she could have done or said something differently, something to keep them from what had happened. Drawing a shaky breath, she looked over at Jara still sitting on her stool, watchful and waiting. "Please," she said, and her voice trembled too much for her liking. "I don't want to talk about it."
Jara seemed unsurprised. Reaching out, she squeezed Kahlan's shoulder with a spindly hand. "Take a breath then," she said and got to her feet. "You need a potion made to shed the child?"
Kahlan's mouth fell open a little. "No, I…" She hadn't considered that, though it would make everything so much easier. But she couldn't. Not when she was the last Confessor. Not when the child she carried was Richard's. If she even carried a child. Jara was studying her with a puzzled frown on her wrinkly face, so she went on, stammering, "I don't want to shed the child. I mean, if I am with child. I think I am, but I don't…I don't know," she admitted, her cheeks burning in a crush of shame and embarrassment. And her mother was dead and her sister. She had no one else left she could ask. Her hands shook, and she balled them into fists again to still them.
Jara clucked her tongue against her teeth, and began fussing with a kettle on the hearth. "How late is your moon blood?"
"Three weeks," said Kahlan quietly. "Nearly four."
The old woman nodded her head of wild, white hair, but said nothing. She returned a short while later, pressing a mug of strong smelling tea into her hands. "What is this?" she asked, sniffing at the dark brown liquid.
"Mayroot," said Jara. "Drink up. It'll settle that upset stomach of yours." Kahlan looked up in surprise – she had said nothing of her nausea. "Bah," said the old woman dismissively as if she could read her thoughts. "I've been a midwife since I was younger than you, and my mother was a midwife before me. All those years have taught me how to spot a thing or two. Now drink up," she urged again, and Kahlan took a tentative sip.
The tea was pleasantly warm and tasted light and sweet. As she drank it, she found it did just as Jara promised. Her churning stomach began to settle, and the constant urge to vomit faded away. Jara took up her stool again and, leaning forward, asked her question after question as she drank her tea. Whether she was tired and when she felt tired, which foods no longer tasted good, and if grass smelled different now. The questions kept coming one after another until she had drained her mug. When it was empty, the old midwife made her stand up and prodded at her belly with a weathered, age spotted hand. She nodded abruptly and took Kahlan's mug from her, depositing it on the table with a heavy clunk.
"Well?" breathed Kahlan. The beating of her heart seemed suddenly very loud.
"Yes," said Jara as she turned back around. "You're with child."
"Okay," she nodded. "Okay…" She couldn't say she was surprised, but for some reason the news left her feeling faint. "I'm with child…" She shook her head, swaying a little on her feet.
"Sit back down before you drop," Jara said and nudged her into the rocking chair. Kahlan did as she was told, settling a hand over her stomach where Richard's child grew. Her eyes filled with tears, and she stared past the midwife, seeing nothing. Jara resettled on her stool, tucking in the folds of her white nightgown around her legs. "You safe enough from the man who forced you?" she asked, and Kahlan felt a dull sense of marvel at how the woman could tell so much from the things she didn't say.
"Yes," she said softly. "He's gone." And he was gone. Richard was no longer confessed. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Richard always lit up around children. He could love their daughter. She had to believe he could despite how she'd been made.
"Do you need to stay the night?" continued Jara. "I have a straw pallet in the next room."
"No," said Kahlan, springing suddenly to her feet. She'd forgotten all about her lie to Cara. She looked out the window at the dark night sky in a rising panic. "No, I have to go! I have to get back before I'm missed." If Cara hadn't already decided it was absurd that she was away so long washing her hair in the rain and woken the others. She thrust a hand into her coin purse as she headed for the door. "Thank you," she said. "How much do I owe you?"
"For a mug of tea and keeping an old woman company with a bit of conversation? Bah! Nothing. Go on your way and be well, child," said Jara, walking with her to the door.
"Thank you," said Kahlan again. Jara just nodded her out into the night.
The rain had mostly let up, and Kahlan took off at a run, her boots squelching in the mud. It was something of a relief to run. The ground flying past her feet as she pushed herself faster and faster left her with little energy to think of what would happen next. Of how things would change when the others learned she was with child. All she could concentrate on was putting one leg in front of the other as swiftly as she could until her muscles burned and her heart pounded furiously. She burst into camp haggard and breathless, struggling to walk slow and act calm.
She expected to find the others in an uproar, alarmed by her disappearance for half the night, and wanting to know just where she'd been. But Richard and Zedd were sleeping still. Cara still paced in front of the fire though it was well past time for the second watch to take over.
"I see you washed your hair," said Cara in a dry voice as she took in her tangled, windblown locks.
"Yes," gasped Kahlan, clutching at a stitch in her side. She could tell that Cara wasn't the least bit fooled by her story. The thick pine branches overhead had sheltered the camp from the passing storm, but Cara wouldn't have missed the sound of rain. Not to mention that no one returned from a bath sweaty and mud splattered. Still, the Mord-Sith didn't push for the real explanation.
"Thank you, Cara," she said breathlessly. She doubled over, bracing her hands on her knees as she sucked in air. It struck her that the Mord-Sith had been covering for her deliberately all along. If she'd truly believed the story about hair washing, she would have woken the others when she failed to return in a reasonable amount of time. Either that or she hated Confessors so much that she didn't care if she fell in the creek and drowned.
Before she could put her muddled realization into a question, Cara flopped down on her bedroll, scowling up at her from her back. "It's your watch," she said flatly and closed her eyes.
Kahlan nodded and collapsed by the fire, still panting hard. The straps of her pack had dug angry, red grooves into her shoulders as she ran. She eased the pack off, rubbing at the raw skin until the marks faded some. As the silence of the camp at night took over, her thoughts began to churn. Dear spirits, she was with child. The news seemed to keep her heart permanently lodged in her throat.
She brushed a hand against her abdomen, letting her gaze flit to where Richard slept. She studied the face of the man she'd forgotten how to talk to as she tried out the words in her mind. Father of her child.
Also, I've made a twitter, morgenwrites, mostly so I could help trend #LegendoftheSeeker. But I also tweet about how the story's coming along, so if you're wondering when the next chapter will be up, you can always check there. For, you know, updates on when there will be updates. XD Hope you enjoyed the chapter!