Soundtrack:
Song 1: Mos ma vish funin e shkurter
Song 2: Reverse Dance
part ix
unlovable, unintelligible
The brass instruments wobbled quickly to the music, harsh and proud like the Karnor. The drums beat in syncopated time while the strings hummed in the night. This was the funeral to end all funerals, a celebration of life for Richard With The Temper. The Karnor adorned themselves with the finest leather armor, and Kahlan noticed that in the time between now and her last visit they had begun to dye the leathers all sorts of bright colors—teals, reds, and purples. They painted themselves with new, colored mud, and Kahlan wondered if she had ever seen such glorious, wonderful folk. They were so thoroughly alive even in the face of such uncertain times.
Young and old folk set themselves to a furious dancing, so unlike the metered ways of the Midlands. The Karnor rarely danced with a single partner, instead they danced all together, weaving and bobbing through the crowd but never touching another person. Cara felt it was better this way, to move freely yet still be a part of the rippling energy of the evening. Not like the confined ballroom dances of the Midlands. Cara thought back to that night of Warren and Verna's wedding, and all the stares she had received merely for dancing with the Mother Confessor. With all of the fuss the Karnor were making with their bodies, no one would have looked twice at them here.
Nicci and Cara sat at a table laden with a vast array of meats and breads. The best butcher of the village had prepared the meats in so many ways that Cara could have never thought to try them all in one day, and the choices were so overwhelming that she elected to simply chew on a safe-looking piece of jerky. The Karnor mostly avoided the two, for one dressed in blood and the other in death.
"I wish I knew what they were saying, so I could determine if I should bother speaking with any of them," Nicci murmured, to which Cara leaned back on the table behind them and snorted. "Something funny, Mistress Cara?"
"I can understand them enough to get by," Cara mused. "The language they speak is a sister of the D'Haran dialect I grew up with."
"So D'Harans are not so monolithic anymore," Nicci noted with a curt nod. "Cara, I know that you hate me, but—"
"We are at a funeral. It would be in poor taste to Richard's memory to fight now."
Nicci thought for a moment, pursed her lips, then accepted the brokered peace.
"Did Richard ever know that you and Kahlan are in love? Was it some sort of agreement between the three of you—"
Cara nearly choked on the current bite of her jerky.
"She's not in love with me, nor I with her. We are friends, that is all."
"That's not how I see it. I've never seen two women so close."
"Perhaps because you've never had a friend before."
"You're right," Nicci smirked. "I've never had a friend. But I have had many lovers. And nearly all of them touched me and looked at me the way you two touch and look at each other."
"You are lucky, sorceress, that this is Richard's funeral," Cara huffed, jabbing a finger near Nicci's face as she rose. "And you are twice-fortunate that Kahlan made me leave my agiel in my dwelling."
Sticking the piece of jerky in her mouth and promptly leaving Nicci's sphere of influence, Cara went off in search of other, less ridiculous company. As if led by a magical inner compass, she quickly came across Kahlan who had been off to the side of the festivities with the Bird Man.
"This is my friend Cara. She has traveled with me for the last two years," Kahlan smiled gently, holding her hand out to gesture to the Mord-Sith. Cara stood there with her arms crossed, looking at the Bird Man and waiting for him to speak.
"Friend? Don't you mean—"
"Cara, this is the Bird Man," Kahlan interrupted while Cara kept her cool.
"Riveting," Cara mumbled so only Kahlan could hear. The Bird Man simply stared, looking as if he wished her gone so he could continue to speak with Kahlan. "Come enjoy yourself, enough with the politics."
Kahlan looked to the Bird Man with a wince of apology, then nodded to Cara. The two disappeared back into the crowd.
"I didn't know Mord-Sith loved parties like this," Kahlan teased, taking Cara by the shoulder as she followed behind through the thickening swirl of Karnor. Cara felt a flush of warmth race through her belly at the soft, guiding touch. The farther in they got the more alone they felt, for none of the Karnor concerned with them much at all. They all danced alone, but when they came together and danced as one they did not separate.
"Not many Mord-Sith do. But I am not many Mord-Sith," Cara told her, reaching to take Kahlan's hand when the Confessor pulled away.
"Cara, it's different here."
"What are you talking about?"
Kahlan seemed hesitant to share whatever information she had, which made Cara worry a bit.
"It's not like in the Midlands. The Karnor are… how do I say this… see how most everyone is dancing by themselves?" Kahlan told her, and when Cara took a quick look around she huffed in agreement. "They are young, unpartnered people. Like us." The last part seemed to get caught in Kahlan's throat.
"We are not Karnor, Kahlan."
"We are not, but we are in the Karnor village, being taken in by Karnor eyes."
"If you are so concerned with what people think, then I will leave and let them stare at Nicci and I on the bench," Cara replied with a tinge of anger, then turned to leave. The Mord-Sith heard Kahlan behind her but was not in the mood to listen. Everyone did not understand her tonight, even though if everyone simply listened it was so easy to learn what Cara wanted and who she was.
The cool, night air felt harsher with the sound of revelry behind her. There was such a madness to the crowd, and instantly Cara felt more alone than she had ever been. Kahlan was her friend, but she had no idea why she was so enraged by her rejection. Kahlan was not beholden to her in any way, and Cara was the same. Why did Cara feel so bothered?
Why did she want to be so close to the Mother Confessor, and why did she loathe the time they spent apart?
"May I have this dance, Mistress Cara?" came a voice proud like the beating of spears on shields. Cara turned around to see a hand, outstretched, as if an invitation. Kahlan had looked more beautiful then than she ever had, her white dress tarnished at the bottom with mud and dirt, but none of that mattered. Cara felt within her something that she had never felt before, a creeping, crawling feeling that if she took Kahlan's hand nothing would be the same.
The music changed, the song dark and droning and nothing but allure. Cara grabbed Kahlan's hand like it was the last tether to this world, smiling as Kahlan drew her into the crowd.
"Everyone is looking again," Cara murmured, her hand slipping onto Kahlan's waist. They did not know how to dance like Karnor, so they danced in the only way they knew how, like how they had danced at Verna and Warren's wedding, when everything had seemed so complicated but they knew now it had only been the beginning.
"They do not know our ways. They don't know us," Kahlan replied, cool and unbothered. Her hand grasped Cara's as they spun. As the song proceeded, the whispering subsided and the stares lessened. The respect for Kahlan, it seemed, had outweighed the foreign behavior they displayed. Kahlan released her only to pull her back in, their hands palm to palm as they rotated around one another, their eyes never breaking. Kahlan's expression turned from daring to sad in an instant, and Cara squeezed her hand.
"What is it, Kahlan?"
"The last time I danced to Karnor music, it was with Richard."
Cara nodded, taking the opportunity to pull Kahlan into her, their bodies pressing together like they had always meant to. Cara had never craved to be so close to someone in all her life.
"You don't have to let go of him, Kahlan. No one is asking that of you," Cara told her, and without thinking her hand came up to squeeze Kahlan's upper arm as they danced. "You can miss him for only one day or for the next forty years. He was an incredible man. He was your husband. He was Richard Rahl."
Kahlan nodded, and as the tears inevitably fell from her eyes Cara saw not a frown, but a smile.
"Why… are you crying while grinning?"
"You always know exactly what to say," Kahlan told her with a shake of her head. "I am glad to have you by my side still. After all this."
It was late into the night that the revelry had disbanded. The musicians had retired long ago, so it was just up to those who loved to speak and wrestle to continue the party. Of course, Cara had elected to do more of the latter, and Kahlan more of the former.
"Cara is strong," one of the Karnor warriors huffed to Kahlan after Cara had beat him in yet another, playful wrestling match. By the split lip he had sustained, Kahlan was beginning to think that Mord-Sith only knew how to play if it meant spilling at least a drop of blood. "I would be afraid of her on the battlefield."
"As we all are," Kahlan noted with a proud smirk, looking over when Cara came closer to the table for a break. The Mord-Sith sat beside the man she had just beaten, who took it upon himself to move an inch further from her. Cara grinned gleefully, then downed the rest of her mead.
"It's good to be back in the Midlands where the fine libations live," Cara told them, tracing the lip of her mug with her finger. Kahlan laughed a bit, no one else did. Nicci sat on the other end of the table, watching the two women closely.
"If mead is what makes you so strong, I'll let you drink it at all hours of the day," Kahlan teased as the two met eyes. Cara had on a selfish smile, big and wobbling.
"I'm going to retire while I am still winning," Cara told the table, tapping the wood surface with the bottom of her drinking mug before she rose. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," Kahlan replied behind her, reaching out and taking Cara's hand one last time. Cara felt a small pang of sadness upon leaving Kahlan there, but if there was one thing Cara knew it was not to overstay her welcome. She had had fun enough, but now it was time to rest.
The Karnor had given their three guests a small, clay home to sleep in, however Nicci had elected to sleep outside in a tent. It was fine with Cara, for she no longer wished Nicci to be so intimately close by herself and Kahlan.
"Did Richard ever know that you and Kahlan are in love?"
Cara noticed that Kahlan had laid out their bedrolls deliberately close. Feeling a heavy weight in her heart as Nicci's barbed words clung to her mind, Cara took hold of her bedroll and moved it against a nearby wall. With the warmth of the mead keeping her safe, Cara stripped out of her leathers, laid down, and pulled a blanket over her weary form.
"In love," Cara murmured to herself alone. "The Mother Confessor and her Mord-Sith? Unthinkable."
A few hours later, or perhaps mere minutes, Cara awoke with a start to Kahlan kneeling beside her. The Mother Confessor's hand was on her shoulder, dark hair instantly recognizable even in the deep black of the night. Her touch was familiar and warm, yet firm. Cara turned over, chest bared to Kahlan.
"Is something wrong?" Cara asked in a gentle voice, to which Kahlan shook her head. Cara's own thoughts were still muddled by the mead. "What is it?"
"I just…" Kahlan trailed off, and for the first time she declined to finish her own thought. Cara sat up, the blanket falling away and revealing her muscled form. Kahlan's stare fell down to her chest, her stomach, her arms, and then reluctantly climbed back to her eyes. Cara raised an eyebrow, and it occurred to her then that something had changed since she had gone to sleep.
"What do you need?" Cara said. That was all it took for Kahlan to take her by the back of her braid, pull her close, and force their lips to crash together.
It was like nothing she had ever felt, a gemlike flame that consumed her endlessly. Kahlan's soft lips drew the very life from her, and it was all too easy to give into the Mother Confessor as she so desired. Cara's hand took no time to slip around Kahlan's waist, her fingers grasping and pulling at the soft of her dress. Kahlan tightened her fingers around Cara's braid, sending a wet heat to drip down between Cara's legs. There was so much to feel it was practically maddening, but what Cara did not feel was hesitation nor shame.
When Kahlan leaned backward the two sat there in silence, both coming to a slow, careful realization of what had been done. Cara could barely see the Confessor for all the darkness which surrounded them, but she would know Kahlan anywhere. She had known her on the battlefield, in the war room, in the sick bed, and now here, in her arms and on her lips.
"I don't know what to say," Cara told her gently, taking a long road to find herself again. This felt like a dream, of which she was having more and more as of late.
"Is there anything to say?" Kahlan asked, and Cara shook her head.
"I've never done anything like that before."
"Never?"
"No. Have you?"
Kahlan shook her head too. "I've only ever been with Richard. It's only ever been… him."
Cara felt her stomach tie itself in knots. Kahlan's hand fell away from her hair, and now it was Cara's turn to come for the Confessor. Confession meant death, and it occurred to Cara as she threaded her fingers into Kahlan's thick, black hair that she was so close to it now—that fear, that origin of death. She had spent so long being distant from the Confessor, and for good reason. But now it was impossible to deny her. Cara pulled Kahlan into her, bare chest pressing up against the silken material of Kahlan's dress, both saying not a word but instead falling into kiss after kiss.
But Kahlan leaned away again, and this time she took Cara's hands and pushed them off her. Before Cara could speak a word of concern, Kahlan was on her feet.
"I shouldn't have done that," Kahlan said, her voice light and unanchored. "I shouldn't have done that to you."
"Kahlan, it doesn't have to mean anything. Women can be… close. Like Berdine and Raina."
"We are not Berdine and Raina. We are not in love."
For some reason, that hit Cara harder than seeing Richard Rahl lying dead in the street.
"I didn't say love, but there is something between us. You know there is. And now we can, at the very least, learn its shape."
"No, there is no shape," Kahlan told her, a hand flying up to press against her lips. Where Cara's lips wanted so badly to be. "There is nothing between us. I should be mourning my husband. I should be loyal to Richard."
Another agonizing hit.
"If you are asking me to ignore what just happened… that is the one thing I won't do for you, Kahlan," Cara said, gathering the blanket up around her chest, suddenly wishing for Kahlan not to see her in such a way any longer.
There was that hateful, venomous part of herself that began to bleed into how she was hearing Kahlan's words. The part of her that knew no one would dare ever love a Mord-Sith was creeping up behind her. The part of her that knew she would always be alone was gaining on her. The part of her that knew she was important only in relation to her title, to the Lord Rahl was breathing down her neck. The part of her that knew the second she opened up to someone it had been a mistake was drooling down her back.
Telling Kahlan where she had been was a terrible, awful, ugly error. Had it been written, she would tear the word. Where once she had seen nothing Kahlan could do wrong, now Cara had a churning sensation in her stomach. Cara wanted to take all of it back, but she still could not ignore what they had done together. It was like waking up to warm sunshine and an endless day of nothing at all to do, and now Cara did not wish to go back to sleeping her life away.
"Cara…" Kahlan began, but the Mord-Sith simply laid back down, pulled the blanket tightly around her, and went to sleep. Her back was the only thing Kahlan could attempt to speak to.
For the first time in her life, Cara felt like sobbing.
The empty silence between them tore Cara to shreds more than any harsh word Kahlan could ever say.
With the pain of Kahlan's rejection beating down on her head there was no way that Cara could find the solace of sleep. Cara pulled her leathers back on before seeking some sanctum outside in the cold air. Cara was met with the lithe figure of Maryn, the young Karnor woman. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her shoulders far broader in this light.
"No sleep?" Maryn asked, attempting what Cara assumed was her best Middle Tongue.
"No sleep," Cara nodded. Maryn watched her closely with bright, blue eyes in stark contrast to her dark hair.
"You look strong, Cara," Maryn offered, her eyes raking up Cara's form.
Something old and familiar clicked in Cara's mind. A fear froze her heart and clenched up her muscles. Although her form was calling to Maryn's to be caught up in her, Cara felt uneasy. All she could think about was Kahlan's lips on hers and the warmth between her legs at the mere expectation of her touch. It was all so pathetic, the way she had acted, the way it had been so easy to melt against Kahlan's small, needy kisses. Cara could think of nothing that was not Kahlan.
Cara did not wait for Maryn to be disappointed in her rejection. Instead, she turned away and walked toward the edge of the village until the grasses were too high to ignore. A few sharper edges sliced a clean cut into her cheek, bringing forth a small dribble of blood. It was hot against her cool skin, against the cool night, something alive in spite of all this death. What Cara had thought of Kahlan was gone now. She had done the worst thing, which was to trust in the best she had seen. Cara had trusted Kahlan to take care of her, and as soon as she fell into the Mother Confessor, she had yanked her hand away. Cara was angrier than she had been in a long time, almost as angry as she had been when Gadi had told her what he had done to Nicci, and therefore the injuries he had done unto Kahlan.
She gripped the trunk of a nearby birch tree, its bark soft and smooth under her rough touch. Her gloved hand came up to pull at her leather collar, yanking it off and casting it into the grass beneath her before harshly pulling her shirt down around her waist. Cara angrily pawed at the buckle of her belt, wondering why there was so much accoutrement to being Mord-Sith. Finally finding success, Cara steadied herself against the tree and shoved her hand down to the warm, wet spot between her legs. Instantly, a moan of relief left her lips. It was so easy to caress herself there, feeling calmer and calmer as she did so, but Cara did not want ease or smooth touches.
Her shoulder slammed against the tree, her head on the opposite side, wrestling with it. Her finger rubbed mercilessly against her quickly swelling clit as if she were rubbing it into submission. Harder, harder, harder, as if it would clear away all the terrible, sticky feelings that had congealed in the pit of her stomach. Cara lifted her head and pressed her forearm to the tree, letting the still-healing wound burn and ache under the pressure.
The pain kept Cara sharp, and that was precisely what she needed now. To be stern, strict, cruel. There was no room for this new Cara, no one had wanted her anyway. No one had wanted the Cara who got what she wanted, they only wanted the Cara who complied. The Cara who followed. The Cara who went along with everything and needed nothing in return. Those were the palatable, intelligible Cara's.
Cara grunted against the feeling of her fingers, her clit growing slicker the longer she forced the feeling onto it. Her fist tightened. Her wound bled. Everything that had happened that night would come out of her whether it wanted to or not. Cara wanted to excise every warm, intimate feeling she had for Kahlan.
There were so many. Too many to control, all were too big for the Mord-Sith to manage. Cara heard herself sobbing and felt heavy, hot tears streaming down her face as she forced herself closer and closer to the edge of release.
No one loved her, really. Not even Kahlan.
But she loved Kahlan, and she did not know why or when it happened. It had happened so slowly that neither of them had noticed. And when Kahlan had kissed her, only then did the pieces come together. But as quickly as the feeling of love had consumed her it had been ripped away. And now there was nothing left inside Cara.
Her body bucked against the tree without warning, nothing but pained grunts ripped out of her belly as she attempted to keep herself quiet. Her clit ached from the rough attention, forcing her to wince and twist up her face only slightly. Cara could hear the still night with its crickets and creatures, all whispering and singing around her. Her head was clearer than it had been in weeks, her fingers sticky and wet with the evidence of what she had done.
Cara would be smarter, now. She would not let feelings get in the way. It was better to be Mord-Sith, to be compliant and underwhelmed and loyal to a fault. She was never going to be a woman, this one that does the becoming.
A/N: Yeah so I like it when Cara and Kahlan are in pain, what of it?