Temple of the Winds

Signed, the Mother Confessor, your queen, your love for all time, in this world and those beyond-Kahlan.

Kahlan folded the letter and wrote Richard's name on the outside. She opened it and read it again, just to be sure she hadn't revealed anything she didn't want to him to know. She was satisfied with "to help our situation." It was vague enough to mean anything. She hoped she wasn't being too harsh with the way she insisted he not interfere.

Kahlan brought a candle close and heated the end of a stick of colored sealing wax from the drawer. She watched the wax drip onto the letter, making a red pool, and then pressed the Mother Confessor's seal-twin lightning bolts-into the warm wax. She kissed the letter, blew out the candle, and propped the letter against it so it couldn't be missed.

She never used to know why the Mother Confessor's seal was twin lightning bolts, but she did now; it was the symbol of the Con Dar-the Blood Rage-an ancient component to a Confessor's magic. It was magic so rarely invoked that she had never known of it; her mother had died before she could teach Kahlan to call it forth if needed.

After she had met Richard and fallen in love with him, she had invoked it by instinct. In the grip of that magic, she had painted a lightning bolt on each cheek as a warning to others not to get in her way. A Confessor in the Con Dar couldn't be reasoned with.

The Blood Rage was the Subtractive side of a Confessor's magic, invoked for retribution. Kahlan had brought it to life within herself when she thought Darken Rahl had killed Richard. It was called forth on behalf of someone, and could only be used to defend that person. It couldn't be used to defend herself.

Like her Confessor's power, which she had always felt in the core of her being, the Con Dar was always there, now, just below the surface, a menacing storm cloud on the horizon. She had felt it instantly rip through her when she needed it to protect Richard: blue lightning that destroyed all before it.

Without the Subtractive as well as the common Additive Magic, a person couldn't travel in the sliph. The Sisters of the Dark, and the wizards who had become the Keeper's minions, could call on Subtractive Magic, too.

Kahlan went into her bedroom. She stripped off the dressing robe and tossed it on the bed. She pulled open the bottom drawer of the ornately carved chest and pawed through her things, looking for what she needed.

Inside were clothes she had worn before, when she had been on her journeys, better suited to what she was going to do than was her white Mother Confessor's dress. She stepped into dark green pants. She pulled out a heavy shirt and threw it on, buttoning it up with shaking fingers. She tucked in the shirt and buckled the wide belt. She left the waist pouch.

From the back of the drawer, Kahlan retrieved an object carefully wrapped in a square of white cloth. She set it on the floor and, crouching over it, laid back the corners of the cloth.

Even though she knew what it was, and what it looked like, she couldn't help feeling a shiver when she actually saw it again.

Atop the cloth sat the spirit knife Chandalen had given her. It was a weapon made from the arm bone of his grandfather.

This knife had saved her life before. She had used it to kill Prindin, a man who had been her friend, but who had turned to the Keeper.

At least, she thought she had killed him; she didn't remember exactly what had happened that day. She had, at the time, been under the influence of the poison Prindin had been giving her. She wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't the spirit of Chandalen's grandfather who had saved her. Prindin had lunged atop her, and the knife seemed just to be there, in her hand. She remembered his blood running down the knife and over her fist.

Inky black raven feathers spread in a fan from the round knob of bone at the top. Raven was powerful spirit magic to the Mud People; it was associated with death.

Chandalen's grandfather had sought the aid of the spirits to protect his people from slaughter by another people of the wilds who had gone mad with the blood lust of war. No one knew the reason, but the result was a bloodbath.

Chandalen's grandfather had called a gathering to ask the spirits for their help. His people were peaceful, and didn't know how to defend themselves. The spirits had taught Chandalen's grandfather how to kill the Jocopo, and in so doing, they became the Mud People. The Mud People defended themselves, and eliminated the threat. There were no more Jocopo.

Chandalen's grandfather had taught his son to be a protector of his people, and Chandalen's father had in turn taught Chandalen. Kahlan knew few men who were as good protectors of their people as Chandalen. In a battle with the army of the Imperial Order, Chandalen had been death itself. So had she.