Terry Goodkind - Confessor - Chainfire Trilogy Part 3

Without letting on that she was awake, she inched her hand downward toward her belt to get at her knife. Since she was turned to the right the sheath for her knife was somewhat under her. She had to squirm her fingers under her to get at the knife, trying not to betray the fact that she was awake. She counted on her blanket to help hide the movement of her hand.

The knife wasn’t there.

She glanced down a little, hoping it had fallen out somehow and that it would be on the ground nearby. It wasn’t. As she was feeling around under the blanket, trying to find her knife, she saw the pile of Samuel’s clothes not far away. Then she saw the knife. It had been tossed beyond his clothes, well out of reach.

She was sickened by the mental image of him stealthily removing his clothes as he stared at her while she slept. She was appalled by the thought that he had been so close to her, watching her, taking her knife, preparing for the obscene things he wanted to do to her, and that she hadn’t even been aware of it. Besides being appalled, she was angry at herself for letting him get this far.

While Samuel had always seemed timid and shy, and sometimes eager to curry favor, this didn’t entirely surprise her. She remembered all too well the times she’d caught him staring at her. Those looks had always seemed to contain a sneaky craving that he never otherwise betrayed. She controlled her outrage, focusing instead on survival.

Being hesitant and indecisive, Samuel was moving ever so slowly, inching into position, skulking in close rather than boldly pouncing. He apparently wanted to get completely over her, and then when he felt he was close enough to be sure that she couldn’t get away, he would muscle her under control and then live out the dark thoughts that had always been hidden behind his golden-yellow eyes.

Samuel wasn’t a big man, but he was muscular. He was certainly stronger than she was. There was no way she could escape without a fight, and she was in a poor position to grapple with him. From this close she couldn’t even punch effectively. In this close, without a knife, without anyone to help her, she had little hope of fending him off.

Even though he was considerably stronger and she had been asleep, he had been wary. His mistake had been in not acting swiftly to incapacitate her. It hadn’t been a question of lack of ability or advantage, but a lack of courage. Her only edge at that moment was that he hadn’t acted swiftly and he didn’t know she was awake. She didn’t want to squander that advantage. When she acted, that surprise would help even the equation and give her an opportunity she would not get again.

Her mind raced through a list of options. She would have only one chance to strike first. She would have to make it count.

Her first thought was to bring her knee up where it would hurt him most, but the way she was lying, turned to her right, her legs trapped under a blanket, and with the way he was positioned over her pinning that blanket down, she deemed it a poor choice for a first strike.

Her left hand was free, though, just outside the blanket. That seemed her best choice. Without further delay, before it was too late, she struck hard and fast, as quick as a viper, trying to gouge out his eye with her thumb. She pressed with all her strength into the soft tissue of his eye.

He cried out in fright, immediately jerking his face back and away.

Quickly regaining his wits, he used his arm to slam hers away as she clawed at his face. At the same time he dropped his weight down, driving the air from her lungs in a whoosh.

Before she could draw a breath he rammed his other forearm across her throat, both pinning her head to the ground and preventing her from getting a breath. Kahlan kicked and twisted with all her might, trying to get away. It was like trying to fight off a bear. She was no match for his strength and weight, especially not in the vulnerable position she was in. She had no leverage to push him away and no effective way to strike.

Kahlan twisted her head more to the right to get her windpipe out from the direct weight his forearm was putting across her throat. Her straining neck muscles at least took the full load off her throat long enough for her to get a breath.

As she gasped in that needed breath, her sight was focused on his clothes lying not far away. She spotted the hilt of the sword just sticking out from under his trousers. She could see the early-morning light glinting off the gold word truth on the silver wire of the hilt.

Kahlan desperately grasped for the hilt of the sword. It was just beyond the reach of her fingers. She knew that, since she was on the ground and didn’t have full use of her arm, even if she could get ahold of it she had no chance to draw the blade from its scabbard in order to stab Samuel or even slash at him. Her aim was simply to get her hand around the hilt and then bash the point of the pommel into his face or skull. A sword was heavy enough to do substantial damage in that manner. A good hit in the right place, such as his temple, could even kill her attacker.

But the hilt of the sword was just out of reach.

At the same time she was desperately stretching, trying to reach the sword, Samuel was having difficulty having his way with her. The blanket was interfering with his lust to get at her. Crouching on top of her to keep her down was proving a troublesome complication. It seemed he hadn’t taken the practical aspects of the procedure into consideration. He was quite effectively pinning her down, but the blanket was part of the means by which he was keeping her arms and legs under control. At the same time it was preventing him from getting to his ultimate goal.

She knew that it was going to be only a moment until it dawned on him to simply knock her unconscious.

As if reading her mind, she saw his right arm cock back. She could see his big fist tighten. As he drove the fist down toward her face, she used all her strength to twist her body and lunge away from the blow.

His fist slammed the ground just behind her head.

Her fingers found the gold wire spelling out truth on the hilt of the sword.

The world seemed to come to an abrupt halt.

In an instant, she was flooded with understanding.

Things within her that had been entirely lost were suddenly right there.

She didn’t remember who she was, but she instantly remembered what she was.

A Confessor.

It was far from a complete joining with her past, but in that thread of linkage she knew what being a Confessor meant. It had been a complete mystery for so long, but now she not only remembered all that it meant, she felt that birthright within her, felt its bond to her.

She still didn’t know who she was, who Kahlan Amnell was, and she didn’t remember anything of her past, but she remembered what it meant to be a Confessor.

Samuel drew back his arm to punch at her again.

Kahlan pressed her hand to his chest. It no longer felt like there was a powerful man atop her, controlling her. She no longer felt panic or fury. She no longer struggled. She felt as if she were as light as a breath of air and that he no longer had any power over her.

There was no longer any frantic rush, any sense of desperation.

Time was hers.

She didn’t need to consider, evaluate, or decide. She knew with complete certainty what to do. She didn’t even have to think it through.

It was not necessary for Kahlan to invoke her birthright, but merely to withdraw her restraint of it.

She could see his furious, focused expression frozen above her. His fist remained poised unmoving in an ever-expanding spark of time, as it would until this was finished.

She had no need to hope, or expect, or act. She knew that time was hers. She knew what was going to be, almost as if it had already happened.