Terry Goodkind - Wizard's First Rule

She could feel the heat of her anger rising. Richard leaned around the Bird Man.

“Kahlan, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Her eyes went from Richard back to the Bird Man, and she gave him a nod. “Nothing. It’s all right.”

The Bird Man released her chin and turned to his people, blowing the silent whistle he carried around his neck. He began talking to them of their history, their ways, why they avoided the influence of outsiders, how they had the right to be a proud people. As he talked, doves began coming in, landing among the people.

Kahlan listened without hearing, standing still on the platform, feeling like a trapped animal. When she had thought they could win over the Mud People, and have themselves named Mud People, she hadn’t contemplated having to agree to these things. She had thought their initiation to be a mere formality, after which Richard could ask for a gathering. She hadn’t given consideration to events going this way.

Maybe she could simply not tell him some of it. He wouldn’t even know. After all, he didn’t understand their language. She would just keep quiet. It was for the best.

But other things, she thought despondently, would be all too obvious. She could feel her ears turning red, could feel a knot in the pit of her stomach.

Richard sensed that the words of the Bird Man were not yet something he needed to understand and didn’t ask for a translation. The Bird Man finished his introductory remarks, and arrived at the important part.

“When these two came to us, they were outsiders. By their actions, they have proved their caring for our people, proved their worth. From this day forward, let all know that Richard With The Temper and Confessor Kahlan are Mud People.”

Kahlan translated, dropping her title, as the crowd cheered. Smiling, Richard held his hand up to the people, and they cheered all the more. Savidlin reached out and gave him a friendly slap on the back. The Bird Man put a hand on each of their shoulders, giving hers a sympathetic squeeze, trying to relieve the sting of the agreement he had forced upon her.

She took a deep breath, resigning herself to it. It would be over soon enough, and then they would be gone, on their way to stop Rahl. That was all that mattered. Besides, she, of all people, had no right to be upset about it.

“There is one more thing,” The Bird Man went on. “These two were not born Mud People. Kahlan was born a Confessor, a matter of blood, not choosing. Richard With The Temper was born in Westland, across the boundary, of ways that are a mystery to us. Both have agreed to be Mud People, to honor our laws and ways from this day on, but we must understand that our ways may be a mystery to them. We must have patience with them, understand that they are trying for the first time to be Mud People. We have lived our lives as Mud People, this is their first day. They are as new children to us. Give them the understanding you would give our children, and they will do their best.”

The crowd buzzed with talk, heads nodding, all agreeing the Bird Man was wise. Kahlan let out a sigh—the Bird Man had given himself, and the two of them, a sliver of room if things went wrong. He was indeed wise. He gave her shoulder another squeeze, and she placed her hand over his, giving her own appreciative squeeze.

Richard didn’t waste a second. He turned to the elders.

“I am honored to be one of the Mud People. Wherever I may travel, I will uphold the honor of our people, to make you proud of me. Right now, there is danger to our people. I need help so I might protect them. I request a council of seers. I request a gathering.”

Kahlan translated, and each elder in turn nodded his agreement.

“Granted,” the Bird Man said. “It will take three days to prepare for the gathering.”

“Honored elder,” Richard said, restraining himself, “the danger is great. I respect your ways, but is there any way it can be done faster? The lives of our people depend on this.”

The Bird Man took a deep breath, his long silver hair reflecting the gloomy light. “In this special circumstance, we will do our best to help you. Tonight we will hold the banquet, tomorrow night we will hold the gathering. This is as fast as it can be done. There are preparations that must be made for the elders to bridge the gap to the spirits.”

Richard, too, took a deep breath. “Tomorrow night then.”

The bird man blew the whistle again and the doves took to the air. Kahlan felt as if her hopes, impossible and foolish as they had been, took wing with them.

Preparations were quickly set underway, and Savidlin took Richard to his home, to care for his cuts and clean him up. The Bird Man took Kahlan to the healer, to have her wound treated.

Blood had completely soaked the bandage, and the cut hurt in earnest. He guided her through narrow passageways with his arm protectively around her shoulders. She was thankful he didn’t speak of the banquet.

He left her in the care of a stooped woman named Nissel, instructing her to care for Kahlan as if she were his daughter. Nissel smiled little, mostly at the oddest times, and spoke little, other than instructions. Stand here, hold your arm up, put it down, breathe, don’t breathe, drink this, lie here, recite the Candra. Kahlan didn’t know what the Candra was. Nissel shrugged and instead had her balance flat stones atop one another on her stomach while the wound was inspected. When it hurt and the stones started slipping, Nissel admonished her to try harder to keep the stones balanced. She was given bitter-tasting leaves to chew while Nissel removed Kahlan’s clothes and bathed her.

The bath did more for her than the leaves. She couldn’t remember a bath feeling so good. She tried to let her depressing thoughts slough away with the mud. She tried very hard. While she was left to soak, Nissel washed her clothes and hung them by the fire, where a little pot of brown paste bubbled, smelling of pine pitch. Nissel dried her off, wrapped her in warm skins, and sat her on a bench built into the wall near the raised fire pit. The taste of the leaves seemed to get better the more she chewed them, but her head was beginning to spin.

“Nissel, what are the leaves for?”

Nissel turned from studying Kahlan’s shirt, which she thought very curious. “It will make you relax, so you will not feel what I do. Keep chewing. Do not worry, child. You will be so relaxed, you will not care when I stitch.”

Kahlan immediately spit out the leaves. The old woman looked at them on the floor, lifting an eyebrow to Kahlan.

“Nissel, I am a Confessor. If I am relaxed in a manner like that, I might not be able to hold back the power. When you touch me, I could release it without wanting to.”

Nissel frowned with curiosity. “But you sleep, child. You relax then.”

“That is different. I have slept from birth, before my power grew in me. If I were to be too relaxed or distracted in a way I do not know, as with your leaves, I could touch you without intending it.”

Nissel gave a crooked nod. Then her eyebrows came up. She leaned closer. “Then how do you . . .”

Kahlan gave a blank expression that said nothing and everything.

A look of sudden understanding came over Nissel’s face. The healer straightened up. “Oh, I see now.”

She stroked Kahlan’s hair sympathetically, then went to the far corner and came shuffling back with a piece of leather. “Put this between your teeth.” She patted Kahlan’s good shoulder. “If you are ever hurt again, be sure to have them bring you to Nissel. I will remember, and know what not to do. Sometimes, when you are a healer, it is more important to know what not to do. Maybe when you are a Confessor too. Hmm?” Kahlan smiled and gave a nod. “Now—child, make teeth marks in this leather for me.”