Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind [252]
Kahlan ate the rest of the meat he had given her while he thought about how ironic it also was that the Confessors brought love to the most hateful of criminals, yet they could not bring it to ones with whom they would choose closeness. He knew there was something else she was trying to explain.
“I think your long hair is pretty,” he said. “I like it the way it is.”
Kahlan smiled. “Thank you.” She tossed the bones into the fire, watching it for a time, then looked down at her hands as she clicked her thumbnails together. “And then there is the matter of choosing a mate.”
Richard finished his piece of meat and threw the bone in the fire. He leaned back against the log, not liking the sound of this. “Choosing a mate? What do you mean?”
She studied her hands as if trying to find refuge in them. “When a Confessor reaches the age to be a proper mother, she must choose a mate. A Confessor may choose any man she wishes, even one already married. She may roam the Midlands, searching for a proper father to her daughters, one who is strong, and maybe one who is handsome to her eyes. Whatever she wants.
“Men are terrified of a Confessor who is looking for a mate, because they don’t want to be chosen, to be touched by her. Women are terrified because they don’t want their man, or their brother, or their son to be taken. They all know they have no say in the matter; any who stood in the way of a Confessor’s choosing would be taken by her. People are afraid of me, first because I am the Mother Confessor, and second because I am long past the time I should have chosen a mate.”
Richard still clung tenaciously to his hopes and dreams. “But what if you care about someone, and they care for you?”
Kahlan shook her head sadly. “Confessors have no friends but other Confessors. It is not a problem; no one would ever have feelings for a Confessor. Every man is afraid of us.” She left unsaid that it was a problem now. Her voice was choking up again. “We are taught from a young age that the mate we choose must be a man of strength, so that the children we bear will be strong. But it must not be someone we care for, because we would destroy him. That is why nothing can come of… of us.”
“But… why?” He felt himself fighting against her words, her power.
“Because…” She looked away, her face unable to mask her pain, her green eyes filling with tears. “Because in the throes of passion, a Confessor’s hold on the power would relax, and she would release it into him, even though she didn’t mean to, and then he would no longer be the person she cared for. There is no way for her to prevent herself from doing it. None. He would be hers, but not in the same way. The very one she cared for would be with her, but only because of the magic, no longer by his choice, and not because he wanted to. He would only be a shell, holding what she had put into him. No Confessor would want that for a man for whom she cared.
“That is why Confessors, since time long forgotten, have shut themselves away from men, for fear they would grow to care for one. Though we are seen as heartless, it is not true; we all fear what our touch would do to a man we held dear. Some Confessors choose men who are disliked, or even hated, so as not to destroy a kind heart. Though it is only the choice of a few, it is the way they deal with it, and is their right. No other Confessor would criticize one who has chosen in this manner; we all understand it.” Her