"What would they dare to say to a Confessor who has just made a man drop dead in front of their eyes simply by her command? They all just backed up and got out of our way when we left. It is not something every Confessor can do. It even scared my wizard speechless."

Richard frowned. "Your wizard?"

She nodded as she finished wiping the tears away. "Wizards see it as their duty to protect us, as we are universally feared and hated. Confessors almost always travel with the protection of a wizard. One is… well, one was, assigned to each of us when we were called to take a confession. Rahl managed to separate us from our wizards, and now they are dead too. Except Zedd, and Giller."

Richard picked up the rabbit. It was getting cold. He cut off another piece and handed it to her, then tore off a piece for himself. "Why would the Confessors be feared and hated?"

"The relatives and friends of the man to be executed hate us because they often don't believe their loved one would do the things they confess to. They would rather believe we somehow trick them in to confessing." She picked at the meat, pulling off little pieces and chewing. them slowly. "I have found that people do not often want to believe the truth. It is of little value to them. Some have tried to kill me. This is one of the reasons a wizard was always with us, to protect us until our power is recovered."

Richard swallowed his mouthful. "That doesn't sound like enough reason to me."

"It is more than simply what we do. This must all sound very strange to someone who has not lived with it. The ways of the Midlands, of magic, must seem very odd to you."

Odd was not the right word, he thought. Frightening was more like it.

"Confessors are independent; people resent that. Men resent that none of them can rule us, or even tell us what to do. Women resent that we do not live the kind of life they do, that we do not live in the traditional role of women; we do not take care of a man, or submit to one. We are seen as privileged. Our hair is long, a symbol of our authority; they are made to keep their hair short, as a sign of submission to their man and every other per- son of higher status than they. It may seem a small matter to you, but to our people, no matter having to do with power is small. A woman who allows her hair to grow beyond the length appropriate to her status is forced to forfeit some of that status in punishment. In the Midlands, long hair on a woman is a sign of authority, bordering on defiance. It is a sign that we have the power to do as we wish, and that none may command us; that we are a threat to all. Much as your sword tells people the same thing. No Confessor would wear her hair short, and that rankles people, that none could dare make us do so. It is ironic that we are less free than they, yet they don't see that part of it. We do their distasteful tasks for them, and yet we are not free to choose what we will do with our own lives. We are prisoners of our power."

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 tearful eyes looked at him, pleading for him to understand.

"But… I could…" He could think of no defense for his heart

"I could not. Foe me, it would be the same as you wanting to be with your mother, and instead having Shota, appearing to be your mother. But she wasn't. It would just be an illusion of love. Do you understand?" she cried. "Would that bring you any true joy?…

Richard felt the hopes of his world collapsing in the flames of his understanding. His heart sank into the ashes.

"The spirit house," he asked in a dry voice, "is that what Shota was talking about? Is that when you came within a breath of using your power on me?" His tone was a little colder than he wished it to be.

"Yes." Her voice broke with emotion as she tried to keep from crying. "I'm sorry, Richard." She knitted her fingers together. "I have never before cared for anyone the way I care for you. I wanted to be with you so badly. I almost forgot who I was. I almost didn't care." Tears started running down her cheeks. "Do you see now how dangerous my power is? Do you see how Easily I could destroy you? If you hadn't stopped me when you did… you would have been lost."

He felt an agony of compassion for her, for what she was, and for the fact that she couldn't do anything about it, and he felt the ache of his own pain at the feeling of loss, even though he realized now that there was nothing to lose, she could never have been his, or more precisely, he hers; it all had just been a fantasy in his mind.

Zedd had tried to warn him, tried to save him this pain. Why couldn't he have listened? Why did he have to be so stupid and think he would be smart enough to figure something out? He knew why. He stood slowly and took a step to the fire so she wouldn't see his tears. He kept swallowing so he could try to talk.

"Why do you always say `she, `her, `daughter'? Why always women? What of the men, don't Confessors bear male children?" He realized his voice sounded as if it were scraping over gravel.

He listened to the fire crackling for a long time as she didn't answer. He turned back to her when he heard her crying. She looked up and held her hand out for him to help her up. Once up, she leaned against the log, pulled her long hair back from her face, and then folded her arms below her breasts

"Yes, Confessors bear male children. Not as often as in the past, but they still do." She cleared her throat. "But the power is stronger in them; they need no time to recover. Sometimes, the power becomes everything to them, corrupts them. This is the mistake the wizards made.

"They chose women for this very reason, but didn't give sufficient thought to how the power would take on a life of its own. They didn't foresee how the power would be passed on to the offspring, and be so different in men.

"Long ago, a few male Confessors joined forces, and brought about a terrible reign of cruelty. It was called the dark time. They were the cause of it. It was a time something like now, with Darken Rahl. At last, the wizards hunted them all down and killed them. Many of the wizards died too. From that time, the wizards withdrew from trying to rule the lands. Too many of them had been killed anyway. Instead, now they only try to serve the people, to help where they can. But they no longer interfere with rulers if they can help it. They have learned bitter lessons."

Kahlan looked down, away from his eyes as she went on. "For some reason, it takes the unique compassion of a woman to handle the power, to be free from its corrupting influence. The wizards don't know the reason for this. It is similar with the Seeker: he must be the right one, one found by a wizard, or he will use the power for corrupt reasons. That is why Zedd was so angry at the council of the Midlands for taking the naming away from him. Male Confessors, not all, but most, cannot retain their sense of balance with the power. They don't have the strength to hold it back when they should." She peered up at him.

"When they wanted a woman, they simply used the power and took her. Many women. They had no restraint, no sense of responsibility for what they were doing. From what I have been told, the dark time was one long night of terror. Their reign lasted for years. The wizards had to do a lot of killing. They eventually killed all the offspring of this lust, to prevent the power from spreading, uncontrolled. To say the wizards were displeased would not touch it."