The Iron Palace (15 page)

Torn between her choices, Yim made none and continued to drift.

Froan’s feelings wavered also as he rowed with the other pirates, but his choices were less complicated. While his shadow couldn’t completely sway him, circumstances were on its side. Safety lay in ruthlessness, while a conscience brought misery as well as danger.
What good is there in mourning strangers?
On the cattle boat, Froan had felt exhilarated and powerful. That seemed far better than feeling miserable and sick. Nonetheless, he was unable to expunge his feelings of remorse and guilt. The best he could do was try to ignore them.

Prudence required Froan to put on a hard face, what ever his feelings, and he managed that feat. Having fooled Toad,
he gave no other man cause to doubt his resolution or his menace. Thus, when the pirates arrived at their island camp, Froan was unsurprised that he was treated with new respect. The men in the boarding party, in particular, regarded him with awe. Chopper was the most transformed, and Froan observed that the maniacal air he had shown on the raid lingered in him. It was evident in Chopper’s voice when they entered camp and he called out, “Wenches, bring out wine, so we might toast Shadow. ’Twas he who found gold and spurred us to manly deeds.”

Bloodbeard’s face darkened upon hearing that, although he said, “Aye, get wine.”

“But let the first toast be for our captain,” shouted Froan, “who chose the prize and ran it down.” He glanced at Bloodbeard, who appeared only somewhat mollified by his gesture.

The woman with the tattered blue gown disappeared into one of the crude shelters and returned with a small oaken cask. Pulling its stopper, she began filling the various drinking vessels, which the other women brought to the men. When Moli presented Froan with a dented metal goblet, her swollen lips were twisted into a smile that managed to hide her missing teeth, “Ah’m happy fer ye, Shadow,” she whispered.

Froan glanced into her eyes and saw that she spoke truthfully. He smiled and said “Thanks.” Then he raised his goblet high. “To our captain!” he shouted.

“Our captain!” echoed the men.

“To Shadow and bloody deeds!” shouted Chopper.

“To Shadow!” said the men, some loudly and some in subdued tones.

Froan savored the wine as a token of his rise within the crew, but he sipped it sparingly, knowing that he needed to keep a clear head. He surveyed his situation, not with the awareness of a boy raised in a bog, but with the instincts of one far older and more cynical. Thus he knew his rise
simultaneously endangered him. Bloodbeard was already wary and resentful, and he had adherents.

After the day’s events, Froan was more aware of what surrendering to his instincts would mean, but he saw no other option. Bloodbeard would have tossed him overboard if he hadn’t killed Sturgeon. Pike would have murdered him if he hadn’t acted first. The slaughter on the cargo boat had turned Chopper from foe to follower. In each case, Froan saw how forbearance would have doomed him. He recalled his father’s spirit saying that rules were for common men.
It seems mercy is also
. Nevertheless, Froan’s conclusion saddened him. He glanced at Shit Weed, the crew’s newest member, who stood apart and looked miserable.
But he only needs to row to live
, thought Froan.
That path is closed to me. I must climb higher or die
. Already, instinct told him that Bloodbeard wouldn’t let him be and only the more ruthless would survive the coming confrontation.

Putting on a fell appearance while seeming festive, Froan participated in the night’s celebration. All the while, he watched everyone. As the drinking continued, Chopper rambled on and on about gold and bloody deeds to anyone who would listen, and few dared not. Froan noted how Chopper drank heavily, and doubted he could offer much protection that night. Telk followed Chopper’s example, and being unused to wine, soon staggered off to vomit and collapse in some bushes. Eventually, the night’s carouse wound down. Froan thought it prudent to sleep alone in the woods, and when the moment was right, he slipped off into the trees.

Having kept a clear head, Froan had little difficulty making his way quietly through the dark woods. He hadn’t strayed far from camp when he spied a dense expanse of ferns surrounded by dry leaves that would warn of anyone’s approach. He stepped through the leaves as quietly as possible and settled among the bracken. His new clothes made sleeping on the ground more comfortable, but he wished that his victim had been wearing a cloak.

Froan was drifting off to sleep when he heard leaves rustle beneath someone’s tread. He drew his dagger before he even looked around. All he could see was the black shape of someone moving in the dark. That someone was advancing toward him. Froan waited, ready to use his blade.

“Shadow?” came a whispered voice. “Shadow is it ye?”

Froan thought he recognized the whisper. “Moli?”

“Aye, ’tis me. Ken Ah be with ye?”

“Why?”

“Don’t ye want me?” asked Moli.

Froan detected an injured tone in her voice. “You may have been followed.”

“Nay. Ah made sure o’ that.”

Froan sat up so that Moli could see him. “Then come here.”

Moli rushed over to him. “Ah brought a cloak fer us ta share,” she said wrapping it around them both. The effect was to press them close together.

“Moli,” said Froan with a note of surprise, “where’s your blouse?”

“Wrapped ’bout my waist,” she said, guiding Froan’s hand to a breast. “ ’Tis nicer this way. Don’t ye think?”

Caught up in the novelty of touching a woman’s breast, Froan was almost too preoccupied to answer. “Y-yes,” he stammered. “Nice.” His fingers continued their exploration.
She’s so soft
, he thought. He toyed with a nipple and felt it stiffen.

“Aye,
nice
,” echoed Moli in an earthy tone that sounded exaggerated to Froan, although he had no experience in such matters.

Moli rolled on her back, allowing Froan to touch her more freely. That was when he discovered the silver ring he had given her. Moli had suspended it as a pendant from a bit of cord about her neck. Froan touched his gift, pleased to think that it had spent the day between her breasts. Then he kissed Moli’s nipples and sucked them. As he did, she
made soft noises in her throat. After a while, she reached between his pants legs to stroke him. There was nothing fumbling or tentative about her touch. Finding Froan’s swollen organ, she expertly fondled it through the cloth, heightening his desire. In doing so, she also freed him from his shadow, for the feelings she aroused had nothing to do with death. Thus Froan responded to her in innocence, and he gasped when she paused in her attentions to quickly remove her skirt so that she was completely naked.

Moli seemed to understand Froan’s increasingly urgent feelings. She helped him lower his pants and then guided his manhood to her woman’s cleft. Froan felt hair, then warm silky moistness. A sudden form of ecstasy followed so quickly that Moli had scarcely stirred before Froan was spent. He ceased moving and remained both atop Moli and inside her as the feeling faded into a tingling sense of well-being. Moli lay still also, except for languidly brushing his back with her fingertips. After a while, Froan found her bruised lips to bestow his first kiss ever. He pressed his mouth to Moli’s only lightly, not wanting to cause her any pain. Then he withdrew from her to lie on his back.

Moli rolled onto her side so that she could rub a hand over Froan’s chest, which was still covered by his shirt. “ ’Twas wondrous fine,” she said in a breathy voice.

Froan simply sighed, but he wholeheartedly agreed. He barely reflected that what seemed so marvelous to him must be commonplace to Moli. Most likely, she had been with another man the previous night. Froan didn’t dwell upon it because Moli was distracting him by unbuttoning his shirt. Soon she was covering his bare chest with kisses. After a pleasant interval, her lips made a wandering trail down Froan’s belly to his loins. Moli briefly dallied there until Froan’s ardor was renewed, then she pulled off his pants and boots so that he was also nude.

The second time Froan tupped, it felt less urgent, but even more exciting. He was able to savor his lovemaking, and
Moli enhanced his experience by the way she met his thrusts with movements of her own. This time, she seemed more energetic, and it occurred to Froan that she might be enjoying the act as much as he. The idea was pleasing. Moli began to moan softly, and the sound further excited him. Then the world seemed to fall away, leaving only him and Moli. His senses were heightened, but they were focused solely on her smell, her voice, and the feel of her. When he exploded with pleasure, she kept moving, clasping him ever tighter until she seemed to undergo an explosion of her own, one that diminished more slowly than his. Moli grew still, but spasms occasionally shook her until she finally sighed and turned completely limp. Then Froan gazed at her in the starlight, filled with wonder. He withdrew, pulled the cloak over them both, and held her tight.

After a while, Moli sighed contentedly and said, “Ah could be yer woman, if ye want.”

“My woman?”

“Aye, then no other man would have me, only ye.”

“I’m not so sure they wouldn’t try.”

“Ah am. They’d be too afeared o’ ye.”

“You were Sturgeon’s woman, weren’t you?”

“Ah had no choice.”

Froan’s feeling of wonder dampened. “And now you’re with me only because …”

“Because Ah want ta be yer woman,” said Moli with a suddenness that betrayed her desperation. “Ah warned ye ’bout Chopper and Pike. Ye said ye’d remember. Please, Shadow, Ah’ve offered ye all Ah have. Will ye not take it?”

Froan pulled Moli’s body against his, feeling her warmth against his perpetually chilled flesh. “I’ll not abide another man to have you.”

Moli pressed her swollen lips against his and kissed him. “Thank ye, Shadow. Thank ye.” Then she became quiet, though she slowly brushed her hand over his chest. “Yer still cold,” she whispered with a note of puzzlement,
“but Ah’ll warm ye.” Moli pressed her bare body against his.

Froan appreciated her gesture, but he knew its futility. “I’m always cold,” he whispered. “It’s my nature. You’d better dress or you’ll get chilled.”

Moli put on her blouse and skirt, the only garments she possessed except her cloak. Froan dressed also, then lay beneath the cloak with “his woman.” As she drifted off to sleep, Froan pondered their arrangement. He had enjoyed tupping Moli, but her motives perplexed him. They seemed more complex than trading sex for protection. Froan felt he was an unlikely protector. He wasn’t the strongest among the crew, and he lacked experience with arms. Moreover, he had enemies—men who would become Moli’s enemies as well.

Yet, while Moli seemed clever enough to realize that being with him brought risk, she had pursued him anyway.
Why?
His dark instincts told him nothing useful, for they lacked empathy and saw others as only pawns or obstacles. Moli might be either or both, but Froan felt that she was also more. As such, she bewildered him, evoking emotions that were not only new but also intense and confusing.
Mam might have helped me sort it out
, he thought.
But Mam’s dead
.

E
VERY EVENING
, Rappali ladled clear fish broth down Yim’s throat, then gave her a double dose of the healwife’s brew. Yim was vaguely aware of these ministrations and tried to express gratitude with her eyes. Since she was unable
to direct her gaze or even focus, she doubted that her friend received the message. Afterward, the brew always caused everything to darken so that Yim felt she was swallowed by a void. The current evening had begun no differently, but sometime during the night the routine altered.

Then Yim felt that she was neither floating in a void nor lying in her friend’s abode. Instead, she stood in a landscape that seemed to have more substance than a dream. As she looked up and saw a full moon in a starry sky, she also heard the rustle of leaves and felt the breeze that moved them. Gazing about, Yim had the impression that she was standing in the wild. The most prominent feature was an unusual pathway that appeared made out of silver. It wound through the low places much as a stream would. Yim was standing on the path’s surface, which felt cool and spongy beneath her bare feet.

When Yim glanced down, she saw that she was wearing a simple white robe not unlike the one she wore on the night she became Honus’s Bearer. Just thinking of that night awoke her longing for him.
That was long ago
, she thought.
Will these feelings never fade?
Reflecting on them, Yim hoped they wouldn’t.

It seemed to Yim that she must find something. She had no idea what. Nevertheless, she began her search by walking down the silver path. It was slightly slippery and rippled with each step she took. As a result, Yim spent as much time gazing about her feet as at the way ahead. She walked this way for a long while before she rounded a bend and spied Honus squatting by the path’s edge.

He had changed, but Yim recognized him immediately. He was older, of course, but he also looked worn. There were real lines on his face, not just tattooed ones. They spoke of grief and hardship, not the anger needled by the Seer. Yim nearly burst out sobbing at the sight of them. Instead, she halted and waited until she mastered her emotions. Then she spoke. “Honus.”

Honus looked up, and his mournful eyes widened. “Goddess?”

Yim smiled at his mistake. “No. It’s me, Yim.”

“Yim,” said Honus, speaking her name with such feeling that it conveyed a multitude of emotions—hope, wonder, sorrow, and most of all, love.

Yim was rendered speechless by its depth.

“Why are you here?” asked Honus.

Yim had to ponder his question before she knew what to say. “I don’t know whether I should live or die.”

“Live,” replied Honus. It sounded more like a plea than an answer.

“But if I fail …”

“With life comes hope.”

“You’re a fine one to talk of hope,” said Yim. “I see your despair.”

“For many winters I’ve been estranged from hope,” admitted Honus. “But I’ve just learned that my runes say I’m to help you.” He shook his head, either in sadness or wonder—Yim couldn’t tell which. “I didn’t believe it until now.”