The Iron Palace (16 page)

“But this is just a dream,” said Yim. “A delirium wrought by a potion.”

“I think not,” replied Honus. “All this is portent.”

“So our long separation has made you a Seer?”

“No, but tonight is different.”

“Then what do you foresee?”

“That we’ll meet again.”

“Oh, Honus, I’ve missed you so!”

“And I you,” replied Honus.

Then Yim rushed toward Honus, arms outstretched. He rose to meet her embrace, but even as he moved, he began to fade. Yim’s hand brushed Honus’s tattooed face and felt its warmth. Then he was gone, and Yim hugged only empty air. All that remained was longing as keen as a knife in her
heart. Yim squeezed her eyes shut to clear her tears, and when she opened them, she was inside Rappali’s dark and quiet home.

Yim, who had lacked the strength to lift a hand or make the slightest sound, found herself standing on her makeshift bed. In the dim light, she could see Rappali and Roarc sleeping close by. She could hear the faint sound of their breathing and the crunch of reeds beneath her feet. The sensation of Honus’s warmth still lingered on her fingertips, and Yim raised them to her neck to touch her wound as she imagined he would have done. She felt stitches and the raised line of a healing cut.
Who sewed me up?
Yim had no memory of it.

Yim’s legs ached as though she had walked a long distance. Though fatigued, she was also alert and puzzled.
What just happened?
It had been over seventeen winters since Yim had her last vision, yet her memories of each contact with the goddess remained vivid. The encounter on the silver pathway seemed similar to a vision, but it also differed. There was no lingering chill, and Honus’s guidance was unambiguous compared to Karm’s. It evoked such hope and longing that Yim felt she had actually been with Honus. Though she didn’t know how that could be possible, she was unable to dismiss it as a dream. Moreover, the strength of her feelings wasn’t the only sign of a supernatural encounter. The vision—or what ever it was—had pulled her back into life.

There was no question about the latter. Yim felt fully returned to the living world. Her sensations had a richness to them. She savored everything about her: the herbal scent of her reed bed, the chirping of crickets, the familiar sights of her friend’s home, the renewed vitality of her body. Yim saw all those things as signs that she was meant to live.
If so, then hope isn’t an illusion. Perhaps I truly can rescue Froan and spend my days with Honus
. That would be the blissful consummation of all her desires and surely worth what ever risks
she must undertake. The very thought of it invigorated Yim. She sat down upon her bed to wait for dawn and the beginning of the next phase of her life.

Far away, Honus was also awake. He sat upright in his bed and rubbed his cheek, certain that a hand other than his had just brushed it. Then he saw Daven rouse and reach for his stick. “You’ve no need for that,” Honus said. “I’m not trancing.”

“Good.”

“Your stick’s unnecessary now. Henceforth, I’ll no longer seek the memories of others.”

“I’m pleased but puzzled,” said Daven. “What has brought on this change of mind?”

“I encountered my beloved,” replied Honus.

Daven silently walked over to the hearth, where he threw dry grass upon the embers and blew until it ignited. Afterward, he fed kindling, then branches to the flame until it illuminated the small room. Only then did he turn again to Honus. There was curiosity on his face, and more than a hint of skepticism. “I’d like to hear this tale.”

“I’m only a Sarf,” said Honus. “Karm’s purposes are beyond my understanding. But tonight …” He paused, briefly overwhelmed by wonder. “Tonight was different.”

“You had a vision?”

“I’m not sure. What ever it was, I sensed the goddess’s hand. I felt I was somewhere else. Not in some dream, but a place within this world.”

“A place you know?”

“It was too dark to say. But it seemed located in a waste. Luvein, or somewhere like it. I think there was a stream.”

“And Yim was there?”

“She came to me, seeking advice.”

Daven smiled. “A Bearer turning to her Sarf for wisdom?”

“It wasn’t truly my wisdom; it was the wisdom of my
runes. Somehow I knew Yim couldn’t read their ancient tongue, so I relayed what you had told me. I said I was meant to help her.”

“You believe that now?”

“I do with all my being,” said Honus. “I also told her that we’d meet again. I think that gave her hope.”

Daven smiled. “And hope to yourself. I can see it in your face.” He seemed to reflect a moment. “You called yourself a Sarf for the first time since we’ve met. Are you prepared to be one and submit to my discipline?”

“I’ll do whatever’s necessary.”

“If your will has been restored, then there’s hope for your body,” said Daven. He gazed at Honus’s skeletal frame and shook his head. “There’ll be hard days ahead and scant time to accomplish what we must. Though it may not seem so yet, these are urgent times.”

Froan woke with the first light of dawn. Moli still slept, her face just a hand’s length from his. He gently brushed her hair aside so he might gaze at it. Though her cheek was smudged with dirt from sleeping on the ground, he had the impression that she had washed before their tryst. Her swollen lips were still dark purple and the surrounding flesh had the yellow-green cast of a slowly healing bruise. The sight of Moli’s injury made Froan fiercely glad that he had gutted her assailant. It also evoked tender feelings.

When Froan gave those marred lips an impulsive kiss, Moli opened her eyes. For the first time, Froan noted that they were the shade of blue gray that clouds take on before a storm. They were beautiful to him. He smiled. “So you’re my woman.”

“Aye, Shadow, all yers.”

Froan grinned and reached down to pull the hem of Moli’s skirt above her waist. “So I can tup you right now?”

“If ye want ta.”

The sight of the auburn mound between Moli’s legs
aroused Froan, but the thought of tupping in the daylight was inhibiting. “Not now,” he said somewhat reluctantly. “I should save my strength for rowing.” As Moli pulled down her skirt, he noticed her dirty feet. “If we sack another ship today, perhaps I can find some shoes for you or a fine dress.”

“Nothin’ too nice, or tha captain will take it.”

“He won’t always be captain.”

Moli paled slightly. “Be careful what ye say. He’s a dangerous man.”

“So am I.”

Y
IM WATCHED
Rappali awake and suddenly bolt upright in her bed. “Yim! Ya’re alive!”

Yim smiled. “So it seems. I believe I have you to thank for that, though I don’t remember coming here.”

“Ya were half dead. Nay, more than half.”

Roarc, roused by his wife’s exclamations, blinked sleepily at Yim. “So ya’re all better. Will ya be leaving now?”

Rappali hit her husband, but only lightly. “Hush! Tha healwife must see her first.”

Roarc sighed. “Then I’ll fetch her after dawnmeal.”

“Yim, what happened ta ya?” asked Rappali.

“There was an accident.”

“An accident? Yar throat was cut!”

“Froan didn’t mean to do it.”

“Froan?”

“See what comes from not having a husband,” said
Roarc, looking vindicated. “A man would have taught Froan how ta handle a blade.”

“You’re right,” said Yim, seizing on Roarc’s comment. “We were cutting brush, and Froan was careless.”

“So, his blade slipped and cut yar throat?” said Rappali, looking more than a little dubious.

“Yes,” said Yim. “I know it sounds strange, but—”

“If Froan was with ya, why did ya come alone?” asked Rappali.

“I passed out. Froan must have thought he killed me. Most like, he fled.”

“And ran off with our lad,” said Rappali. She glared at her husband. “And ya thought so well of Froan!”

Roarc responded by frowning at Yim. “If ya had raised him proper, this wouldn’t have happened.”

In her heart, Yim agreed with Roarc. Moreover, she thought Rappali was right about Telk. If so, Yim was certain that Froan had lured him to a fate far worse than her friend could possibly imagine. It made her weep, which spurred Rappali to rush over and embrace her. “ ’Tisn’t yar fault, Yim.”

“I feel it is,” replied Yim between sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

Rappali began weeping also, leaving Roarc to gaze in consternation at the sobbing pair.

Eventually, Rappali calmed enough to set about making dawnmeal for the three of them. By then, Roarc had risen and dressed. He spoke to Yim. “What makes ya think yar lad’s gone off?”

“When I came to, Froan’s clothes were gone, along with things needed for a journey. So he’s left Far Hite. And the fens also, I suppose.”

“Telk’s boat’s gone,” said Roarc in a dispirited voice. “So, ’tis most like our lad’s with yars and we’ll not see him for a while.”

“We’ll not see him
ever
!” said Rappali. She began to cry again.

*  *  *

Dawnmeal was silent and awkward. Yim was so overwrought that she lacked an appetite and had to force herself to eat. To her thinking, she had loosed evil on the world, and its first victim was her only friend. She was convinced that Rappali saw through her story about an accident, even if her husband believed it. Rappali had always seemed aware of the dark thing that lurked within Froan, even though she didn’t understand its nature. Thus Yim feared that her friend had more than an inkling of what really had happened. That made her dread being alone with Rappali while Roarc went to fetch the healwife.

Fortunately, when the meal was over, Rappali urged Yim to rest and then went outside. Roarc departed on his errand, leaving Yim alone. She was both weak and tired, but rest was impossible. The hope that she had felt earlier was dampened by the prospect of the task before her. Nonetheless, Yim’s resolve had been heightened. She felt responsible for what had happened and obligated to make amends. As such, Yim considered what to do.

It seems that Froan has fled with Telk by boat
, Yim thought.
Most likely, he’s on the Turgen and already far away
. Yim had neither access to a boat nor the skills to use one. She would have to pursue her son by land.
I may not know where he is, but I know where he’s headed—the Iron Palace
. Yim could think of no more daunting destination. The horrors she had seen and experienced in the stronghold near Tor’s Gate paled compared to the tales of Lord Bahl’s ancestral residence. It was a nightmare place by all accounts, the very seat of horror where atrocities had been perfected through generations of practice.

In the light of day, Honus’s promise that he would help her and they would be together seemed more like a dream. Yim struggled to believe, but it was hard.
Even if what Honus said comes to pass, he didn’t say how he’d help me or when
. Yim felt it was more likely that she would make her
journey alone. At least, it seemed wise to proceed on that assumption.

I should leave as soon as I have the strength
, Yim concluded. She began to think about what she should take.
A flint and iron … a water skin … my goatskin boots, though the soles won’t last long on hard ground … my summer cloak
. The winter one made of hair-covered pelts was too heavy.
It’s wiser to carry that weight in food
. Already, Yim’s calculations made it apparent how chancy her journey would be. If winter caught her, she’d sorely miss the heavy cloak, but food was scarce in the Grey Fens and it was easy to get lost in its tangled ways. What ever she didn’t take, she’d give to Rappali along with her goats.

The morning passed. Rappali remained outside, and Yim eventually drifted off to sleep. She slumbered until she felt fingers groping her neck. Yim opened her eyes to gaze upon the healwife. The old woman ceased examining Yim’s wound and smiled smugly. “Well, I’ve performed a wonder,” she said. “Ya live, due ta my skill.”

“Yes,” said Yim. “And I thank you, Mother.”

“So tha fee thief now calls me ‘Mother.’ Finally, some respect! I suppose ya’d like those stitches out.”

“I’d be grateful,” replied Yim.

“I’m not surprised, for gratitude is cheap. But I must be paid. Roarc paid for tha stitching, but not for tha brew that cured ya. And unstitching costs, too.”

“I have cheeses, a hide, and some salt.”

“Pah on those,” said the healwife.

“We can pay you with dried fish, like afore,” said Rappali.

“Keep out of this,” said the healwife. “Tha matter’s ’tween her and me.”

“Then what do you want?” asked Yim.

“Yar oath that ya’ll never tend another birth.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Ever since ya came here.”

“Then I swear by Karm, who fensfolk call the Mother, that I’ll never tend another fenswoman again.” Yim made the Sign of the Balance. “Does that satisfy you?”

“Aye.” The healwife grinned. “ ’Twas easier than I thought ’twould be. Now lie down, and I’ll pluck those stitches.”

Yim reclined on her makeshift bed while the healwife reached into a pouch to produce a flake of glassy black stone, a pair of bone tweezers, and a handful of dried leaves. Giving the leaves to Rappali, the healwife said, “Put these in a clean pot with a little water, bring them ta boil, and let them steep.” Then she set to work on Yim. First, she cut the stitches with the keen-edged flake, then used the tweezers to pull out the severed strands of gut. Yim felt each tug as a small, sharp pain. Soon she could feel, but not see, blood trickling down her neck. When the healwife cleaned the stitches with a scrap of cloth wetted in the hot herbal brew, the cloth came away deep pink. She turned to Rappali. “Wash her neck six times afore sunset and six times tomorrow. Then kill a frog—one with no spots—and wrap the cloth ’bout it and sink it in the bog.”

Yim bowed her head to the healwife. “Thank you for your aid, Mother. May we talk awhile before you go?”

“ ’Bout what?”

“Since I’ll no longer tend births, there are some skills I’d like to teach you.”

“Ya’ve made that offer afore, and my answer’s still tha same. Nay.”

“But now women can turn only to you. Surely there’s no reason to—”