The Iron Palace

by Morgan Howell

  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.

  NINETEEN

  EVERY 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 th
at 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.”

  “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.”

  TWENTY

  YIM 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—”