The Iron Palace

by Morgan Howell

  Then Honus realized that Yim’s robe had been only an illusion, and he reached out to caress her body. As he savored the softness of her skin and saw how she delighted in his touch, Honus had another realization. Like the robe, Yim’s body was only an illusion. There was no barrier between them, and when he entered her, it would be totally and forever.

  It was dark by the time the fowl house was erected. Vaccus lingered to sup with Gowen, Tabsha, and their children, but Froan headed home. Memlea greeted him at the door. Tears trailed freely down her cheeks, but her face was also radiant. “Dearest,” she said, “Karm appeared to me.”

  Froan felt trepidation over what Memlea might say, for her expression mingled grief with joy. His wife went over and kissed him before she spoke. “Honus is embraced by the goddess.”

  Froan let out a great sob, and Memlea held him. “It is a joyous thing for him. We’ll find him by the brook, and his still face will be marked by rapture.”

  “Yet, I’ll miss him,” said Froan.

  “I, too. He was a good man and gentle at heart.” Memlea squeezed Froan tighter. “And Karm said that I’ll bear our first child on this day next fall. A daughter whom we’re to name Cara.”

  Then Froan and Memlea walked hand in hand into the warm Karm’s summer eve to go where Honus had at last found peace.

  From the Scroll of Karm

  Morvus the Ill-fated perished upon Bahland’s fall. Then Geraldus the Wise, who tore down the Black Temple, was emperor for twenty-three winters. Brucus the Younger succeeded him, and in the fifteenth autumn of his reign, Cara of Luvein entered Bremven. There she spoke to all those who would listen, and many proclaimed that she was the one whom Frodoric the Farsighted had sung about, he the bard inspired by the goddess.

  Yet Cara said in humility, “I am but a winemaker’s daughter and not mighty in the eyes of men.” Although she spoke those words, her deeds proved otherwise, and when she took to living within Karm’s temple, its curse at long last departed. Then many came to hear her wisdom, and she spoke with authority.

  Thus was the temple restored, but not all its customs. Sarfs no longer learned the ways of death, nor were their faces marked. No children were sundered from their parents to follow the goddess’s path. When some asked why these traditions were abandoned, Cara replied unto them, “Of late, the goddess walked among us, a woman tasting life’s sweetness and bitterness. After that, how could she be unmoved?”

  Acknowledgments

  FOR ME, this trilogy was an eight-year journey. Many people aided me along the way, and I’m deeply grateful for their help. My agent, Richard Curtis, was with me from the onset with advice and encouragement. My editor, Betsy Mitchell, proved an insightful guide. Gerald Burnsteel, Bruce Younger, Carol Hubbell, Justin Hubbell, and Nathaniel Hubbell provided the fresh perspective of careful readers. Finally, I wish to thank all my readers whose enthusiasm spurred me on.