The Iron Palace (10 page)

Gazing at the neglected body on the mat, “strength” was not a word that readily came to Daven’s mind. Honus
had wasted to the point where he wavered on the edge of existence. His flesh hung loosely from his bones. He moved slowly and with effort. He seemed alive more by chance than any intention on his part. Daven knew that Honus would need more than nourishment and care to survive in his weakened state. He would require hope if he was to break free of the Dark Path’s allure. To obtain it, Honus must become convinced that it was possible to find happiness in the living world. Daven had believed his revelations would achieve that. Yet the Sarf’s despair had proved too formidable.
I’ve told him that Yim needs him. What else can I do?
Daven couldn’t think of anything and hoped that Karm would provide the answer.

It still felt strange to Daven to look to the goddess for answers. When he had fled from his duties as a Bearer, he believed that he had forsaken Karm. It seemed only natural that the goddess had done the same to him. Yet reading Honus’s runes had convinced him otherwise. Not only had Karm given him a chance to redeem himself, she had conferred a rare gift as well.

Long ago, when Daven had lived in the temple, he had heard tales of a Seer with an unusual power. She had no visions and was unable to prophesy, but she could sense impending turmoil as some folk could feel the approach of storms. It was as if she detected subtle strains in the world’s fabric before events manifested them. She had warned of trouble from the west long before Lord Bahl’s armies had poured forth. Daven had received the same ability upon Honus’s arrival.

Sitting in the dark room, he sensed the world’s pulse and felt the first tremors of looming conflict. Daven likened the impression to that of a frozen river at winter’s end. Beneath seeming stillness was mounting pressure. Cracks were forming. Soon, what had been calm would slip into chaos. It had already begun.
Evil’s abroad again
, he thought.
It seeks to
restore its former power
. If it succeeded, Daven feared the end of all that was good and fair.

Daven also sensed his part in the scheme of things. He must strive to heal Honus as best he could, then send him forth into the fray. He could do nothing more, and he must do nothing less. Daven was far from certain that his efforts would avert the approaching doom. In fact, he had his doubts. The foe was long-lived and patient. Moreover, it learned from every past mistake. When Daven tried to sense what force opposed such a formidable enemy, he detected only frailty. Moreover, it seemed to be teetering on the brink of oblivion.

Within the Iron Palace’s highest tower, the shadowy divining chamber duplicated the darkness of the night outside, a redundancy that made it ideal for sorcery. There, the Most Holy Gorm sat within the safety of a circle of blood and tossed his magic bones upon the stone floor. By the dim light of a single oil lamp, he watched as unseen forces arranged the rune-covered vertebrae and ribs in telling ways. After they stopped moving, he studied them and smiled. “Bahl’s death has accomplished its purpose,” he said to the empty room. “His spirit found his son. The game is now in motion.”

Gorm scrutinized the runes that the bones exposed and spied a word spelled out in an ancient tongue. It meant “frost.” He also found the symbols for “north” and “water.” Other signs led him to conclude that all those things concerned the heir. Gorm was puzzled by the word “frost,” though he was confident its significance would be revealed in time. “North” and “water” doubtlessly concerned the heir’s whereabouts. As such, they were the first clues to the lad’s location that Gorm had received.
The force that has been concealing him is weakening
, he concluded. It was a promising development.

Wanting to learn more about his opponent, Gorm looked for the vertebra that represented the enemy. At first, it seemed to be missing. Then the priest saw where it had bounced. It had landed far from the other bones, exactly on the edge of a shadow. Gorm blinked, uncertain that he was seeing correctly, for the vertebra was precariously balanced on the narrow, flat tip that projected from its rear. It was a highly improbable position, as unlikely as a flipped coin landing on its edge and remaining there. Obviously, the bone would tip over and fall either into light or shadow. Gorm waited to see which, convinced that the outcome would be a meaningful portent. However, the bone remained balanced until he grew impatient and blew in its direction. A single puff of air was all that was necessary to send it tumbling into darkness.

A
T DAYBREAK
, Yim didn’t so much awake as drift into consciousness. She was feverish, and the pain in her throat had spread. Her entire neck felt on fire, as did her jaw and upper chest. Yim was also slightly delirious, but she had enough clarity of mind to know that the spreading pain was a bad sign.

I’ll die if I stay here
, Yim thought. The idea of seeking help was daunting, but fear spurred her to rise from her bed. It was a struggle to get to her feet and remain standing. Nevertheless, certain that her condition would only worsen, Yim realized that she should leave immediately. She paused only to grab her healer’s kit, so that with her guidance,
Rappali might prepare curative brews and stitch up her wound.

As soon as Yim staggered outside, bleating does surrounded her. All were frantic to be milked. Pained by their swollen udders, they jostled and butted their mistress. Yim understood their distress, but she was in no condition to relieve it. She pushed onward, hampered by the herd until one doe butted her hard enough to send her sprawling. Yim’s hard landing tore the crusts on her wound and fresh blood flowed from it. Pain and frustration drove Yim to weep. “I can’t!” she cried between sobs. “I can’t help you! I’m not sure I can help myself.”

Yim rose shakily to her feet, keeping a wary eye on the doe that had butted her. Fortunately, the other does pressed around her, and their massed bodies prevented another assault. They also hampered Yim’s progress. Only when she reached the bog did the herd hang back, wary of stepping on unfirm ground.

There was but a single way to and from Far Hite, and it was so convoluted and treacherous that only Yim and Froan used it. Since the route altered with shifts in the floating vegetation, Yim found the firmest footing largely by feel, her bare feet detecting subtle changes better than her eyes. This was especially true on a stretch where the winding route was submerged by black, stagnant water.

Yim’s pain and fever dulled her senses just when they were needed most, and she was well aware of the risk she was taking by entering the bog. Convinced that she had no other choice, Yim moved onward, blinking her eyes to clear her vision. It was daylight, but everything seemed blurry and dark. Blinking didn’t change that. Nonetheless, she continued to advance, hoping that memory and feel would get her through.

For a while, they did. But when Yim reached the submerged part of the route, she got into trouble. In her fevered state, she couldn’t follow the ridge beneath the fetid water
and quickly found herself waist-deep in the bog. Yim halted. Standing on one foot, she groped with the other to feel the incline. Her toes proved too numb for the task.

Yim planted both feet in the muck and stood still. If she slipped, stagnant water would contaminate her open wound. Such mishaps could make even a small cut fatal; as a healer, Yim had seen it happen. Yet standing didn’t help matters. She was dizzy and disoriented. Furthermore, her feet were sinking ever deeper into the muck. Inaction wouldn’t save her, so Yim stepped in the direction that she hoped would take her to shallower water. Weak from fever and impeded by the muck that gripped her feet, Yim pitched face-first into the murky water. Immersion in the foul liquid shocked her into frantic action. Clawing with both hands and feet, she found the submerged slope and scrambled up it to emerge gasping for air.

Yim felt doomed. Not only was she drenched with bog water and its thick decay, she had lost her healer’s kit. Regardless, she struggled onward toward Tararc Hite. She had passed through the most treacherous stretch of the journey, and while the way ahead was long, it was also easier. When Yim reached the solid ground of the neighboring hite, she was totally spent. She staggered up the path, barely aware of her surroundings. When Yim encountered Rappali, she didn’t recognize her.

Rappali dropped the basket of fish she was carrying when she saw the bloody and bedraggled figure on the path. For a terrified instant, she thought it was a boghaunt, for it looked and moved like a dead thing. Then Rappali’s terror changed to horror and concern as she recognized her friend. “Yim! By tha Mother, what’s happened ta ya?”

Yim answered with a single moan, then all her limbs went slack. Rappali was barely able to catch her as she fell. That’s when she saw the ugly gash in Yim’s neck. It was a gruesome sight, and Rappali’s breakfast rose in her throat. That didn’t
keep her from holding on to her friend. Gripping Yim’s torso with her left hand, Rappali slipped her right under Yim’s knee to heft her up and cradle her. Then she staggered up the path with her unconscious burden.

When Rappali reached home, she placed Yim on the table. Roarc stirred from his morning rest and stared. “What did ya bring here, woman?”

“Yim. Someone’s cut her throat.”

“Is she dead?”

“Nay, not yet. Go fetch tha healwife.”

Roarc yawned. “Have Telk do it. I need my rest.”

“Telk hasn’t been home since yestermorn.”

Roarc grinned. “Probably seeing some lass. High time, too.”

“So ya’ll have ta go.”

Roarc peered at Yim. “Pah! There’s no point ta it. She’s good as dead.”

Rappali fixed her husband with a sharp look. “Mayhap so, but if ya want me ta share yar bed, ya’ll go and go now! And don’t tell tha healwife who ya’re fetching her ta mend.”

“I’ll go,” said Roarc, “but for yar sake, not hers.”

After her husband left, Rappali used a damp rag to clean Yim as best she could. She wept while she did so, for her friend was a terrible sight. The entire front of her tunic was stained with blood that no amount of rubbing could remove, and her limbs were covered in muck, bog rot, and bloodstains. Cleaning around the gash distressed Rappali most, and it caused her to worry that whoever attacked Yim might have also attacked Telk.
Mayhap he’s not with a lass at all but lying slain in tha bog!
The thought made Rappali frantic, and she began to gently shake Yim in hope that she could tell her something about the attack. Yim only moaned softly, as someone in a deep sleep. Seeing that shaking her friend was pointless, Rappali let her lie undisturbed.

*  *  *

Roarc didn’t return with the healwife until late afternoon, and Yim had remained unconscious the entire time. The healwife was an elderly but vigorous woman with sharp features and dark, clever eyes. She glared at Roarc when she saw Yim lying on the table. “Ya said I was ta mend yar son, not this outsider!”

“Rappali told me ta say that.”

The healer fixed her eyes on Rappali. “Did ya think I would not come if I knew tha truth?”

“It crossed my mind. But I only told my husband not ta say who ya’d be mending.”

The healwife walked over to Yim and felt her brow. When she prodded the wound with her fingers, Rappali looked away, but she heard Yim moan. Then the healwife spoke. “I’ll not mend anyone taday. She’s beyond hope.”

“At least sew up tha wound.”

“Why? Ya’ll only have a more comely corpse.”

“Sew her up anyway.”

“Is it worth a basket of dried fish? That’s my fee.”

“Ya’ll have it,” said Rappali. “Is there nothing more ta be done for her?”

“See tha flesh ’bout tha wound?” said the healwife. “ ’Tis fiery red, and like fire ’twill spread ta consume her spirit.”

“Mayhap ya’re letting her die from spite, though Yim was never yar rival.”

“She tended births, births I should’ve tended.”

“Only when begged ta do so, and then she never took a fee.”

“Which was all tha worse for me!”

“So folk will be right when they say ya killed her,” said Rappali.

“Nay, ’twasn’t I who cut her throat.”

“Aye, ’tis a grievous wound, and if ya cured it, folk would say ’twas truly a miracle. Pity tha deed’s beyond ya.”

The healwife thought a moment before she spoke. “I do
know of a draught that will either cure or kill her. ’Tis poison—poison that fights a wound’s poison. If I give it ta her and she dies, will ya say I slew her?”

“Nay. I swear by tha Mother.”

“Then set two pots of water ta boil,” said the healwife, “and I’ll do what I can.”

Roarc, who had silently watched the exchange, approached the healwife. “My wife said we’ll pay for tha sewing, and so we shall. But ’twouldn’t it be fairer if Yim paid for tha draught?”

The healwife gave the fish trapper a cold look. “And what if she dies?”

“Then she’ll have paid ya with her life,” replied Roarc with a grin. “A steep fee by my reckoning.”

The old woman didn’t reply, but searched her healer’s pouch for what she needed. She withdrew some herbs, three small dried mushrooms the color of dried blood, and a sewing kit containing a length of gut and a curved needle. Then she waited for the water to boil. When it did, she placed the herbs in one pot and the mushrooms in the other and then let them steep. Afterward, she cleansed Yim’s wound with the herbal solution and neatly sewed it close. Yim lay perfectly silent and still throughout the entire process, an ill omen according to the healwife.

After Yim’s wound was stitched, the healwife took the leg bone of a small animal from her pouch. It had been cut in half and the marrow removed to form a small, hollow tube that was closed at one end. Then she filled the bone with the mushroom brew. “Give her one bone full at sunrise and noon, and then two bones full at sunset,” said the healwife. “I’ll show ya how.” She lifted Yim into a sitting position and eased her head back so that her mouth gaped open. Then she emptied the bone’s contents directly down Yim’s throat. “Ya can feed her clear broth tha same way.”

“And how long should I give her tha draught?” asked Rappali.