The Iron Palace (54 page)

When the woman saw Honus, she bowed gracefully. She was lithe and fair-featured, with long russet hair and dark eyes, and seemed far too young to be the man’s daughter. In fact, she appeared no older than Froan. “Greetings, Karmamatus,” she said.

“As I explained to your father,” replied Honus, “that greeting doesn’t apply.”

“But your face marks you as a Sarf.”

“I’ve renounced the sword.”

“A blade’s not necessary to serve the goddess,” replied the woman. “Indeed, I believe it’s ill suited for the task.”

Her father bowed. “Pardon my daughter’s impudence,” he said. “She’s outspoken concerning the goddess.”

“I wasn’t offended,” replied Honus. “I’ve reached the same conclusion. But why are you here?”

“I’m Vaccus, and this is my only child, Memlea. I’ve come all the way from Argenor, and though I am a sound sleeper by nature, last autumn, just after the first pressing, I—”

“Eventually, Father will tell you Karm sent us. He claims to have had a vision.” Memlea gazed about. “And now I believe him.”

“Pardon my daughter’s bluntness,” said Vaccus. “However, what she says is true. The goddess sent me here, although she by no means provided a clear set of directions. All I had were pictures in my head. The first I recognized was an inn by a long and ancient bridge. An excellent establishment. Its Vinden red was quite good, though lacking somewhat in body. Nevertheless, its balance and—”

“After his vision,” said Memlea, “he sold our winery, bought grape root cuttings, and headed here to start a vineyard.”

“On this very hill,” said Vaccus. “The goddess was insistent. There seemed little choice but to follow her wisdom, though I need not tell you that Memlea was less than supportive. ‘Karm doesn’t care about wine.’ That’s what she said. Ha! Have you ever heard such nonsense? Everything—I mean
everything
—is just as in my vision. So where’s the lad? The one named Frost.”

“Do you mean Froan?” asked Honus.

“Frost, Froan—they mean the same thing.”

“He’s in the cellar, making cheese.”

Vaccus beamed at his daughter. “You see? It already has a cellar! Of course, the goddess understands the grape. That’s why we’re in Luvein. It was legendary for its vintages. Yes, yes, that was long ago, but soil remains soil. Memlea? Memlea, are you listening?”

One glance at Memlea, and it was obvious that she wasn’t. Her face had taken on a rosy hue, and she was staring at the ruined house with her lips parted in a cryptic expression that could have been shock, recognition, or even wonder. Honus followed her gaze, and saw Froan. He had emerged from the ruin, but appeared to have halted in mid-stride. His face was a mirror of Memlea’s. Honus had heard of persons who knew his or her love immediately, but only in tales. His own experience was far different, and he regarded such accounts as mere inventions of the bards. However, at that moment, he was less certain. It made him speculate that Vaccus may have misunderstood his vision, for it seemed to him that Karm’s interests lay elsewhere than in wine.

“Honus, I’m certain that we can reach some accommodation,” said Vaccus. “After all, soil that’s best for grapes is not so good for other crops. I’ve some of the finest root-stock to be found, a lifetime of experience, and a daughter
who—despite an interest in things spiritual—is a hard worker. A winery requires the labor of many hands, but the rewards can be great. Besides, all this is Karm’s will. A man with your background must surely see her hand in our arrival.”

For once, Honus thought he did. “Froan,” he called. “Come meet Vaccus and his daughter, Memlea. Vaccus has a proposition and an interesting tale as well.”

Yim had believed in choice, not fate. Though Honus deferred to her wisdom, he still thought Froan and Memlea were fated to choose each other. That was not to say they fell in love immediately. There was friendship from the start, for they were much alike in their good natures. Moreover, they worked well together. The deeper feelings came more slowly.

One day, the pair disappeared. When they returned, Froan’s eyes were red from weeping, while Memlea regarded him with sympathy and understanding. Then Honus knew that Froan had revealed everything about his past. After that unburdening, their love grew more apparent and more light-hearted, too. They talked incessantly, laughed often, and found reasons to work side by side. It seemed to Honus they were two vines growing together until they were so intertwined they appeared as one. The joy they found together made Honus wistfully recall his times with Yim. But this couple had no doom overhanging them.

Possessing the energy of youth, Froan and Memlea did most of the hard work of clearing and planting a vineyard. Vaccus helped, dispensing a lifetime of experience. When he spoke of vintages that he would never taste, it was apparent that they were doing more than planting grapes.

Honus settled into the more routine chores of milking and gardening. Their slower pace suited him, for his many winters of trancing had exacted a toll on his body, and it seemed to him that life was moving overly fast. It often
tired him out. To no one’s surprise, Froan and Memlea wed after the harvest. The simple Karmish ceremony of gifts and vows took place on the hilltop overlooking the new vines. Afterward, there was a feast for all the neighbors, but no wedding trip. There was far too much to do. Although there wouldn’t be enough grapes to press for several more harvests, Vaccus was already preparing for their first vintage. It seemed to Honus that making wine was an overly complicated business. Nonetheless, it seemed to fascinate Froan.

Autumn’s painted leaves had mostly fallen when Karm’s summer arrived, a stretch of warm days that were most likely the season’s last. Froan and Vaccus had gone to Tabsha and Gowen’s place to help erect a fowl house. Honus, thinking it would be a good day to hunt, asked Memlea if she would do the milkings. When she agreed, he took his sling and headed for the woods. He moved more slowly than his normal pace, for his chest had been paining him of late. Nevertheless, it was a fine day to be out. Honus breathed in deeply, savoring the rich scent of newly fallen leaves and wild apples.

As Honus moved among the trees with the silent tread of a Sarf, his thoughts were less on the current hunt than on former ones. He recalled the first time Yim had roasted hares and how she had suggested using his sword as a spit. He remembered the game they had shared with Tabsha when she was starving. He thought of the pheasants Yim and he had eaten on the day of Gatt’s funeral.
The day she revealed what it meant to be the Chosen
. Reliving his disappointment, Honus wondered if Yim foresaw where that role would lead her.
I doubt she knew until she leapt from the tower
. Honus found that he was weeping.

As the day drew toward its end, Honus was still in the woods and still empty-handed. He didn’t mind; it hadn’t seemed a good day for killing any creature. Before heading
home for dinner, he decided to go to the brook and wash. It flowed not far from the base of their hill, where the landscape was still mostly wild. Honus headed for a sandy section of the stream bank. There, Froan and he had partly blocked the brook with stones so that the water formed a pool. Though he reached the spot near sundown, the sand was still warm. Honus lay down upon it, for its warmth soothed his back.

Then it was evening. Honus woke from his unplanned nap beneath a full moon. Before he returned home, he squatted by the brook’s edge to throw water on his face. As his hands reached toward the pool, he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Honus turned and looked upstream. In the moonlight, the brook resembled a path of silver, and a woman was striding down its center. She wore a simple, sleeveless robe that ended just below the knee. It was white, and her bare feet trod upon the water’s surface without getting wet. He had seen the woman’s face thousands of times in Karm’s temple, where it had been rendered in mosaic. Then she spoke. “Honus.”

“Goddess?”

Karm smiled. “You may call me Yim, for I was her and still am.”

“How can that be?”

“The true question is not ‘how’ but ‘why.’ ”

“Then why?”

“Because when I made the world, I gave all its creatures the freedom to choose their paths. A creation ruled by fate would be as static as a scripted play. Yet that same freedom constrains my actions. In the living world, only the living can oppose evil. Hence, the need for the Chosen.”

“So Yim was an ordinary woman?”

“Yes. Yim possessed all the qualities of the living—uncertainty, mortality, and the freedom to choose well or poorly. But she never knew that she was also me.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Do you doubt I can be in two places at once?”

“No. The Seers taught that you can.”

“And they’re right,” said Karm. “So why doubt I can be two things at once—divine and mortal.”

Karm squatted down before Honus, her feet still resting on the pool’s shimmering surface. “Look at me. Who do you see before you?”

“Yim.”

Yim smiled. “And I see my beloved.” She leaned forward and softly kissed Honus. He expected her lips to be cold, but they were warm. Then she dipped her hands into the brook and brought up water to wash his face. The water was warm also. “This is not the face of wrath,” she said. As the water fell back into the brook, Honus saw that it was stained. Gazing down, he viewed his reflection. There were no marks upon his face, neither those made by a tattoo needle nor those etched by time.

Yim rose, and Honus rose with her. They embraced with the intensity of longing and suffering transmuted into joy. Honus felt Yim’s warmth against his skin and realized that he was unclothed. Then he saw that he was also standing on the brook. The water felt soft and slightly spongy beneath his soles. He glanced at the stream bank and saw a worn-out man slumped upon the sand.
That was me
, he thought.

With that realization, the world around him changed. It resembled a faerie dell in its lushness, except everything had the perfection of innocence. Beauty was everywhere. There were plants, animals, and people, and all were bathed in opalescent light. “Where am I?” he asked.

“This is how the Dark Path appears to spirits after they forget their lives.”

“But I remember mine,” said Honus, “every bit of it.”

“When I restored your life, our spirits merged,” said Yim. “I experienced love in a new way.” She kissed him passionately on the mouth. “I shall never forget that.”

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.

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?”

F
OR 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.