9: The Iron Temple (12 page)

“How long ago was this?” John asked.

“Almost two months now.” Hann’yu nervously toyed with his wine glass but didn’t drink. “I’d begun to think that my letters were lost or that Nuritam had destroyed them somehow.”

“No,” John replied. “Someone has read them. I’ve heard traders from as far south as Vundomu allude to it.”

Istanayye moved a little closer to the two of them.

“When we heard what had happened at the Yah’hali Prison, I thought that someone had at last responded to one of Hann’yu’s letters. But he said that he didn’t think it was the case.” Istanayye’s voice was so quiet that John had to strain to hear her.

“That was Fai’daum work,” Hann’yu said. “I didn’t write to anyone in the Fai’daum. How could I?”

“Who knows how they learned of it. It could have been your doing.” Istanayye glanced to her son and gently brushed his hair back behind his ear again. “Don’t let your hair get in your mouth.”

Du’rai drank more of his milk.

“I wish it had been my doing,” Hann’yu whispered.

“You did all you could,” Istanayye said.

Two men near the fire began to sing. From across the room a woman raised her voice and joined them. Other men sang along during the chorus.

Du’rai leaned against his mother as she softly whispered the words of the song to him. Hann’yu smiled, watching them. John listened to the simple folk song with its chorus about taye growing wild on the hills and a long lost lover. He wondered why so many folk songs were so melancholy. The people singing seemed rather happy.

Hann’yu glanced to John.

“Is…he here with you?” Hann’yu asked. It took John a moment to realize Hann’yu meant Ravishan.

“Not right now,” John said. “I saw him two days ago, though. He’s well.”

“There are posters, offering rewards for the two of you,” Hann’yu said. “That blond boy as well. You know who I mean?”

John nodded.

“I suppose I’ll have one of my own to worry about soon enough,” Hann’yu said.

“Probably,” John replied. “It’s the price of fame, I guess.”

At last, Hann’yu managed a genuine smile.

The song ended and everyone in the room clapped, even the singers. John supposed they were applauding each other. The serving girls brought out fresh rounds of mulled wine as well as sweet cream pastries. Du’rai seemed hardly able to stay awake long enough to eat his dessert. His cheeks were bright pink. He held his hand up over his mouth as he gave a gaping yawn.

Hann’yu offered his pastry to his wife and poured himself more wine. Both he and John were quiet for a little while. John watched the fire in the hearth. His thoughts wandered to Laurie. For a moment utter hopelessness filled him. He had to remind himself that she was not dead. Eventually she would be free. She was a strong woman; she would recover from what the Payshmura did to her in Umbhra’ibaye.

When John glanced back, he realized that Hann’yu had been watching him. Du’rai dozed against Istanayye’s side. Istanayye herself leaned back in her chair sleepily.

“It looks like it’s about time to call it a night.” John gestured to Istanayye and Du’rai. Noting his wife’s near dozing state, Hann’yu reached out and tapped her arm lightly. Istanayye’s head came up at once and she met Hann’yu’s gaze with an embarrassed smile.

“Let him sleep a little longer,” Istanayye whispered.

Hann’yu nodded. He looked back to John.

“Where are you staying?” Hann’yu asked.

“Here,” John replied. “Why?”

“I didn’t know if you already had a room. If you didn’t, I thought I’d offer to split the cost…But you’ve got a room.” Hann’yu gazed at his sleeping son’s face. “This is a nice place.”

“You’re staying here as well, aren’t you?” John asked.

“No, we just bought a meal pass.” Hann’yu lowered his gaze to his hands. “I wanted to get them out of the cold for a little while.”

“You three don’t have a place to stay?”

“We’ve got no money,” Hann’yu admitted.

“I thought you took things when you left…” John didn’t have to say Rathal’pesha.

“Not money.” Hann’yu smiled bitterly. “There’s no money there to take. The things I have I don’t dare show anyone this far north. They could find us too easily if I did. We spent most of Istanayye’s money on our train passes, but of course, the train isn’t running.”

“It should be running again soon,” John said.

“You think so?” Hann’yu asked.

“I know so.”

“We’ll be all right in Nurjima,” Hann’yu said. “I have friends there. Istanayye has family.”

 “You could stay the night in my room,” John said. “It’s not big, but it’s warm.”

Hann’yu frowned. John thought he might refuse, but then Hann’yu glanced to his wife and son.

“That would be good. Thank you, Ja—thank you.”

“It’s no trouble,” John said. “A friend is coming to get me early in the morning, but I think you should be able to sleep in. Come on, I’ll take you up.”

Hann’yu and his family followed John upstairs to the room. The luxury of down quilts and pitchers of scented wash water delighted Istanayye. Du’rai hopped on the corner of the bed and bounced on the soft mattress and bedsprings. Hann’yu sank into one of the two upholstered chairs. He ran his hand over the embroidered design of vines that decorated the arms of the chair.

“You’ve done well for yourself since I last saw you,” Hann’yu commented.

John shook his head.

“Some friends of mine arranged this. It’s all new to me.” He opened a small door, expecting to find a closet where he could hang their coats. Instead the door opened into a private bathroom.

“There’s a bath in here,” John said.

Istanayye gazed into the tiled bathroom like she was peeking into heaven. She eyed the large tub and water pipes with longing and then turned her large, dark eyes onto John.

“Would you mind if we used your bath?” Istanayye asked.

“Not at all,” John replied. “Go right ahead.”

Istanayye quickly caught Du’rai’s hands and pulled him off the bed. She filled the tub with hot water for him and then left him alone to wash.

“You’re next,” she told Hann’yu.

“No, you should have your bath while the water’s still hot,” Hann’yu said. “I got used to cold baths in Rathal’pesha. Anyway, I want to talk with Jahn.”

“It’s not very proper, but…” Istanayye bowed her head slightly. “If it is your wish, I will obey.”

“It is my wish,” Hann’yu replied. There was something about his tone that made John think he was joking. “Don’t worry. Jahn hates propriety.”

“Really?” Istanayye peered at John skeptically.

“I certainly don’t think you should have to take a cold bath just because you’re a woman,” John said.

“You see,” Hann’yu said. “Jahn’s very enlightened. Nearly as enlightened as myself.”

“You’re just a troublemaker,” Istanayye told Hann’yu, and John recognized the teasing tone in her soft voice.

Istanayye walked to Hann’yu’s side. She touched his hand and then began to sink down to sit on the floor at the foot of Hann’yu’s chair. Hann’yu caught her and pulled her up into the chair and onto his lap. Istanayye blushed a little. Hann’yu wrapped his arms around her.

John hung his coat over the back of the empty chair and dropped down across from Hann’yu and Istanayye. The padded back of the chair felt good. John just wished it was a little bigger. He stretched his legs out and yawned.

“So, Jahn, can I ask you what happened after Ravishan rescued you?” Hann’yu asked.

“We hid in the forest for a while. There was a huge storm so no one came looking for us.”

“I remember. I don’t think I’d ever seen so much snow fall in one week,” Hann’yu said.

“Then the Fai’daum found us,” John said. “They could have turned us over for the rewards, but instead they gave us shelter. We’ve been with them since.”

“Were you in Yah’hali?” Hann’yu asked.

“I was. Not Ravishan.”

“You’re an unusual man, particularly here in the north,” Hann’yu commented. “The first time a merchant described Jath’ibaye, I thought of you.”

John only gave a slight nod to Hann’yu.

“You’re Jath’ibaye?” Istanayye stared at John. “You did those things?”

“I’m not sure what things you mean,” John replied. “The stories get a little outrageous sometimes. But I helped with the prison break at Yah’hali.”

“May Parfir bless you a thousand times over,” Istanayye said.

John felt a little embarrassed by Istanayye’s admiration. Hann’yu shook his head.

“You can’t praise Jahn too much,” Hann’yu told Istanayye. “It makes him shy.”

“How could Jath’ibaye be shy?” Istanayye looked curiously at John. John just shrugged. Then Du’rai opened the door and peeked out. Istanayye went to him and dried his hair with one of the towels, while the boy clutched another towel around his waist. Hann’yu dug into his pack, found a nightshirt, and tossed it to Du’rai. The boy pulled the nightshirt on and then squirmed out of his mother’s grasp.

“Are we going to sleep on the bed?” Du’rai asked Hann’yu.

“Of course you are,” John answered, before Hann’yu could refuse.

“We can’t take your bed,” Hann’yu objected.

“I wouldn’t be able to sleep in it if your wife and son were on the floor,” John replied. “Let him have the bed.”

Hann’yu considered it for a moment, then nodded.

“Thank Jahn,” Hann’yu told Du’rai.

“Thank you, Jahn.” Du’rai grinned and then rushed to the bed. He bounced on it a few times, then burrowed under the covers. Istanayye excused herself and went to bathe.

 “She’s missed baths since she had to move here,” Hann’yu said.

“Did she follow you from Nurjima?” John asked.

“Yes.” Hann’yu’s expression brightened as he described his love affair with Istanayye. She was the daughter of a famous scholar. Hann’yu had attended dozens of lectures and book readings just to gaze at Istanayye.

“The first time she spoke to me, I was so delighted and nervous at once that I could hardly think. I mispronounced my own name.” Hann’yu shook his head. “Still, she must have seen something in me that she liked because two years later she married me.”

“Weren’t you a priest then?” John kept his voice low. He wasn’t sure if Du’rai had fallen asleep.

“Of course, but it was Nurjima and we were in love. All our friends knew. Her father was angry, but he didn’t want to cause a scandal so he kept quiet.” Hann’yu smiled at the memories of what must have been happy times.

John noticed Du’rai gazing at his father’s back. John wondered if Du’rai already knew this story.

“It was nearly three years before Ushman Serahn found out about my marriage. He kept women himself, but he treated them like whores. The fact that I had married Istanayye infuriated him. He wanted me publicly flogged to death, but my friends intervened. Finally, I was banished to Rathal’pesha.” Hann’yu sighed heavily. “He told Istanayye that she was a widow. He even sent her a veil. But Istanayye didn’t accept any of that. She knew I was alive, and as soon as she discovered where I had been sent, she started out after me. No one would have ever dreamed that Istanayye would follow me. She was two months pregnant with Du’rai, and still, she made the entire journey on her own.”

“That had to be tough,” John said.

“She’s the bravest person I know and she’s put up with more than any woman should have to,” Hann’yu said. “I should have left Rathal’pesha and the priesthood a long time ago. I should have taken Istanayye and Du’rai home.”

“It’s hard to make a decision like that when you’re facing execution for it,” John said.

“It wasn’t hard to make two months ago,” Hann’yu said. “I’d gladly die rather than be party to what they were doing.”

John nodded. Just over Hann’yu’s shoulder he could see Du’rai fighting to keep his eyes open. Slowly his head sank deep into a pillow. John envied him.

Istanayye poked her head out from behind the bathroom door. Hann’yu picked up his pack and brought her a nightshirt. Then he disappeared into the bathroom and washed up. Istanayye went to the bed and climbed in beside Du’rai.

John got up and lowered the flames of the oil lamps. When he returned to his chair he put his feet up on the chair Hann’yu had left. Istanayye wished him a good night’s sleep and he wished her the same. He closed his eyes and his thoughts drifted. He hardly noticed when Hann’yu emerged from the bathroom and put out the lamps. A deep sleep enveloped him. If he dreamed, he didn’t remember it.

When Saimura came to the door, it was still dark outside. John left the room key on Hann’yu’s pack and departed.

Chapter Ninety-Five

“We’ve got trouble.” Saimura led John up Fountain Street. An unusual number of people seemed to be up already. In the distance, John thought he heard someone shouting. A group of six young men on bicycles sped past and then an alarm bell rang from the prison. Saimura broke into a run and John kept pace beside him.

“Remind me to ask you about those people sleeping in your room later,” Saimura commented.

“I’ll try to remember.” John leaped over a deep pothole in the road. “What’s happened?”

 “Apparently Kirh’yu didn’t feel Lafi’shir’s plan was good enough. He decided to take matters into his own hands.” Saimura skidded on a patch of ice, caught himself, and kept running. “He sent workmen to the prison gates to stop the rashan’im from taking the women. Most of Lon’ahma’s relatives are there as well.”

“Her old great uncle?” John asked. He almost missed a step at the idea of the feeble old man standing against the rashan’im.

“Oh yes. Grandfather, grandmothers, all of them.”

“The rashan’im will slaughter them,” John said.

“If the prison guards don’t do it first,” Saimura replied.

They reached the walls of the city prison. Lamps hung from the walls, casting a greenish hue across the faces of dozens of men and women. A group of some forty people stood at the gates. Most of them were big men with ragged beards and weathered faces. Many wore patched clothes. From the way they swayed on their feet, John guessed that some of the men were drunk. At the front of the crowd stood two very well-dressed old men and seven old women. One of the women raised her voice, singing what sounded like a lullaby.