The Iron Palace (29 page)

A
FTER
D
AVEN
departed, Honus left the ruined keep and descended the hill it crowned. Beyond the slope’s eastern side flowed a clear brook filled with cobblestones. Upon reaching it, Honus hopped from stone to stone until he reached a huge block of cut granite that appeared to have once been part of the castle. It partly blocked the waterway, creating a pool. Honus shed his clothes and entered it. He gasped at the water’s coldness, then ignored it as he bathed. Afterward, Honus sat naked upon the stone to dry and meditate.

Ignoring the water’s iciness had been easy compared to subduing his tumultuous feelings. Daven’s announcement had caught Honus by surprise, and he felt far from ready to be a Sarf again. Age and disuse had dulled his prowess. Moreover, he had come to understand how much that prowess had been the foundation of his confidence. Theodus would have chided him for placing so much faith in his body. “Flesh never endures,” he had often said, usually in self-deprecation. Although Honus attempted to be stoic about his decline, having lost his edge, he realized how vital his physical skills had been.

Thus one emotion Honus sought to subdue was fear. He feared that he’d perish before finding Yim. Moreover, he was afraid that he’d fail her if he did. Honus wasn’t alone in those concerns. Having regained his ability to gaze into eyes and see beneath appearances, he knew that Daven had
the same fears. Honus also knew that his new master was loath to send him away.

It would be a difficult parting, but Honus was bolstered by the prospect of a reunion with Yim. So, besides purging himself of apprehension, he sought to push longing from his mind. This promised to be harder to expel than fear. Every time Honus approached a state of calmness, he envisioned himself embracing Yim. Then memories of her face and body, her touch, her voice, and even her smell would flood back, and he would be momentarily overwhelmed. The possibility that flesh and blood might soon replace memory wasn’t conducive to meditation.

In addition to clearing his mind of fear and love, Honus had to face his uncertainty. His many winters of aimless wandering had left him disoriented. He had no idea where he was or where he should go. His sole hope was that Daven would provide a destination after studying the runes on his back, though Honus had little faith the inscriptions would be helpful. They had seldom guided Theodus, and they had never guided Yim. It was a Bearer’s role to determine the path, and a Sarf’s role to follow it. Once Honus departed, he would be masterless again. He felt ill equipped to be his own guide. His only recourse was to accept that he saw no path to his goal and to believe that it didn’t matter. Both went against his nature; yet each was necessary.

Daunted by all he had to overcome, Honus was momentarily tempted to abandon meditation and trance instead. As soon as the impulse arose, he was chagrined by his weakness. Then obtaining calmness became even more imperative. Honus saw it as a test that he mustn’t fail. To achieve the proper state of mind, Honus focused solely on the present, where both past and future were nonexistent. He sat perfectly still, perceiving the fullness of the world around him until it filled his mind, leaving no room for
anything else. It wasn’t easy, and it took all of Honus’s renewed self-discipline to accomplish.

It was late morning before Honus purged himself of fear, longing, and uncertainty to achieve complete tranquillity. By then, his goose-pimpled skin was perfectly dry. He donned his clothes and headed for the keep. The masters who had trained him in the temple used to say that a clear mind was like a boy’s untattooed back; it was where Karm transcribed her will. If that was true, then Honus hoped the goddess wanted him to find Yim.

When Honus arrived at Daven’s humble abode within the ruined castle, he found it empty. Accordingly, he removed his sandals, sat cross-legged on his mat, ignored his empty stomach, and resumed his meditations. It was late afternoon when Daven returned bearing a sack. “Honus,” he said, “have you achieved calmness?”

Honus bowed his head, “Yes, Master.”

Daven opened the sack. “Then garb yourself properly before I read.” He removed garments from the sack. They were made from homespun wool and dyed a darkish shade of blue that approximated the color worn by Karm’s servants. The style of the clothes imitated those worn by Sarfs. There were leggings, a pair of baggy pants that ended just below the knee, a long-sleeved shirt, and a cloak, all without ornamentation.

Honus took the clothes. They were obviously of peasant make, but they were new. It had been over seventeen winters since he had walked abroad so garbed, and his hard-won tranquillity diminished as he envisioned doing so again. Nevertheless, he smiled. “You seem to have been preparing this surprise for a while.”

“I have one more,” said Daven. From beneath his sleeping mat, he produced a sword and scabbard. It had the slightly curved blade and two-handed hilt of a Sarf’s weapon. He handed the sheathed sword to Honus, who immediately drew the blade to examine it.

“This isn’t temple forged,” said Honus. “Where did you get it?”

“A blacksmith dwells two villages over. He makes mostly plows and mattocks, but his knives are sharp.”

Honus ran a finger over the sword blade’s edge, noting that the steel lacked marbling. “It’s certainly that.” He slashed it about, and found the sword adequately balanced, but no more than that. He smiled again. “It seems this day was long foreseen.”

“I knew it was coming,” replied Daven. “But I didn’t know when until yesterday. Are you pleased with the sword?”

“Your foresight pleases me. As the saying goes, a naked Sarf always dons his sword first.”

“But the sword pleases you less.”

“It’s a skillful imitation. I doubt a man lives who can forge the traditional blade of my order.”

Daven sighed, “The times require us to use what’s at hand.”

“That’s surely true,” said Honus. “I’m not much of a Sarf.”

“I was thinking of myself. Your part was foreseen long ago. It’s needled on your back, though I lack the skill to fully understand it. Put on your new leggings and pants. Don your sword but not your shirt. Then we’ll sit in the sunshine, and I’ll study what the Seer tattooed.”

Soon Honus was sitting outside, feeling Daven’s fingers trace the markings on his back. Daven studied the runes for a long while. Then he pondered them even longer. Honus remained motionless throughout. Finally he heard Daven’s voice. “This is the clearest guidance I can give you, and I’m uncertain about a word in it. That word is ‘tul.’ It usually means ‘tool,’ but it can also mean ‘weapon.’ The runes say that when you find your proper tul, seek the leader who cannot wield it.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Is that any help?”

“Not at the moment, but I’m told time oft reveals meaning.”

“Yes, but I was hoping it would make sense to you now. The rest is less specific. I think Yim’s seeking someone named Froan. Perhaps she’s doing so as we speak; it’s hard to tell. So, if you encounter someone by that name, I’d say that’s a promising sign. That’s all the runes reveal.” Daven sighed. “You should leave tomorrow.”

“Did you read that also?”

“No, but I feel it in my gut. Where will you go?”

“I’m unsure. Do you know where I am?”

“In the ancient domain of Prensturg, though I daresay none of its inhabitants recall the name. The last of its dukes fell in one of the Luvein wars. I reside in his castle. You’re on Luvein’s western border, about a half-moon’s journey south of Lurwic.”

“Then I suppose I’ll head for the Western Reach. It’s close and where I last saw Yim. At the time, she was planning to head north. So if she’s seeking someone, she might pass that way.” Honus shook his head. “It’ll be like looking for a pea in a gravel pile.”

Daven brushed his fingertips over Honus’s bare back one last time, stopping at the marks that spelled “Yim.” Her name appeared several times within the lengthy text, and was its final entry. “Have faith, Honus. Somehow you’ll find her.”

After the reading, Honus went hunting. That evening, he broke his fast with Daven, who roasted the pair of pheasants that Honus had bagged. The birds were a rare treat, and they lent a festive air to the meal. “This is a sign of Karm’s grace,” said Daven between mouthfuls. “I haven’t even seen a pheasant all summer.”

“Probably because you never looked,” replied Honus.

“No, it’s Karm’s grace, and I should know. I’m a holy man.”

“You said you were a hermit.”

“Well, you spoiled that, didn’t you? A hermit lives alone.” Daven, who had been grinning, suddenly grew serious. “When you arrived, I learned the depths of Karm’s compassion.”

Honus, hoping to steer the conversation back to a lighter mood, asked, “So what’s the difference between a hermit and a holy man? Your wardrobe hasn’t improved.”

“Respect,” replied Daven.

“Is that how you got the blacksmith to make my sword?”

“Yes. And the peasant woman to sew and dye your clothes.”

“I’m surprised Karm’s still honored here.”

“Superstition probably played as great a part as faith,” said Daven. “Holiness makes people ner vous. Besides, I’ve done some good since I’ve arrived. They remembered that, too.”

“You saved my life as well,” said Honus, surrendering to Daven’s mood. “I’m grateful.”

“You should thank Karm for that, not me,” replied Daven. “I know you don’t believe me. I see through your show of piety. If we had more time … but, well, we don’t. I can only hope you’ll reconcile with the goddess. She loves you, Honus. And her love will give you strength, but only if you accept it.”

“I’ve submitted to your discipline.”

“You did. In that, you were exemplary. Gatt was likewise, and yet he tried to kill Yim. A Sarf needs more than discipline and prowess. He must model the goddess in compassion.”

“And what if Karm isn’t compassionate?”

“She is, Honus. She is.” Then Daven smiled again. “Take the word of a holy man.”

*  *  *

At dawn, Honus rose and ate for the last time with Daven. Afterward, Honus embraced the former Bearer and began his journey. He bore a pack heavy with provisions and other necessities. The weight didn’t bother him, but it felt wrong to bear his own burden, for Theodus had admonished him to never do so. Honus’s late Bearer had read the same runes that Daven had; yet Daven had come up with contradictory advice.
And Daven claims the runes say I’ll find Yim
, thought Honus.
Will they still say that tomorrow?

When Honus had last been a Sarf, the divine will had always perplexed him. It still did. Despite what Daven had said, he couldn’t see how an inscription on his back could mean one thing and then another. It made him doubt everything Daven had told him. As for “when you find your proper tul, seek the leader who cannot wield it,” that was gibberish.
Spoken like a Bearer
, thought Honus, reflecting that the guidance of holy ones was often cryptic.
Perhaps it held some meaning for him, but I’m only a Sarf
. He adjusted the burden on his shoulders and continued to trudge westward.

A
S
H
ONUS
began his journey uncertain where it would take him, Yim resumed hers knowing her destination. It wasn’t without irony that she trekked south, for she was convinced that Froan was behind her, not ahead. Though Yim lacked concrete proof that Froan led the men who had killed her friends, all her instincts told her it was so.
Nevertheless, she persisted in journeying toward the Iron Palace.

Ever since Yim fled the marauders, she kept reliving her horrific deeds. The memories of those killings had been worst during the first night, when their freshness and the dark enhanced their vividness. As time passed, the gruesome slayings seemed more like nightmares than things she had actually done. Yet the bloodstained sword she still carried contradicted that. It was proof that she had dreamed none of the horrors.

Yim knew that most people would say the five slayings were justified and commend her for them. They would also think that she was prudent to carry a sword when traveling alone. Yim agreed in part, and she felt unable to forsake the weapon. Nevertheless, she was convinced that violence ultimately served the Devourer and couldn’t be used to defeat it.

I must find another tactic
, Yim thought. All she could think of was to plead with Froan to resist the evil thing within him. She worried that approach would fail, but it seemed her best chance.
After all, I’m his mother. Besides, I’ll have time to polish my arguments
. Yim knew she’d have that time because Froan’s army seemed to be heading east, not toward Bahland. Nonetheless, she was certain that he’d arrive at the Iron Palace sooner or later.
By then, I should be ready to confront him
.

Yim intended to prepare for that confrontation by several means. First, she would stay clear of folk for as long as possible. The large sack of grain would allow her to survive on her own for many days. That way, with luck, she’d have no need to use violence to defend herself. Second, she intended to meditate frequently and grapple with her inner foe. She hoped that it would be a means to weaken its hold on her. Finally, Yim prayed that her encounter with Honus on the silver path—whether it had been a vision, a dream, or something else—was prophetic.
Honus said his
runes foretold that we’d meet again and that he’d help me
. Although it smacked of wishful thinking, Yim clung to the hope that his promise would be fulfilled. Even though she was unable to imagine what help Honus could provide, she felt she’d need it when she faced her son again.

Froan was also on Stregg’s mind, though the black priest thought of him as “the heir” or “Lord Bahl.” His conviction that Lord Bahl’s missing son was somewhere in the Empty Lands hadn’t faltered, although he had heard nothing to confirm his belief. That was hardly surprising, for news spread slowly between the scattered settlements. No traveler had passed through his village in over half a moon, which was somewhat strange considering the season. Still, it was deemed more a cause for talk than concern.