When the sun rose behind heavy clouds, Yim rose with it, chilled, stiff, and tired. After cooking some porridge, she continued her journey. Trudging through snowy mountains was tedious, and the following days were much the same: The sky was always gray, and it was always cold. The snowfall varied from an occasional flake to a steady stream of white, but it never ceased. Yim often lost the road, but the mountains helped her find her way. Unlike the snow-choked roadway, the peaks were impossible to miss, and Frodoric’s map depicted them well enough that she could recognize them. Apparently, the bard was as good at memorizing topography as he was at memorizing ballads. The main variations in Yim’s monotonous existence were how much snow fell and whether she slept outdoors or found hospitality. Twice, she sang for her supper; the other nights she camped.
Yim’s sixth day in the mountains began with promise, for when she crested a ridge in midmorning, she spied the pair of low mountains that lay to the north of Cara’s hall. Yim recalled standing atop the manor’s walls to watch Cronin’s army march between those peaks on its way to battle. The mountains were pale gray shapes, not close but certainly reachable before dusk. Cara’s hall was only a short distance beyond them. If Yim pushed herself, she’d be dining that night with her friend.
Between Yim and the mountains was a broad valley that was forested only around its edges. Its center was a large, featureless expanse of snow. Yim thought that there was something special about the valley, so she pulled out Frodoric’s parchment. It was uninformative. Numerous viewings in falling snow had caused its ink to run in many places. A gray stain marked the valley, nothing else, and the mountains’ smeared outlines were as blurry as they appeared in the falling snow.
Yim tucked the map away and headed onward, determined to reach Cara’s hall before nightfall. Initially, she made good progress, although the snow fell ever more heavily. Occasionally, all she could see ahead was white. Nevertheless, she saw the mountains often enough to keep headed in the right direction. By noon, she had descended from the ridge, had passed through a grove of trees, and was traveling over the broad plain in the valley’s center, heading straight for the pass between the two mountains.
The walking was fairly easy. Although the snow often rose higher that Yim’s boot tops, the footing beneath it was smooth and regular. The greatest problem was the wind, which having nothing to break it, whipped across the plain with biting force. Focused on her goal, Yim advanced halfway into the plain before its perfect evenness began to worry her. She hadn’t encountered as much as a single bush or clump of grass.
With a surge of panic, Yim realized why that was so. I’m walking on a frozen lake! She halted and pulled out the bard’s water-blurred map again. That’s what was marked in the valley—a lake. She was angry with herself for recalling it too late. The road skirted it. Yim looked around, wondering if she should turn back. Gazing at the tracks she had made, she saw that all but the closest ones had been erased by the wind. Not only had the wind picked up, the snowfall had also. I’ve made it this far safely, she reasoned. If I backtrack, I’ll end up camping in a blizzard.
With her journey’s end so close, Yim decided to continue onward. While she was nervous about encountering thin ice, she also feared that the blizzard would obscure the way ahead. A band of trees marked dry land on the far shore; sometimes she could see it but often not. Whenever she could view her goal, she dashed in its direction. She was running when the ice before her suddenly tilted downward. There was no sound, but the snow ahead darkened as water poured over it. Yim halted and darted away from the advancing water. She made a few steps in the opposite direction before the ice tilted again and water began to well up through the snow ahead of her. This time, Yim didn’t stop moving. She took two more bounds and then launched herself forward, hoping to leap over the crack.
Yim’s experience in the fens had taught her to distribute her weight over unstable surfaces. Thus she didn’t try to land on her feet, but on her chest. Perhaps that saved her life, for she slid through the wet slush instead of plunging through it. Yim clawed at the snow with her hands to pull herself farther way from the wet, frigid trap that had nearly swallowed her. She moved that way for a dozen paces before feeling secure enough to rise to her feet. Then she stood shivering from cold and terror.
The front of Yim’s clothing was soaked with icy slush and the edges of her cloak were already stiffening as they froze. Yim looked back at the trees that were so close but apparently unreachable. She might have been merely unlucky, stumbling upon a rare thin spot, or the entire shoreline might be one long death trap. Yim didn’t have the nerve to find out which. Her only safe option was to return to the other side of the valley, build a fire to warm herself, and then trek around the lake the following day. Yim glanced at her former destination. It was only a pale gray band in a wall of white. The grove of trees that she had passed through to reach the lake was invisible in the storm. Nevertheless, she headed in what she assumed was its direction.
Though Yim was terribly cold, walking helped warm her, and the thought of a fire spurred her efforts. She kept hoping that the snow would let up and give her a sight of her surroundings. After a long while it did, and she could see the vague shapes of trees ahead. The sight cheered her until the snowfall lessened even more and she could see mountains behind the trees. They were the low, twin mountains north of Cara’s hall: she had circled back in the storm.
As Yim weighed her situation, the mountains grew ever fainter. Then they were gone, and she stood in a white void. Its only features were her tracks, and they were disappearing as she watched. Every direction seemed the same. Yim realized that if she resumed walking, she’d likely travel in yet another circle. And fall through the ice, she thought. The only safe thing to do was to stay put until she could see where she was headed. Yim crouched down so the wind would be less punishing and waited for a break in the weather.
The snow fell more heavily instead. The wind piled it into a drift around Yim, transforming her into the sole landmark in a white world that was otherwise perfectly featureless. Yim continued to wait for a change, and the waiting dragged on and on. Finally, something did change. The white void slowly turned gray. Behind the heavy clouds, the sun was leaving the sky. The gray darkened as dusk arrived.
The night was especially dark. The blizzard slackened, but it was too late. Darkness obscured Yim’s surroundings as well as the falling snow had done. The starless sky was black, and the snowbound landscape was so dark that it seemed little different from the sky. Yim thought of the irony of having faced so many perils only to perish crouching in the cold. She decided that if she was going to die, she wouldn’t do it passively. Yim rose to walk in the hope that she might get lucky and survive. If I break through the ice, at least I’ll die more quickly then freezing. Yim stumbled off without deliberation. When all directions looked alike, one was as good as any other.
Half-frozen and stretched to her limit, Yim had difficulty thinking coherently. Existence took on the unreal quality of a dream. After a while, there seemed to be a wavering paleness in the dark. It was only a tiny point, but since it stood out in the night, Yim headed toward it. She didn’t care if it was an illusion; it provided a direction.
When Yim moved toward the paleness, it moved toward her. As it did, it changed. Over time, it assumed the form of a young girl with long pale hair that the wind whipped about. Except for a short skirt of leaves, she was exposed to the elements. The girl came closer. Yim was wondering how a child could endure walking barefoot through snow, when she saw that the snow was actually a field of wildflowers. Yim thought it strange that she hadn’t noticed before. The flowers were faerie lace, which grew so thickly that their white blossoms merged into an unbroken expanse of white.
The wind no longer felt cold. Then Yim realized that she was also walking through flowers. The girl came close enough for Yim to see her face. It was serene, and there was a twinkle in her sky-blue eyes. She knelt before Yim, grasped her hand, and kissed it. �
�Greetings, Mother. Long have I awaited you.”
Yim smiled. “This is a dream.”
“But it’s a good dream,” said the girl. “Drop your heavy pack and run with me.”
“Where?”
“To Dar Beard Chin’s hall. Your bear waits for you.”
“Gruwff?”
“Na her. A he bear.”
Since it was a dream, Yim did as she was asked. When the girl dashed off, Yim followed close behind. It felt good to run. The flowers released their perfume as she crushed them beneath her feet. This certainly is a fine dream, she thought. The girl looked back over her shoulder and grinned in agreement.
The flowers parted to reveal a road that wound between two mountains. Yim continued to lope behind the girl. It was effortless. Her breathing was easy and her legs weren’t tired at all. Above, the clouds gave way. A full moon hung in a starry sky. Thus when the pair rounded a bend and viewed the valley beyond, Cara’s hall and its surrounding village were silhouetted against the silver of a moonlit lake.
The girl increased her pace, and Yim matched it. She felt like wind rushing down the road, unburdened and free. My bear awaits, thought Yim, envisioning strong furry arms wrapped about her. It was only when they had passed through the sleeping village that Yim began to feel cold again. Suddenly her breath came in gasps and her throat was raw. Her legs turned leaden and her face and fingers stung. Yim slowed. Then she cramped and nearly doubled over in pain. She felt incapable of taking another step. Her clothes were caked with snow. Parts were wet, while other parts were frozen. Glancing back at the countryside, Yim saw only darkness, ice, and snow.
The girl grabbed her arm, tugging it urgently. “Come inside, Mother. Do na stop now. Remember your bear.”
“What bear?”
The girl didn’t reply. Instead, she tugged at Yim, forcing her to take a painful step. The girl tugged again. Yim took another step. By this means, she was pulled through a door within a gate, across a courtyard paved with ice-covered cobbles, and into a manor hall. It was warmer in the hall, but so dark that Yim could barely see. The girl helped her pull off her wet, snow-caked boots. Yim left them lying in the entrance hall along with her dripping socks as the girl took her hand and guided her away. Their bare feet made no sound as they walked down a corridor, climbed several flights of stairs, and passed down a hallway. The girl stopped in front of a closed door. “Your bear waits inside. It’s winter, so let him sleep.”
“Am I still dreaming?” asked Yim.
“Partly,” replied the girl. “Come inside. I’ll help you out of your wet things.”
Yim nodded wearily. The girl opened the door and pushed her into a paneled room that smelled of ancient flowers. It had a window that overlooked a winter landscape. By its dim light, Yim saw the shadowy form of the bear. He lay on a bed and was sleeping, just as the girl said he would be.
The girl undressed her. One by one, Yim’s garments fell to the floor with a wet flop. Concerned that the sound would wake the bear, Yim glanced in his direction. Then she squinted her eyes, for it seemed that the bear was a man asleep beneath a cover. Then he was a bear again. The girl pushed Yim’s sodden clothes aside. Then she lifted the cover to reveal the bear. He was a small bear. “Small, but warm,” said the girl. She patted the bed. “Come crawl beside him.”
Yim did. The girl vanished. The bear stirred in his sleep. When Yim nestled against his warmth, he wrapped an arm around her in a way that seemed almost human. The gesture scarcely registered on Yim’s consciousness. She was slipping from one dream into another.
FORTY-SIX
IT WAS a dream, but it contained truths. Honus was lost on the Dark Path, traveling over cold, stone hills and through misty, yet dry, rocky valleys. He had been doing it for so long that time had lost all meaning; there was only stone, mist, and emptiness. Then Honus crested a hill and beheld a valley filled with white flowers. Descending among them, he felt warm for the first time in ages. The blossoms overflowed the valley, extending to the horizon. The air was thick with their fragrance. A young woman stood in their midst, her long golden hair stirred by a soft breeze.
At first, Honus thought that the young woman was Rose. Then he drew nearer and saw that her gown was made of violets and her tranquil face shone with wisdom. “Thistle?” he said.
Thistle smiled. “Karmamatus.”
“You’ve grown up.”
“Nay, but I’m nearing my sixteenth winter.” Thistle whirled gracefully on bare feet, the hem of her floral gown flaring out. When she stopped spinning, Honus noticed that she held a honeycomb in one hand. His mouth watered at the sight of it. He was on all fours, so instead of reaching for it, he simply tried to bite it. Thistle pulled back her hand, and Honus’s snout snapped closed on empty air.
Thistle giggled and skipped off through the flowers, the tantalizing treat still in her hand. Honus loped after her. As he did, he wondered how long he had been a bear. Perhaps I’ve always been one and just didn’t know. Honus briefly wondered if that could be possible before turning his thoughts toward a sweeter concern. There was honey ahead, and he longed for it.
As fast as Honus ran, Thistle ran faster. She always stayed a few steps in front of him. Although Thistle didn’t seem to tire, Honus did. He was growing sleepy. That wasn’t the only change: The blossoms on Thistle’s gown were fading to shades of brown and beige. The flowers in the fields were becoming snow. It was getting dark.
Then it was night. Ahead, surrounded by a sleeping village, was Cara’s hall. Thistle ran up to its outer gates before she halted. She lifted a finger to her lips, so Honus whispered rather than spoke. “Where’s the honey?” he asked.
“I’ve something sweeter,” whispered Thistle.
“What?”
“A she cub to share your slumber.”
“Cubs sleep with their mothers.”
“This cub’s already a mother. She needs something else.” Thistle’s face turned serious, almost stern. “She needs your strength—the kind that springs from gentleness, not the false might of an iron stick. As you well know, such sticks break. Now go and sleep. When you awake, show your strength.”
Then Honus was in his den. Thistle was gone, but he wasn’t alone. A cub was in his sleeping space. She lacked fur and felt cold. Honus reached out and pulled her against his warmth. He was confused and fatigued; and since it was winter, he decided to sleep until spring. When he woke, he could try to understand his dream and sort out what was true and what was not.
The dream somewhat prepared Honus for the shock of finding Yim naked in his bed. The discovery was so unexpected and inexplicable that only illogic helped him comprehend it. Yim was sleeping peacefully beside him, her bare skin cool to the touch. Honus ignored questions of how and why she had arrived. Instead, he basked in the glorious wonder that she was there. He did nothing to disturb her, for despite the confirmation of his senses that Yim was real, he feared that she might vanish as mysteriously as she had appeared. Thus Honus remained perfectly still, with one arm wrapped around his love, as silent tears streamed down his face.
They might have remained that way all morning had there not been knocking on the door. It was accompanied by Cara’s voice. “Honus, you slugabed! ’Tis bears that sleep through winter, na men! You promised—”
Yim woke with a start, uttering a little yelp. Then she sat up in bed, stared at Honus with wide eyes and uttered a second, much louder yelp.
“Honus?” called Cara’s voice. “Who’s in there? What’s going on?”
Yim was staring at him, her face registering so many emotions that he found it impossible to sort them out. Yim seemed incapable of speech. Honus thought it might be due to the purple scar that crossed her throat. He called back to Cara. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
The door flung open. “Zounds, Honus, I—Oh—oh, Holy Mother Karm! Nay, it can na be! Yim! Are you truly here?”
“No. I think I’m frozen in some snowbank,” replied Yim in a distant, puzzled tone. “
Or at the bottom of a lake.”
“Oh, zounds, nay! You’re here! Without a stitch in Honus’s bed!”
Yim grabbed the cover and pulled it around her.
Cara glanced at the sodden clothes on the floor. “So those were your boots and socks in the entrance hall.”
“I don’t know how they got there, or I here,” said Yim. “I’ve no idea at all. I was lost in a storm at night, and then I dreamed of a child wearing only leaves who—”
“Thistle!” said Honus as Cara simultaneously said “Violet!”
“Who?” asked Yim.
“My daughter, Violet,” said Cara. “ ’Tis a long story.”
“She said she’d take me to my bear,” said Yim.
“I was a bear!” exclaimed Honus.
“And I’m a lunatic,” said Cara, “or soon will be. If you do na know how you got into my hall, how did you find Honus’s room?”
“The girl brought me. Only last night it wasn’t Honus’s room. She said I’d sleep with my bear.”
Cara shook her head. “Aye, that sounds like Violet, all right. Well, Yim, have you adopted her lack of dress or shall I get you some dry clothes?” Cara beamed. “Or mayhap, I was interrupting something.”
“Dry clothes would be very nice,” replied Yim.
Cara looked somewhat disappointed. “Then I’ll get them for you myself. While I do, mayhap you could please figure out what has happened. I’m dying to know. Zounds, absolutely dying! But I’ll leave your dry frock outside the door, in case … Well, in case of what ever.” Cara left, closing the door behind her.
As soon as the door shut, Yim turned to Honus. “You’ve been weeping.”
“They were tears of joy.”
Yim reached out to tenderly stroke the contours of his furrowed face. To Honus, her expression resembled that of someone examining wounds. “Oh, Honus, life has been hard to you!”
The Iron Palace Page 31
