“That was my fault.”
Yim’s eyes welled with tears. “I don’t believe that.”
In an attempt to change the conversation, Honus leaned over and softly kissed Yim’s cheek. “You’re exactly as I remember, except for the scar.”
“A fensman did that. It was an accident.”
Honus suspected otherwise, but he said, “And did you bear the child?”
“Yes, a son. His name’s Froan.”
“Froan?” Honus felt a sudden chill in the pit of his stomach. “That name’s mentioned in my runes.”
“How do you know that? I thought that Sarfs … Do you have a new Bearer?”
“No, but I stayed with one before I came here. He saved my life and gave me guidance. He said that my runes told of three intertwined fates—yours, mine, and Froan’s.” Honus watched Yim’s eyes widen. “You seem surprised to hear that.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be,” replied Yim. “After all, I had a dream—or perhaps a vision—of you. You said your runes foretold you’d help me.” Yim sighed. “And, Honus, I need help. I worry that what I must do is beyond my strength.”
“I believe I had the same dream,” said Honus. “We met at night in a lonely place. I recall saying I’d help you and that we’d meet again.”
“And then I rushed to embrace you.”
“Yes!”
“But you vanished before I could.”
“Yes!”
“All I did was brush your face.” Yim reached out to duplicate the gesture. As soon as she did, Yim completed what she had begun in her dream. She embraced Honus as fervently as she had in the clearing after restoring his life. He wept, overcome by emotion so powerful that it mingled joy with grief, and she wept also. Honus’s mouth found Yim’s. Her lips were cool, but her response wasn’t. It seemed to mirror his passion.
Honus tugged the cover so it fell away, allowing him to caress Yim’s bare skin. He thrilled at the touch of her flesh after so many winters of emptiness and longing. His hands traveled up and down Yim’s back before seeking the softness of her breasts. As they did, Honus felt Yim stiffen. Then, she gently pushed him away and pulled the cover around her body.
Honus gazed at Yim at a loss for words, sensing for the first time the gap created by their long separation and wondering how he could bridge it. The possibility that he couldn’t suddenly filled him with panic. He worried that, driven by pent-up desire, he might have ruined the moment he had longed for.
Yim was also silent, and she looked equally uncomfortable. Nevertheless, she spoke first. “Honus, I can’t. Not yet. I’m still confused, and I’m afraid to rush into anything.”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s been a long time.”
“It has, Honus, and I’m different from the woman you knew.”
“How?”
“When I conceived Froan, the Devourer entered me. It’s never left. Not entirely. And I struggle with it all the time. I’m capable of … of … horrid things.”
“Perhaps my love will cure that.”
Yim appeared dubious. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know. But I didn’t leave the Grey Fens seeking love. Froan ran away, and I left to save him.”
“Then I’ll help,” said Honus, hoping he didn’t sound desperate.
“Before you make that promise, you should know what you’ll face.”
Honus gazed into Yim’s eyes and saw a depth of despair that made him uneasy. “What is it?”
“Froan is Lord Bahl.”
Honus felt he shouldn’t have been surprised. Nevertheless, Yim’s statement took him aback, and it made her goal seem nonsensical. “Why talk of saving Lord Bahl? It’s the world that needs saving.”
“Saving the world’s beyond me,” said Yim. “I can only do what I’m able.”
“And you’re capable of saving your son, no matter what he’s become?”
“I think I’m capable of trying, though trying may be all I can do.”
Honus recalled his dream of the previous night. Thistle said Yim needs my strength. It seemed absurd to act upon a dream, and Honus realized that he couldn’t. Instead, he would act because of love. “If you attempt to save Lord Bahl, you won’t do it alone.”
FORTY-SEVEN
“ZOUNDS, YIM!” said Cara, shaking her head. “And to think they make up ballads about my life!” She refilled her and Yim’s goblets with falfhissi, and took another swallow of the dark liquor. It was evening, and the two women were in “Dar’s room,” the clan mother’s bedchamber. The remnants of their private dinner lay on a nearby table, and they were sitting on Cara’s bed. Yim, still fragrant from her first bath in moons, wore one of Cara’s long-sleeved woolen gowns. “Aye,” said Cara, “what a fine time the bards would have with you! You’re both Lord Bahl’s lover and his mother.”
“I was never his lover,” replied Yim, shuddering at the memory. “Love had nothing to do with it.”
“I disagree. If you had na loved Karm so much, you never would have gone to Bahl. The Chosen, indeed! Chosen for a life of torment. Oh, you poor thing. I can na imagine! What you endured sounds worse than any nightmare. And then to sleep through a winter with a bear—just like my Violet—and birth your babe in a bog and raise him there and have your throat cut and then journey here on foot, slaying five men on the way! Why, ’tis nigh impossible to understand how you lived through any of it, much less all of it! Does Honus know about your trials?”
“I’ve told him very little,” replied Yim. “He knows that Froan’s Lord Bahl’s son, of course. And that Froan’s the new Lord Bahl.”
“Are you sure he is? I’ve heard na news of that.”
“It’s something I sense without the need of tidings.”
Cara took another swallow of falfhissi. “So all our tribulations could start over again. I barely survived Bahl’s first invasion, and I was younger then. This time, ’twill be five times worse because of my children. I fear more for them than myself.”
“Then you understand why I must go.”
“Nay, I do na,” said Cara. “When the faeries stole Violet, I did na go searching about their dell. ’Twould have been rash indeed, and there’s such a thing as prudence. The stronghold at Tor’s Gate was naething—naething at all—compared to the Iron Palace. You might as well kill yourself here and save the trip. Anyway, what could you possibly do if you got there?”
“Talk to Froan.”
“Talk? Zounds! Well, that’s a clever plan for sure. Yim, I talk to Violet till my tongue goes numb, yet she still does what ever she pleases. And she’s na Lord Bahl. I’ve heard na rumors that he’s a listener. And you, of all people, know how vile he is. Everyone who bears that name’s a monster with na a speck of mercy in him.”
“Froan’s no monster—the thing inside him is.”
“That may seem a fine distinction when he tortures you to death. Look, you’ve done everything Karm told you to do. You’ve borne the child. Now snatch some happiness with Honus. You both deserve it.”
“You’re a mother,” said Yim. “I thought you’d understand. You don’t stop loving a child because he falls ill; you love him all the more for his suffering. Froan didn’t choose to be afflicted by that evil thing. When he was young, he called it his shadow.” Yim’s eyes took on a wistful look as they welled with tears. “He fought against it, Cara. He fought against it and won. And afterward, he was a sweet and loving child. If he could beat his shadow then, he can beat it now.”
“Mayhap he na longer wants to beat it. Mayhap he’d rather be a lord than herd goats in a bog. Men put on black robes for far less than what Froan will gain.”
“He needs me,” said Yim, beginning to sob. “I won’t forsake him. I can’t.”
Cara sighed, then embraced Yim and held her. “There, there,” she cooed. “Of course, you can’t, Karm help you. So do na listen to me. I’m just a timid homebody.”
Yim paused between sobs to utter “Ha!”
“ ’Tis true. I’m quite content to stay at hom
e. I have na been to Bremven for three winters, and I do na miss it. And of course, Violet’s a handful, and I’ve only got one hand. But I’ll never complain again after hearing your troubles! My burden’s light compared to yours.”
Cara grew quiet and continued to hug Yim until she calmed. Then she poured some more falfhissi into Yim’s goblet. “I can see you’re going, na matter what I say,” she said, “and I guess I can understand why. It does na make me happy. That’s for sure! But seeing how you said the Old Ones helped you before with the crow and the bear and the horse and all, mayhap you should talk to my faerie-kissed daughter. I never thought I’d say that to anyone! But you’ve dreamt of her already, and that certainly worked out. So mayhap it’d be wise to visit Violet’s tower. Of course, you’ll have to call her Thistle.” Cara sighed. “Mayhap, I should start doing so myself.”
It was late when Yim finally returned to Honus’s room, and she was more than a little drunk. Honus knew the instant she staggered in. “I see Cara’s led you astray.”
Yim rushed over to Honus and covered his face with kisses. “Oh, bless you, Honus! Thank you for helping! You’re so, so good to me!” Yim flopped down on his bed. “Please hold me tonight. I’ve longed to sleep in your arms for oh so many winters. I’m sorry I’m chilly. I can’t help it. It’s because … well, you know. I hope it doesn’t bother you too much! I’ll keep my gown on, so you won’t freeze.”
“You needn’t keep it on for my sake,” said Honus.
“Oh, it’s all right. I don’t mind.”
Yim rolled on her side as Honus blew out the candle and climbed in bed beside her. He wrapped an arm around her and pressed his face into her hair. “What have you been drinking?” he whispered.
“Falfhissi,” replied Yim. “Cara says it means ‘laughing water.’ ” Then she started to weep.
Honus simply held Yim, partly because he had no idea what to say and partly because he felt that was what she needed. Yim dropped off to sleep quickly, leaving Honus to ponder the strange twist his life had taken. As always, he was unable to discern any pattern or purpose in it, but he felt that Daven had spoken truly when he declared that Karm loved him. Honus held the proof in his arms.
Yim’s head throbbed throughout the following morning. Honus had joined Havren’s hunting party, which was procuring game for the night’s banquet. It was Midwinter’s Night Eve, and Cara planned to transform the traditional feast into one honoring Yim. Thus Yim was left to the mercies of the seamstress and cobbler whom Cara had charged with outfitting her. Harried over making a gown and a pair of shoes in a single day, they were politely overbearing. Their fuss compounded Yim’s unease over the banquet, but there was little she could do about it. Cara was determined to celebrate her arrival. She had always been a forceful personality, and her tenure as chieftain had enhanced the trait.
There was one benefit to being the center of hectic activity; it gave Yim a reason for postponing her visit to Violet’s tower. She suspected that the Old Ones would use the girl as their messenger. Though their counsels might prove useful, Yim wasn’t particularly anxious to hear them. It unnerved her to know that the faeries—like Karm’s Seers—had known about her even before she was born. It made her feel impotent, a playing piece moved by an unseen hand in a game where she didn’t know the rules.
What if she tells me all my hopes are baseless? Yim asked herself. It seemed a real possibility. If so, should I abandon them? Yim had to admit that such a surrender would come as a relief. The journey to Bahland seemed more terrifying than ever. She had headed south to postpone a confrontation with her son, and going to Cara’s had allowed her to postpone it further. Yet putting it off had done nothing to make it seem easier. On the contrary, Yim sensed that the Devourer had grown more formidable over the intervening time, decreasing her chance of success.
Yim’s gloomy mood didn’t dampen the frantic but celebratory mood that permeated the hall. Everyone knew of Yim’s heroics on the night their clan mother had lost her arm. Thus Yim’s sudden appearance after a long and mysterious absence seemed a good omen, one certainly worthy of a celebration. Cara’s short notice only heightened the excitement. By the time it was dark, the last seam was sewn, the great hall was lit and decorated, the feast was prepared, and all the guests were assembled.
As Yim and Cara entered the great hall together, everyone bowed. Cara, dressed in a grayish green gown, was crowned with the thin gold circlet of the clan mother and wore the dark green plaid sash and the golden tree brooch of the Urkzimdi clan. Yim wore a long-sleeved gown of dark blue. The two women walked slowly to the head table, which was on a raised platform at the end of the hall. Cara’s thronelike wooden chair occupied the center of the long table. Her family, Honus, and the ranking guests stood behind the places where they would sit, arranged according to precedence. Yim would sit in the honored spot on Cara’s right, and Rose, as Cara’s heir, would sit to the right of Yim. Yim noted an empty spot next to Rose. The place, marked by a simple wooden bowl, was apparently symbolic of Rose’s absent twin.
When Cara reached her chair, she didn’t sit down. Instead, a servant brought her a goblet. Afterward, servers brought all the guests goblets or drinking bowls. When everyone had a drink in hand, Cara raised her goblet. “A toast!” she shouted. “ ’Tis the longest night, the darkest time in a dark season. Yet it also marks the sun’s return, a portent of brighter days. There can be na more fitting time to mark Yim’s return.” She raised her goblet higher. “To Yim!”
The entire company in the hall was about to shout “To Yim” when a blast of wind blew open the great doors that had been shut after the clan mother and her honored guest had entered. The same gust extinguished most of the torches, plunging the hall into semidarkness. The remaining torches illuminated a small figure garbed in a white gown that was as dazzling in the dim light as if a sunbeam shone on it. Yim recognized the girl in white from her dream. Like everyone else in the hall, Yim was transfixed by the sight of Thistle, who moved toward the high table with a stately grace that wasn’t remotely childlike.
She wore a crown of thistles in her golden hair. Their spiny leaves and blossoms appeared as fresh as if they had been picked on a dewy summer morn. The girl advanced without a sound, for despite her elegant sleeveless gown, she was barefoot. The gown had a long train, the trailing edge of which shed blossoms. That made Yim aware that the entire gown was made of flowers. When Thistle ascended the platform, Yim could distinguish white violets, faerie lace, bluets, yarrow, anemones, and roses. Every blossom looked perfectly fresh.
Thistle bowed low to Yim. “Greetings, Mother. I bring the Old Ones’ love and mine also.” Then she bowed to Cara. “Hello, Mama. I would na miss so fitting a feast, and I’m glad you prepared a place for me.”
Then Freenla rushed up to Thistle and handed her a wooden drinking bowl. The girl raised it, and with that gesture, everyone suddenly recalled that they had been toasting Yim. As if the interruption had never happened, all shouted “To Yim” and drank.
Yim watched Thistle during the toast and noted she had mouthed “To Mother.” Afterward, the girl made her way to the bench and whispered to Rose, “Sister, you’re in my place.”
Rose’s face flushed red; nonetheless, she moved so Thistle could sit immediately to Yim’s right. Then Cara took her chair, and everyone sat down. That required Yim, Thistle, and Rose to step over the bench to sit, and the two girls did it far more gracefully in their gowns than Yim managed. As servants scurried to relight torches, other servants brought out food. There was roast boar and venison, three kinds of fowl, sturgeon and pike, roast whiteroot, groundnuts stewed in wine, onion tarts, differing kinds of bread—both stuffed and plain, five kinds of cheeses, several stews, candied fruit, ale, and wine. Thistle’s fare, which was served to her by Freenla, was different from everyone else’s. None of it was cooked, and it consisted of roots, seeds, nuts, and—most strangely—fresh wild strawberries and blackberries. Thistle ate everything with her hands. The fragrant l
iquid in her drinking bowl was neither ale nor wine nor any kind of tea Yim knew.
For a while, everyone was preoccupied with food and drink, and the hall was quiet except for the sounds of feasting. But when appetites were blunted, conversation commenced. Cara turned and smiled at her faerie-kissed daughter. “Vio—Thistle, I’m glad you joined us. ’Tis a rare treat for me.”
“Na less for me, Mama. And I’m glad you counseled Mother to visit me. Though she dreads what I might say, she trusts your wisdom.”
Yim regarded Thistle. Her floral gown looked thin and chilly. It was already starting to fall apart in places, and Yim wondered if it would last the evening. She also noted that the girl’s forehead was scratched and bleeding from her spiny garland. Thistle caught her glance and smiled serenely. “Aye, Mother, it pains me.”
“Then why wear it?” asked Yim. “I doubt it’s from vanity.”
“My attire lets all know that I honor you and calls to mind that even goodly things oft come with suffering.”
“I know that all too well,” said Yim.
“Then visit me and learn other things.”
“You spoke to your mother of my dread. Is it justified?”
“Come speak with me tomorrow and judge for yourself.”
FORTY-EIGHT
HONUS’S HAND was on Yim’s breast. He was asleep and she wore a gown, so its placement seemed innocent to her. Nevertheless, it felt wonderfully intimate at the same time. Honus’s touch stirred feelings in her that had lain long dormant and worries also. I tupped with Lord Bahl only once, and the Devourer entered me, she thought. What would happen if I tupped with Honus? The chilling possibilities quenched her ardor. The Devourer might enter him or I might conceive a second Lord Bahl. Yim gently pushed Honus’s hand to her waist; it seemed the prudent thing to do.
Though Yim was awake, she didn’t rise. She wanted to relish being held and to feel Honus’s warmth, knowing that their closeness brought as much comfort to him as it did to her. Yim glanced at the hand that rested on her waist. It seemed like an old man’s hand, although she knew that Honus was still well short of fifty winters. Honus had said little of the time that they were apart, but Yim could readily see its toll. It made her feel guilty over her decision to leave him and raise Froan alone. Considering how it had turned out, she felt it had been a mistake.
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