Stregg knelt, and the Most Holy One slipped the chain over his head. Stregg admired the emblem of his new office. The chain resembled Gorm’s except in its material, featuring tiny skulls and interlocking links modeled after bones.
“Rise,” said Gorm. “That chain is but a symbol. It confers no power or gifts. Only our master does that, and it does this through the ritual of bone, hair, blood, and flesh.” Gorm returned to the table and picked up a yellowed finger bone. “Your pre de ces sor provides the bone. The More Holy Daijen failed our master. Learn from his example.” Gorm dropped the bone into a small iron bowl, took up an iron pestle, and ground the bone to powder.
“What happened to him?” asked Stregg.
“He died of old age,” replied Gorm, flashing an ironic smile. “It wasn’t as gentle a death as you might suppose. Now you must provide the hair, blood, and flesh. By this means, our master will know you.” Gorm grabbed a handful of Stregg’s long, greasy hair and cut off a lock with his dagger. After he added the lock to the bowl, he said, “Now bare your arm so I might open a vein.”
Stregg obeyed. Gorm punctured a vein in the priest’s wrist and held it over the bowl, releasing the arm only when the bowl was nearly full of blood. “Before you bandage that,” said Gorm, “I’ll take the flesh.” Gorm pinched the skin of Stregg’s lower arm just below the elbow and passed his blade between his fingers and the arm to slice away a piece of skin the size of a large coin. Stregg clenched his teeth in pain, but said nothing. “There’s cloth to wrap your wounds,” said Gorm as he added the flesh to the bowl.
As Stregg bandaged himself, Gorm continued talking. “Now, we must contact our master. After you become the More Holy One, I’ll instruct you on how to do this. The sole thing you need know tonight is that you can do this only from inside the protection of a circle of blood and the blood must come from a male.”
“A male child?” asked Stregg.
“Any male will do,” replied Gorm. “I use children because they’re convenient. The important thing is that there must be no gap in the circle and you cannot leave its confines while our master is present. Break either of these rules and you’ll be fortunate to be only maimed. I knew one man who was reduced to a living cinder. Now cut that boy’s throat.”
Stregg did as he was told. He also painted the circle under Gorm’s watchful eye. Afterward, he knelt inside it with the Most Holy One, who silently performed the necessary meditations. The Devourer’s presence was signaled by a sudden drop in temperature, a dimming of the lamp’s flame, and an oppressive atmosphere of malice. Then the contents of the bowl, which Gorm had set on the floor outside the circle, began to boil. The boiling produced thick black smoke that had a harsh, putrescent stench. It was all Stregg could do to keep from gagging.
After a while, the bowl stopped smoking. Still, Gorm cautioned Stregg to stay within the circle until the room warmed and the atmosphere of malice dissipated. At last, Gorm stepped from the circle and handed Stregg the bowl. It was still warm, and its contents were reduced to tarry goo. Gorm handed him a spoon. “Eat what’s in the bowl and you’ll become the More Holy One. Afterward, we’ll celebrate with wine. It will help wash the taste away.”
Gorm’s apartments were at the very top of the palace, adjoining the entrance to the divining tower. The rusty iron door leading to them looked strictly utilitarian. It opened to a short hallway sealed by another equally plain iron door. Consequently, the gold-paneled room behind it seemed all the more dazzling. Huge bas-reliefs depicting historic scenes caught and reflected the light from dozens of candles. Stregg was momentarily stunned by the grandeur of the chamber. When he recovered, he walked over to the nearest relief to examine it more closely. “Does this portray the destruction of Karm’s temple?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Gorm. “It’s my most recent acquisition. The artist actually participated in the slaughter.” He pointed to another relief. “That’s the battle of Karvakken Pass.” He gestured to a wall covered with flat sheets of gold. “And that’s where the Rising will go.”
Stregg grinned. “An event that will happen in my lifetime, now that I’m the More Holy One.”
“That would be so even if you hadn’t become immortal.” Gorm clapped his hand, and a girl of perhaps fifteen winters entered the room. She was dressed in a short black tunic so sheer that Stregg could faintly view her nakedness. She was beautiful, but it was her white hair, pink eyes, and pale, almost transparent skin that made her striking. “Bring wine,” Gorm commanded.
As the girl hurried to obey, Stregg turned to his host. “She’s stunning. What’s her name?”
“I don’t give them names,” said Gorm. “But this one’s unusual. I ordered her from Larresh, sight unseen. They had to ship her in a bag, for the sun blisters her.”
“So ye think the Rising—” Stregg stopped talking when the girl returned with wine and goblets.
“You can speak freely around her,” said Gorm. “I remove the tongues of all my girls.”
“A wise precaution,” said Stregg, “and a cure for prattling as well.”
“Yes,” said Gorm. “All they can do is moan.”
“So ye think this Lord Bahl may be the final one?”
“I’m sure of it. The boy’s shown remarkable abilities for one still incomplete.”
“Incomplete?”
“He has yet to drink his mother’s blood to realize his true potential. Currently, the Devourer is divided between them.”
“But his mother’s dead,” said Stregg. “Bahl told me so.”
Gorm smiled. “I know he believes that, which will make everything much easier. Usually Lord Bahl never sees his mother until the suckling. At the ceremony, she’s just some stranger to him. Only afterward do I reveal her identity.” Gorm paused, seemingly puzzled. “You’d think it wouldn’t bother them, but it always does. And then afterward, the knowledge hardens them. This time, I expect my revelation to have an especially strong effect.”
“Don’t ye worry about him lashing out?”
“Ha! Lord Bahl is only the Devourer’s vessel, and I’m the Most Holy One. This is my palace, in truth. That’s why I live in golden rooms while Bahl dwells in wooden ones.”
Gorm’s slave gave him his wine in a golden goblet and then gave Stregg a silver one. “To the Rising!” said Gorm.
Stregg clinked his goblet against his host’s. “To the Rising!” He drank deeply in an effort to cleanse the foul taste from his mouth. “Ye said it will be soon.”
“When Lord Bahl’s complete, his army will pour into Averen. All those he doesn’t slay, he’ll inflame to swell his forces for Vinden’s destruction. When the slaughter is sufficient, the Devourer will burst forth from his fleshy prison to stride the world and reign forever. And we’ll be his immortal servants, as exalted and feared as the god we serve.”
“And when will Bahl be complete?”
“Spring will bring the blood we need.”
“The mother’s blood?”
“Yes,” replied Gorm, his eyes alight. “She’ll come on her own accord, bound by the doom that binds the world.”
FIFTY-ONE
BY THE time Yim awoke, the glowing sphere that lit the downy chamber had grown dim. The light it shed was no longer the rosy shade of dawn, but the soft blue of twilight. Yim looked about and saw that she was alone; even the rabbits had departed. Her first thought was of Honus. Thistle said I needn’t fear to tup him, she thought, feeling a warm flush of excitement. For a moment, she wondered if she could trust Thistle’s word. She’s no ordinary girl, Yim reminded herself, recalling how Lila—another faerie-kissed child—had known about her feelings for Honus. Thistle’s no different. Moreover, Yim desperately wanted to believe her.
Yim felt something in her hand and saw the walnut comb. It reminded her that Thistle had spoken of far grimmer matters. That dampened Yim’s mood until she recalled that Thistle had said she should go to Bahland in the spring. “That’s moons away,” said she aloud, thinking of all t
he bliss she could fit into that span. With that in mind, Yim was eager to leave the tower. The idea of dressing in the snow was unpleasant, and Yim wanted to get it over quickly. She slithered up the narrow, twisting tunnel as fast as she could manage, steeling herself for the cold that waited. On her second turn, Yim saw greenish light ahead and sped up her pace.
Even before Yim emerged from the burrow, she was puzzled. By the time she exited the hole, she was stunned. There was no snow. Nor were there dead plants. Instead, the interior of the tower was filled with greenery and spring flowers. The oak had shed its brown leaves and was sprouting new ones. Yim looked for her gown and found it blown to the ground. A few shoots had even pushed through the fabric. She could find only one shoe, and some animal had thoroughly gnawed it.
Dressing in the mild air, Yim hoped that the change of seasons was limited to the confines of the tower and the outside world would still be wrapped in winter. When Yim walked to the opening in the tower wall, her wishful thinking was dashed; the countryside was in the flush of spring. She had “napped” through her stretch of potential bliss, and that made her angry. Why did Thistle trick me? It seemed cruel until she recalled that Thistle had told her she was safe in the tower. In that light, Yim’s nap likened to the time when she had evaded Lord Bahl by hibernating with a bear.
Although disappointed, Yim forgave Thistle. She sighed and said to herself, “I can only hope Honus is still here.” Yim was about to cross the log when she noticed a garland in the pathway. It was woven from violets and looked so fresh that Yim glanced about to see if Thistle had just tossed it there. She saw no sign of the girl. As Yim placed the garland on her head, she caught its sweet, spicy fragrance. It stirred earthy feelings that seemed especially appropriate to the season. Yim thought of how fine a spring night would be for love, and her lips curved into a voluptuous smile. She remained smiling as she skipped across the log, climbed down to the courtyard, and hurried to the manor house.
When Yim entered the manor, she could hear the sounds of talk and dining coming from the banquet hall. She peered in its doorway and saw Honus seated at the head table. The meal was an informal one with less than two dozen diners, and Yim had no qualms about interrupting it. Her bare feet made virtually no sound upon the wooden floor, but soon her footsteps were the loudest sound in the hall. Her sudden appearance silenced everyone.
Honus stared at her, transfixed. Yim gazed back at him, ignoring all the other eyes upon her, yet feeling them nonetheless. She was fully aware that she had become the personification of desire. Her eyes, her lips, her every movement bespoke of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and believed that she deserved it. A heady scent of violets and musk filled the hall, transforming all the diners into flushed-faced statues.
Her eyes ever on Honus, Yim mounted the stairs with sensuous slowness, enjoying the way her hips and breasts moved beneath the fabric of her gown. Her every movement conveyed her feeling that she was both the essence of womanhood and its perfection. Although she hadn’t eaten in moons, the smell of food had no affect on her. She was gripped by a different hunger, one that had been denied far longer. Striding up to Honus, Yim softly stroked his face. “Come,” she said, her voice low and earthy. “We’ve waited far too long.”
Honus rose from the bench like a man in a dream who is helpless yet willing. No other words were spoken. In the perfection of the moment, the conventions of courtesy seemed meaningless. Yim silently took Honus’s hand, and the two departed the hall as those left behind watched dumbstruck. Neither said a word until they reached Honus’s room beneath the eaves. It was strewn with so many violets that Yim crushed them with every step, releasing their scent. Yet the unexpected flowers seemed less a marvel than the rapture she felt. “Honus, I’ve loved you ever since our spirits mingled when I restored your life.” It was the first time that Yim had admitted her deed, yet Honus didn’t seem surprised. “Our love wasn’t Karm’s gift,” she whispered, “it was yours. And I want—I need—to experience it fully.” Yim kissed his lips. “Make love to me.”
It seemed to Yim that Honus’s face softened before her eyes, the way a craggy mountain softens in spring. His fingertips touched her face as gently as a warm breeze. His touch was his answer, and it spoke to her of his tenderness, longing, and adoration. It was also suffused with primal urgency that more than hinted of a memorable night ahead.
Honus’s lips softly brushed hers. They lingered there, growing more hungry and passionate as they embraced. When Yim felt that she could no longer stand to have anything between her body and Honus, she pulled off her gown with his help. It felt wonderful to be naked before him, to see his eyes take in her body and feel his hands explore it. She briefly luxuriated in his caresses before she removed his clothes, so she could rediscover his body.
When they were both nude, they retreated to the bed. As the light coming from the dormer window faded, fingers, lips, and tongues did the work of eyes. Yim felt she was a musical instrument strummed by a master. The sweetness of his playing was as delightful as it was new. When he finally entered her, Yim was ready and expectant. She shuddered with delight. Soon joy and pleasure mounted ever higher until it spread like waves surging over her body. She trembled and cried out in ecstasy. Warmth that was more than warmth flowed through her, leaving happy contentment that washed away the taint and pain of her nightmare tryst with Lord Bahl.
“Yim … Yim … Yim,” whispered Honus, his voice as soft and sweet as syrup. He spoke her name like a Seer chanting to the goddess, each word rich with reverence and devotion. She felt truly and totally loved, and it made her want to weep with happiness. She kissed Honus instead.
“That was truly my first time,” Yim said. “What happened before never counted.”
“Was it worth so long a wait?” asked Honus.
Yim kissed her reply, then giggled. “You know what’s the best thing about sleeping for five moons straight? I’m not the least bit sleepy.”
“How about hungry?”
Yim moaned. “Oh, why did you say that? I’m suddenly starving.”
Honus got out of bed and pulled on his pants. “I’ll see if I can get something from the pantry.” He opened the door and found a tray on the floor in the hallway. On it was a jug of wine, two goblets, and all manner of delicacies. He brought the tray into the room. “I suspect we have Cara to thank for this. She’s always been the romantic.”
Yim smiled. “If she had her way, we’d have tupped long ago in the Bridge Inn.” Her expression turned serious. “And Lord Bahl would have overrun Averen and the whole world, I suppose.”
“You’ve always put others before your own desires,” said Honus.
“Not tonight!” Yim’s smile returned and blossomed into a grin. “Let’s eat! But before you join me, take off those pants.”
They ate nude by candlelight. The food included a small fowl, bread, cheese, and a wide variety of sweets. After Yim took the edge off her hunger, she dipped her fingers into a bowl of honey and smeared some on her nipples. “Well, somebody better lick this off,” she said. That began a lover’s game in which honey was smeared in ever more imaginative places. It concluded with lovemaking on the flower-strewn floor.
Afterward, they ate some more, brushed violets from their moist skin, and retired to bed. There, Yim declared that in homage to Karm she intended to kiss the length of each scar Honus had received in the goddess’s service. By then, the candle had burned out, and she was forced to find each one by feel. She managed, although Honus had an extensive collection of old wounds, and she made up a few as she went.
Honus reciprocated, but he didn’t have to search for Yim’s injuries. He knew them all by heart. First he kissed the small mark on her foot where the dark man had paralyzed her with his venomed sword. Yim was surprised that he knew about it, for she had lied about that encounter. Then he kissed the scar made by an arrow on the night Hommy was slain. It was on Yim’s back and he was the one who had stitched it closed. Next he kissed the mark
on her chin made by a peasant intent on her death. She had received that one as Honus’s Bearer. Last of all, he kissed the long gash in her neck, the other wound she had lied to him about.
Afterward, they tupped one more time in a leisurely way that was more about intimacy and togetherness than passion. That finally spent them, and entangled together, they drifted off to sleep where they entered each other’s dreams.
There were ewers of water and a copper tub outside Yim and Honus’s door. They discovered them when they rose at midmorning. The water had cooled, but Yim was glad for a chance to bathe. Honus washed her and she washed him. It was pleasantly arousing, and if Yim hadn’t felt sore, she might have pulled Honus back into bed. Instead, she suggested that they go to breakfast.
“Cara will be waiting,” warned Honus.
“Of course,” said Yim. “There’ll be no evading her. We’re lucky she didn’t wake us.”
They dressed and went down to the room off the kitchen where the house hold ate the morning porridge. The room was empty, except for Cara. She was beaming. “Well, Yim, you certainly made an entrance last night! I tingle just recalling it.”
“I suppose you want to know what happened,” said Honus.
“Zounds, Honus. Do I want to know the sun rises in the morn? Or that the lake is watery? I’m a married woman with an excellent imagination. I’m na curious, I’m happy for you both. And about time, too! So, Yim, what did Violet tell you that I didn’t say before?”
“That it’d be safe.”
“Safe? I do na understand.”
“You know of the thing within me. She assured me that it could do no harm.”
The Iron Palace Page 35
