Everyone upon the deck was perfectly still. Honus had no choice. Froan stared at the patch of sky that had held his mother. He appeared changed, and despite Honus’s earlier impressions, his feelings went out to the boy. The two priests looked stunned, apparently unable to grasp what had taken place.
The priest who wore the gold chain moved first, or rather his skin moved. It developed a wet sheen and began to ripple as if tiny creatures were moving beneath its surface. The priest’s face turned grayish and swelled a bit before those creatures began emerging from his pores. To Honus, they looked like maggots, except they were gray and grew with unnatural speed. As they commenced consuming the man’s flesh, he still didn’t seem to understand what was happening. He raised his hands to his face to touch it, but gray worms also covered his fingers. As he watched, his nails fell off like withered leaves. Honus could glimpse patches of yellow bone beneath the crawling gray.
When the priest saw his ruined hands, he screamed in terror, but the horrendous noise was soon muffled by the gray, living vomit that boiled from his mouth. Then it seemed to Honus that all the agents of decay feasted on the man without ending his suffering. He lost his skin, yet his lidless eyes still moved, filled with panic and agony. They continued doing so even when they peered from sockets in a yellowish skull. The mouth opened and closed long after its lips, cheeks, and tongue were gone. It stopped only when the jawbone tumbled to the iron deck.
Still, the man remained standing for far longer than Honus believed possible, a living skeleton swathed in black. At last, the gruesome remnant of the priest collapsed, yet still it moved feebly. The remaining priest watched in appalled silence as the man was reduced to bone that crumbled into dust that the sea wind blew away.
The whole process seemed quick, but when it was over, Honus realized that it was dusk. Both the priest and Froan appeared as stunned as Honus felt, but the priest recovered first. He grinned and lifted up the golden chain from the dusty pile of crumpled clothes. Then he held it up to admire in the dying light. A single gray maggot fell from the links onto his wrist. He tried to flick it off, but it disappeared beneath his skin. Dropping the gold chain, the priest clawed at his wrist with his nails. Although he bloodied himself, it was of no use. His hand turned grayish and began to swell. When maggots broke through his skin, the man shrieked. He glanced about in panic, then leapt from the deck. His screams stopped only when he struck the rocks below.
That left Froan and Honus atop the tower. Throughout the priests’ grisly deaths, Froan’s attention remained focused on the empty sky, and his expression was a combination of revelation and despair. Then he rose as one waking from a nightmare. He picked up the stone blade and walked toward Honus. For an instant, Honus thought the boy would cut his throat. Then he saw Froan’s eyes. They had become as dark as Yim’s, and tears streamed from them. Without a word, Froan carefully sliced through Honus’s bindings. It took a while, and when Honus was finally free, Froan held out the knife. “Kill me. I deserve it.”
Honus took the knife. Froan shut his flowing eyes. Then it finally occurred to Honus that the boy’s grief might match his own. Honus’s feelings of shock and loss were so great that he could scarcely think, but he realized that he must. He had to, for Yim’s sake. She had sacrificed her life for Froan. Honus felt his duty was to ensure her sacrifice hadn’t been pointless. He tried to use his training to subdue his grief, but only his love for Yim allowed him to succeed.
Froan was still waiting for the fatal blow, so Honus raised the knife. Then, with all his strength, Honus threw it down on the iron deck. As the blade shattered, he grabbed Froan in case the boy tried to leap to his death. Hugging him close, Honus said, “Your mother traded her life for yours. She wanted you to live.”
Froan began to sob, and each sob racked his entire body. All the while, Honus held him in a gentle but firm grip. It was a long time before Froan was able to speak. “I didn’t know she was Mam. I thought she was dead.” Froan seemed on the verge of sobbing again. “Why should I live? I’ve led such an evil life!”
“Your mother never believed you were evil, only that evil possessed you,” said Honus. “Now you’re free of the Devourer, and the world is also. Today, your mother fulfilled her life’s purpose.”
“Her life’s purpose? Mam was only a goatherd.”
“She was far more than that. Karm named her the Chosen. Your mother was destined to bear you, and she believed that she was destined to save you, too.”
Froan looked confused. “The Chosen?” he said. “She never told me that.”
“How could she? You were possessed by the Devourer. But know this: Your mother was holy.”
“And I thought … I thought she was nobody.”
“Because she wore no golden chain about her neck?”
Tears welled in Froan’s eyes. “Because she was just my mam.”
“For a while, I thought she was just a slave, someone to carry my pack.”
“What changed your mind?”
“One night in Karm’s ruined temple, she revealed herself to me. Not all of herself, but enough that I saw her holiness and became her Sarf. Then my role was to serve her and follow her guidance. I believe that’s still my role. Allow me to serve her by helping you.”
“Mam spoke of you,” said Froan. “She said you were my father.”
The revelation came as a surprise, and it was a long moment before Honus replied. “I should take that as an omen.”
“Then tell me what to do.”
“For a start, get far from here.”
“But I can’t leave Mam lying on the rocks.”
“No, we can’t,” said Honus. “But we should go to her now. Chaos will soon rule this place.”
“I know a way,” said Froan.
Before leaving the tower’s platform, Honus retrieved the golden mask, but he left the gold chain untouched. After they exited the tower through an iron door and descended two flights of stairs, Froan led Honus to a luxurious suite of rooms paneled in dark wood. In one of them, Froan pulled aside a particularly gruesome tapestry. Behind it was a paneled wall that looked no different from the others. Yet when Froan pushed against the wood, the paneling proved to be a door. Beyond it were torches, along with the means to light them, and spiral stairs leading downward.
Froan lit a torch, handed it to Honus, and lit one for himself. “I’ve never used these stairs, but they’re supposed to lead to the bottom of the cliff.”
“Do you want to get anything before we leave?” asked Honus.
“Everything here belongs to Lord Bahl,” said Froan. “I’ll take nothing but this robe on my back.” He pulled the door closed.
The climb down the second set of spiral stairs was far longer than the climb from the tower. Honus surmised they had passed below the palace’s lowest floor when the stairs and walls were no longer built of stone blocks but were carved from solid rock. The effort required to create such a stairway seemed evidence of Lord Bahl’s power. Honus reflected that Yim had succeeded in overcoming that power while army after army had failed. That thought caused his grief to return with renewed force, and he had to struggle against it. There’ll be ample time to mourn later, he told himself. Get Froan to safety first.
The stairway was narrow and steep. It also seemed endless, but eventually they reached an iron door. “When this door closes,” said Froan, “we won’t be able to open it from the outside.”
“Then say farewell to the Iron Palace.”
They pushed the heavy door open and discovered its exterior was covered with stone. Beyond the opening was a jumble of huge boulders. No moon shone, so the black rocks outside the circle of torchlight blended into a mass of shadow. Froan and Honus advanced into the shadow to search for Yim’s remains. Behind them, the door slammed shut and merged with the cliff.
The damp air was filled with the sounds and smells of the restless sea, which left pools in the low places between boulders. In one such pool, he found what was left of the More Holy
Stregg. His shattered corpse was crawling with crabs. Honus hoped that Yim had fared better. He and Froan wandered about for a long time before Froan’s torch illuminated something white atop the highest boulder. He called to Honus, and they went to investigate together.
They discovered Yim’s tunic. It was perfectly dry and the girdle was still tied about its waist. That was all they found. There was no body, nor even a bloodstain. The garment lay there as if Yim had stripped it off and cast it down before vanishing into thin air. Honus stared at it, shaking his head in puzzlement. “Let’s keep looking,” said Froan.
Seeking clues of Yim’s final moments, Honus attempted to trance. However, for the first time since he was a small boy, he was unable to visit the Dark Path. He tried for a long while before concluding that Karm had withdrawn her gift. Afterward, Honus resumed searching for Yim, even though he was convinced that they would find nothing. He had no explanation for his conviction, so he didn’t mention it to Froan. They searched long into the night, but the tunic proved the only trace of Yim. At last, as gently as possible, Honus suggested that they leave. “I fear what the dawn will bring,” he said. Then he told a lie. “And I’m certain the sea has claimed your mother’s body.”
The two climbed the steps carved into the bayside cliff and crossed the narrow ledge behind the palace’s rear wall. When Honus reached the crevice containing the hidden packs, he climbed down to retrieve them. He also brought up Yim’s cloak and gave it to Froan. They headed south just as the sky was beginning to lighten in the east. Both Froan and Honus were tired, but they knew that Bahland was on the brink of anarchy and not all evil had departed from the world. They trudged onward until noon. Then they rested as a column of black smoke began to rise from the direction of the Iron Palace.
FIFTY-NINE
HONUS AND Froan ate their first meal together in awkward silence. Instead of talking, they watched smoke from the distant palace smudge the sky. Honus was unsure what to say, and he sensed Froan felt the same way. Although Honus had become Theodus’s Sarf at only sixteen, he couldn’t help but see Froan as a boy. Moreover, their differences went far beyond age. Every aspect of their lives differed: Froan had grown up with Yim in the Grey Fens. Honus had reached manhood in Karm’s temple without ever seeing his parents. Aside from those few facts, Honus knew nothing of Froan’s life, except that he had been Lord Bahl. He assumed Froan was equally ignorant about him.
Yim is all we have in common, thought Honus. Nevertheless, that seemed a significant bond. Yim had loved Froan, and to honor her, Honus felt that he should try to befriend her son. Wondering how to bridge the gap between the boy and himself, he thought of Yim and was inspired. “Did you ever eat a wood grub?”
Froan shifted his eyes to Honus, clearly surprised by the question. “They were Mam’s favorite treat.” Froan smiled sadly at the memory. “She’d get so excited when she found some. Then we’d have a little feast.”
“You liked them, too?”
“Of course. They’re like mushrooms, only creamy.”
“That’s what your mother told me. But, to speak truth, I couldn’t bear the sight of them. Your mother laughed at me and said ‘I thought Sarfs were brave.’ She was only my slave then, but already I suspected she had power.”
“I never thought of Mam as powerful.”
“By the time she terrorized me with those grubs, she had also cured a madwoman, overcome a sorcerer, and received a vision of the massacre at Karvakken Pass.”
“There were pictures of that battle all over the Iron Palace,” said Froan. “Did she say anything about it?”
“It horrified her,” said Honus, recalling the aftermath of Yim’s vision and how shaken and vulnerable she had seemed. “She said she had been waist-deep in blood.”
Froan shook his head. “I always thought that tapestry exaggerated the blood.” He shuddered. “That palace was a pit of horrors. To think I called it home!”
“It wasn’t your home. It was the Devourer’s lair.”
“And Gorm’s.”
“Who’s he?”
“The priest with the gold chain. He said he witnessed that battle, and I believe he told the truth. But he lied about other things. That ritual, for example. He had to know that Mam was beneath that mask, and yet he …” Froan’s face reddened. “He deserved what happen to him!”
“And now he’ll stand before Karm for judgment. If you’re right, then it’s a judgment he long evaded.”
“Even when I was Lord Bahl, I was afraid of him.” Froan shook his head. “I suspect it was he who killed my father, not Mam.”
“Your mother certainly didn’t.”
“Then my father’s spirit lied to me, or at least, he twisted the truth. That’s why I ran away. He said I was destined to be a great lord, though he didn’t say which one.” Froan sighed. “I’m a fool, and a wicked one, too.”
“You’re only those things if you refuse to change,” said Honus. “Do you feel up to some more walking?”
“Let’s go. If I couldn’t walk from here, I’d crawl.”
As the two trekked through the back ways of Bahland, they continued reminiscing about Yim, each filling in gaps that the other didn’t know. The more they conversed, the more accustomed they grew to each other. When dusk arrived, they camped without a fire, though a chill wind blew from the west. Froan knew his former subjects well enough to agree with Honus on the wisdom of avoiding them. Since Honus had lost his cloak in the Iron Palace, they shared Yim’s.
Cara woke with a start. Havren was peacefully snoring beside her, but there seemed to be a ghost at the foot of their bed. Then she realized that it was only Thistle. Her pale skin seemed white in the dim bedroom, and it was still wet from her long swim from the faerie dell. She wore a garland of white roses in her wet hair and nothing else. Cara was about to scold her for going about unclothed, when she wondered how her daughter had entered the manor house, which had been locked for the night.
“Mama,” said Thistle in a soft voice infused with wonder. “Mother has saved the world!”
“Do you mean Yim?”
“Aye.”
“When is she coming back?”
“Never.”
Cara’s eyes filled with tears. “She’s dead.”
“Do na be sad, Mama. Only Mother’s body died.”
“And Honus?”
“Karmamatus lives. But his heart’s wounded, and he must journey far to heal it. Do na look to see him in the living world.”
“So I’m never to learn what becomes of him?”
“You will in time, Mama. One day we’ll journey to Bremven and hear the tale from your namesake. She’ll be the one who’ll know it best.”
Cara was confused, but turned to awake her husband and tell him what news made sense to her. When she glanced back toward Thistle, she was gone.
It took Honus and Froan seven days to reach Bahland’s borders and three more to reach a sizable village. Over that space of time, they’d grown easy in their companionship. When the village came into sight, Honus shed his pack, took out the golden mask, and handed it to Froan. “With this, you’ll have the means to start your new life.”
Froan regarded him with a surprised and slightly hurt expression. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve brought you to safety to honor your mother. You owe me nothing for that, so I won’t burden you further. This gold can buy you a fine holding where you can raise goats or crops as you deem fit. Or you can purchase the means to follow a trade, though I hope not one involving arms.”
“I thought we’d be a pair,” said Froan. “Like you and Theodus were.”
“Theodus was a holy man. I’m only a Sarf. No … I’m not even that.”
“I lost Mam. Am I to lose you, too?”
Honus looked at Froan and saw tears welling in his eyes. “I’m old and useless. What good is a Sarf who’s renounced the sword?”
“When did you do that?”
“The counsel of a child has been much on my
mind. She said weapons aren’t Karm’s tools. After what I’ve seen, I’ve decided to heed her wisdom,” replied Honus. “Since my only skill is killing, I won’t be much use.”
“You’d serve as a good example,” said Froan, “especially to one who was once Lord Bahl. Please, Honus, there’s no reason for us to part ways.”
“But what do you want to do?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Froan. “What do you want to do?”
“I’ve wandered all my life,” said Honus. “It might be good to settle down.”
“That sounds fine to me. But where?”
“Somewhere off the beaten track.” Honus thought a moment. “Luvein.”
“The province ruined by the first Lord Bahl?”
“The same. It may sound like a strange choice, but if the world has changed—and I believe it has—then Luvein will have changed the most.”
A portion of the mask was sufficient to purchase a horse and cart and to fill it with tools, seed stock, and other supplies. Since it was late to start planting, Honus and Froan hurried their trip to Luvein. Along the way, Froan procured some goats. In light of his recent experiences, the routine of milking no longer seemed unpleasant and it reminded him of his mother. Moreover, he missed her cheese. They entered the former province from the west, and when they reached the abandoned imperial highway, they took it north.
That portion of their journey followed the route Honus had traveled with Yim, and it was there that Honus found the changes most pronounced. Luvein no longer seemed cursed. Freed of its pall of malevolence, the land responded with renewed fecundity. Flowers crowded out the withered nettles and prickly weeds. The trees shed their shrouds of thorny vines. The meadows were filled with birdsong and the woods ran thick with game. The echoes of war and devastation had dwindled to peaceful silence.
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