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malign entity that had possessed him. When Yim had bedded Bahl, that entity had passed through her to Froan. Yim was well aware of its malevolence, for having served briefly as a vessel for evil, a bit of it still lingered in her. Yim likened herself to a goblet that had held poison and was forever tainted.
    That was the real reason Yim didn’t slaughter her goats. The Devourer craved bloodshed because death fed its power. Since the sight of blood awoke that craving, Yim prevented Froan from seeing it. The only meat he ever ate was smoked until it was thoroughly dried. Whenever Yim prepared it, even she had to summon her willpower notto lick her bloody knife.
If I’m tempted, what hope has Froan?
    However, craving blood was merely an outward sign of the Devourer’s need for carnage. Lord Bahl’s name had been linked with war for generation after generation, as each son became like his father and took up the sword. As the Chosen, Yim had broken the cycle by seducing Bahl and fleeing with his unborn son. Afterward, peace had ensued.
But for how long?
    As of late, that question was constantly on Yim’s mind. She feared that the Devourer would overwhelm her son and claim him as its own. She hadn’t always felt that way. Froan had been an adorable child, and life with him on Far Hite—though hard—had been peaceful and often idyllic. As a toddler, Froan had been subject to rages, but Yim worked to help him tame them. For many winters, it seemed that she had succeeded. Yim loved Froan, set an example, taught him self-discipline, and hoped for the best. Nevertheless, she hid the knives.
    With the onset of Froan’s adolescence, Yim had become increasingly uneasy. It seemed that the dark thing inside him had been merely biding its time. Yim began to feel lonely as her son grew ever more distant. He started lying to her. Somehow he learned how to thwart her gaze so that she could no longer perceive what he was thinking. Yim soon found it necessary to veil her thoughts, for the power of Froan’s eyes had strengthened. Like his father, he began to sway others to his will. His skill at this was rudimentary compared to Lord Bahl’s, but Yim viewed Froan’s growing abilities with distress.
    What can I do?
Yim asked herself. The question had long bedeviled her.
Love is my greatest strength, but can it overcome evil?
Lately, she had come to doubt it.
I gave up so much. Was it worth it?
Yim counted what she had gained.
I obeyed the goddess and fulfilled my destiny. I thwarted Lord Bahl and brought peace. Because of me, Honus lived
. As always,thoughts of Honus evoked longing. Memories of their moments of love—they seemed only moments—were both solace and torment in her exile. Yim still wondered where Honus was and what he was doing. With all her heart, she hoped that he had found happiness.
    Yim was weary when she reached Far Hite, but she didn’t head for home. Instead, she went to the hite’s northern side to cut up the goat and smoke it while Froan slept. When Yim had first arrived at the hite, she made one of the smaller caves into a place for smoking and storing meat by constructing a door to seal its entrance. In anticipation of the night’s work, she had already erected the smoking racks and gathered wood for the fire. Yim would do the butchering on a wide, flat stone outside the cave’s entrance. Upon reaching her destination, she lay her burden down and went to light a reed torch so she could work in the dark.
    As Yim approached the torch, something white caught her eye. She froze and her heart began pounding. There was a shape just beyond a nearby tree. Though it was vaporous and indistinct, it seemed to be taking the form of a woman robed in white. Yim called out in a voice quavering with emotion, “Karm?”
    Then a breeze blew, and the shape dissipated. Yim realized that she had been peering at some mist caught in a beam of moonlight. She glanced about, saw more rising vapor, and knew that hope and a trick of