[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers (11 page)

Yim made her way through the outer chambers into the sunlight. Then she sped back down the path as quickly as she could. Terror spurred her more than fear of pursuit; she craved to be far from the horrors in the dark building. When Yim encountered the stream, she followed it toward the road. The brambles that crowded the waterway’s bank scratched her arms and legs, but she was mindless of her hurts. Her only concern was to reach the place Honus had left her before he returned from his hunt. She was approaching the road when she spied him following tracks that she thought she had skillfully hidden. Knowing that she had no other option, Yim stepped into the stream, feeling apprehensive. Then she called out, “Master!”

Honus bounded up to her. The rage tattooed on his face seemed to mirror his true feelings. Yim steeled herself for his blows, but he halted without striking her. “Is this how you rest? By betraying my kindness?”

“Master…”

“Take care how you answer. A lie will serve you ill.”

“I…I ran away, Master.”

“I thought as much.”

“But I was coming back.”

Honus took in the darkening bruise on Yim’s shin, her bloody scratches, and the lingering look of terror in her eyes. “Why? Didn’t you enjoy your freedom?”

“I’ve had a change of heart. I truly have.”

“What inspired this miracle?” asked Honus, giving the impression that he had some idea.

Yim chose an answer that was vague but honest. “I didn’t value your protection until I was without it. Now I know I’m safer with you.”

“And I’ve learned you’re nothing but aggravation.”

It suddenly occurred to Yim that Honus might abandon her. That seemed far worse than any beating, and the prospect panicked her. “But you still need me!”

“Perhaps. Theodus said I should never carry my own burden, so I believed I needed you to bear my pack.”

“Surely that hasn’t changed.”

“Bearers often speak in obscure ways. Perhaps I mistook his meaning.”

Yim felt a chill at the pit of her stomach. “Please don’t leave me here!”

“I’m only a Sarf. It’s not my place to gainsay my Bearer.”

“I’ll be less aggravating, Master. I swear!”

Honus made a show of deliberating before he replied. “See that you are,” he said at last. Then he turned and began striding toward the road. “Come and get my pack.”

Relieved, Yim limped behind him as fast as she could.

THIRTEEN

H
ONUS AND
Yim returned to the ruined house. After Yim shouldered the pack, they resumed their journey. Yim was shaken by her experience and in far worse shape than before. Nevertheless, she struggled gamely to keep up. Pleased by her show of effort, Honus slowed his pace until they walked abreast. After a while, he decided to test Yim’s newfound docility. “Tell me,” he said, “what happened between you and Gan’s mother?”

“I merely tried to humor her.”

“I think you did more than that,” said Honus, watching Yim carefully.

“Who can fathom a mind such as hers?” replied Yim. “Perhaps it helped her to think I was her daughter.”

“What
really
happened that night?”

“I tried to steal some ale. That’s all.”

Honus continued to look Yim in the eye. She met his gaze until he looked away, shaking his head. “I don’t understand you.”

“There’s nothing to understand,” replied Yim. “I’m only a girl who carries your pack.”

Honus grunted.

“You’ve never had a slave before, have you?”

“No. But already I find it tiresome.”

“That’s because it’s unnatural to own someone. You should stop trying.”

“Unnatural or not, I expect you to obey me.”

“I will, Master,” said Yim with meekness Honus didn’t find entirely each other convincing.

“We need endure each other for only a short while,” said Honus, as much for his benefit as Yim’s. “Then our ways will part forever.”

For a while, Honus and Yim passed isolated farms that were usually crude hovels surrounded by stony fields. What folk they spied fled at the sight of Honus. After the road climbed to higher ground, they encountered no one. The sole signs of habitation were ancient ones and long abandoned. Honus left the road well before sunset to camp. Yim gathered wood, built a fire, and cooked porridge. Honus had caught no game, so the boiled grain comprised their dinner. Exhausted, Yim cooked and ate in silence, then fell asleep while it was still light.

When the two resumed their journey, Yim played a willing servant. Although she fell short of being cheerful, her demeanor gave Honus hope that she’d be less grating in the future.
She seems to have accepted her lot,
he thought.

Despite Yim’s improved attitude, Honus dreaded the journey ahead. He was familiar with Luvein, for he and Theodus had trekked up and down it. The way was hard, for the roadways were abandoned. There were perils as well. Luvein’s tragic history had left a legacy of evil. The malevolent found refuge in the empty countryside, and there were haunted spots as well, malign places where travelers were prone to misfortune. But it wasn’t hardship or danger that disheartened Honus; as a Sarf, he was used to both. What discouraged him was the prospect of a journey without Theodus.

Honus’s late master not only had provided companionship, but had given meaning to Honus’s life. Through obeying Theodus, Honus believed he was serving Karm. Since infancy, he had been taught that was the highest good. His role didn’t require him to understand his master’s ends, only to help fulfill them. Sometimes Honus fought for causes that Theodus deemed worthy. Sometimes he merely gathered firewood. Whatever Honus did served a purpose. Without Theodus, the trek through Luvein would be nothing more than a long and arduous hike.

Moreover, Honus dreaded the journey’s conclusion. He had served only one master, and the idea of getting a new one daunted him. Honus couldn’t imagine anyone taking the place of one he so loved and revered. Yet he was a Sarf, and a Sarf’s function was to serve a Bearer. When he reached the temple, both he and Yim would get new masters. Honus glanced at his slave as she trudged uphill, bent beneath the pack. She gazed ahead with eyes already dulled by weariness.
What hope has she for the future?
It seemed to Honus that in the bleakness of her prospects, Yim and he were kindred.

As noon approached, they descended into a valley. There, Yim was surprised when Honus led her away from the road and up a wooded rise. Upon it was the ruin of a delicate stone building that provided more a semblance of shelter than its substance. Some of the many windows that perforated its partial walls retained stone mullions so finely carved that they blended with the vines entwining them.

“Set down your burden,” said Honus. “I intend to seek what game’s about.” After Yim unshouldered the pack, he asked, “Need I bind you for my absence?”

“No, Master. I’ll never run away again. I swear by Karm.” Yim arched her thumb in the Sign of the Balance.

Honus seemed satisfied. He removed his cloak and handed it to Yim. “Find a spot to rest. You’ll be safe here.” Then Honus took a sling from the pack, gathered stones, and slipped noiselessly into the woods.

In one corner of the ruin, a portion of a vaulted roof remained, and the leaves beneath it were dry. Yim laid Honus’s tattered, bloodstained cloak upon them. As she did so, she reflected that his garment was not as fine as hers.
With so many wares to choose from, why would he purchase me a cloak that was better than his own? Why is he so contradictory—sometimes harsh and sometimes gentle?
Yim lay upon Honus’s cloak and curled up beneath her own. Soon her master was forgotten as sleep overwhelmed her.

Yim woke to view the light of afternoon glowing on the ruined walls. Honus sat nearby. “Have I slept overlong?” she asked.

“Don’t concern yourself with that. We’ll travel faster with you rested.”

Yim rose, brushed off Honus’s cloak and handed it to him. “Thank you for letting me sleep.”

“Let’s leave this place,” said Honus. “It’s less tranquil than it seems.”

The remark caused Yim to guess that Honus had tranced. She went to get the pack and discovered two slain hares tied to it. Her mouth watered at the prospect of a hearty meal. As they started out, she said, “I’ll look for wild onions and thyme as we walk. They add a fine flavor to roast hare.”

“That sounds good,” replied Honus. “We’ll camp again in the open. There’s no chance of finding hospitality.”

“The last place we lodged was certainly ill-favored,” said Yim, thinking of her brush with Auntie Flora. “Are all the folk here as poor as Gan and his mother?”

“Most are even more desperate.” Honus gave Yim a knowing look. “As perhaps you’ve discovered.”

Anxious to deflect Honus’s line of thought, Yim replied, “No wonder Gan was so grudging.”

“It goes deeper than that. The servants of Karm are seldom welcome here.”

“It has something to do with that pendant, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, many in Luvein have turned to the Devourer.”

“Why’s that?” asked Yim. “Gan’s creed sounds hate-filled.”

“Haven’t you heard of the cult?”

“Only rumors. At home, all worship the goddess.”

“Just as folk oft seek the protection of violent men, they’ve turned to a bloodthirsty god. Hate can be empowering, especially to a mob. I’ve seen it firsthand—men and women shorn of their humanity and capable of any cruelty. There’s madness abroad. It’s spreading.”

“Why?”

“That’s what Theodus sought to discover, and it cost him his life.” Honus looked at Yim. “You’re trembling.”

“Just a chill,” she replied quickly. “It’ll pass when we walk a bit.”

“I think my Bearer’s fate touches you more than you pretend.”

“It concerns me only because Theodus’s counsel resulted in my purchase.”

“That was happenstance,” said Honus. “Don’t look for omens in his death.”

“What happened to him?”

“That tale isn’t good to hear,” replied Honus. “It would only trouble you as it troubles me.”

Honus grew withdrawn, and Yim didn’t question him further.

The road began to ascend again, and its winding way took Yim and Honus to a high ridgeline that headed toward a range of peaks. The ridge resembled a rocky spine, its lichen-encrusted rock softened only by stands of wind-stunted firs and pines. Yim marveled how the ancient roadway had been carved through solid rock in places. By late afternoon, the mountains ahead dominated the skyline. They looked dark and barren. Honus pointed to a notch in them. “That’s Karvakken Pass. A great fortress once stood there.”

“Is that where we’ll spend the night?”

“No,” replied Honus. “The ruin’s a fell place, even in daylight. We’ll camp near here, where it’s more wholesome.” Soon afterward, he left the road and followed a tiny stream until he found a sheltered spot. “This will do,” said Honus.

“I’ll gather wood,” said Yim.

“Gather a lot. The night will be cold.”

By the time Yim returned with her third load of wood, Honus had a blaze going. The hares, skinned and dressed, lay on a rock. Yim shredded the herbs she had gathered and rubbed them on the raw meat. “Your sword would make a good spit,” she said.

“I’d sooner use my hands.”

“Men and their weapons!”

“You think we prize them overmuch?”

“What kind of sword could you buy for ten coppers?”

Honus smiled. “I can see where this is going. Yes, the Balance is askew. There once were times when a Sarf might be a builder or an artist. Now, the only art we learn is that of killing.”

“Killing an
art
?”

“Call it a trade, if it makes you feel better.” Honus picked up the knife with which he had skinned the hares. “I’ve seen men do terrible things with these—cruel, inhuman things. Still, a knife can be used to prepare a meal or whittle a child’s toy.”

“Yet, you’re not a knife,” said Yim. “You’re a sword.”

Honus saw that Yim was watching him intently, and he became aware that she was probing him much as he had attempted to probe her. Despite that gaze, or perhaps because of it, he felt compelled to answer truthfully. “Yes,” he said at last. “I’m a sword, best fit for killing. I take no pride in that. I don’t believe Karm delights in death, but I think she’s sometimes served by it.”

“How can killing serve the goddess?”

“In the same way a great fire may be stopped by a small one in its path. Good people may be protected. Good laws may be upheld.”

“And what has all that killing done to
you
?”

Honus looked away so suddenly it appeared that Yim had struck him. Yet when he gazed at her again, his features were composed. Speaking in a voice that was calm but cold, he said, “It’s not your place to ask.”

FOURTEEN

I
T WAS
a frigid morning, and when Yim awoke, her back was against Honus’s chest. His arm rested on her waist and his hand gently pressed her belly. The position felt far too intimate and Yim wondered if Honus was awake. The thought alarmed her. When she tried to slip away, Honus gripped her more firmly. In the effort to get up quickly, Yim threw her elbow back and struck Honus in the chest. “I’m sorry, Master,” she said as she scurried from his reach on hands and knees.

Yim glanced nervously at Honus. His face bore the same aloof expression it had the previous evening. Like then, Yim was certain that it was a facade to hide his feelings. Beneath it, she sensed irritation. “Shall I light a fire?” she asked, hoping to defuse the situation.

Honus rose, put on his sandals, and strapped on his sword. “Break camp and shoulder the pack. We’ll warm ourselves through walking.”

“Won’t we eat first?”

“No. Now hurry up. I’m eager to depart.”

“I
said
I was sorry.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Apparently nothing,” replied Yim. Then she set about breaking camp. Soon, they were back on the road. Dark clouds hung in the sky, and the mountains ahead looked bleak. Karvakken Pass seemed particularly somber. Even from a distance, it was foreboding. Yim was dispirited, and that mood was exacerbated by her predicament with Honus.
We can never be friends,
she thought,
but must we be at odds?
She feared that might be the natural state between slave and master, but she wasn’t certain. Hoping to ease the tension, Yim tried to make conversation about something they had in common—their journey. “Master, will it take long to reach the pass?”