[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers (13 page)

“Yim…”

“I’ll bear your pack. That must satisfy you. I pray it satisfies Karm.”

Honus was about to reply, but Yim’s expression convinced him it would be futile. Instead, he stood up. “There’s a brook we can reach by sundown,” he said. “It’d be a good place to camp.”

Yim rose and mutely followed Honus, who respected her silence. They left the road when they reached the brook, then walked upstream until they found an open, sandy bank. Yim set down the pack and went to gather firewood. While she was away, Honus tried to catch a fish. Upon her return, he was still bent over in a stretch of quiet water with his arms submerged to the elbows. He remained perfectly still while she watched curiously. Then with a sudden movement, he scooped his arms downward and then flung a large fish at Yim’s feet.

She jumped back from the flopping trout. “Merciful Karm!” she cried.

“It’s good to know you can still talk.”

Yim didn’t seem to hear him, but a moment later she spoke. “Master, about those things I said…”

“Yes?”

“I was out of my head. Don’t pay attention to them.”

“Are you speaking of your visions?”

“I don’t have visions. Not really.”

Honus was unconvinced. “Such things are matters for Bearers and Seers. I’m only a Sarf, but I think you may have a special talent.”

“No, Master, I’m no one special. I’m only the slave who bears your pack.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s all I’ve become,” said Yim. “That’s all I can be.”

Honus thought he should be pleased by Yim’s resignation, but it depressed him. “I’m sorry you were so frightened.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“All right,” said Honus. He left the brook and walked over to examine the fish. “Do you know how to cook this? I’m unskilled at such things.”

Yim appeared glad for the change of subject. “Hot stones work well.” She went to the brook and searched for flat rocks of suitable size and shape. When she found some, she lit a fire and placed the stones in the flames to heat. While they did, she scaled and gutted the fish. By the time it was dark, the fish was baking in its makeshift oven.

“Theodus used to cook fish like that,” said Honus.

“Your master cooked for you?”

“It’s custom for a Bearer to cook.” Honus stared wistfully into the flames. “But custom or no, he would’ve done it. He was a caring man, and he liked to cook.”

Eventually, the fish was done and they ate it with some porridge. Afterward, Yim stared into the dying embers. She looked forlorn and in need of comfort. Honus spread his cloak upon the sand near the embers and Yim moved next to him. She leaned against his shoulder as might a weary child. “I think it’ll be cold tonight,” she said.

Honus put his arm around Yim. After they sat awhile, he moved his fingers up to her neck, softly caressing it. She didn’t evade his touch, but surrendered to it. The feel of her kindled Honus’s desire. He tenderly brushed Yim’s cheek, and she turned to face him. Honus gazed into her eyes. The veil that obscured her thoughts was partly asunder. He could see her despair, her loneliness, and most of all, her vulnerability. At that moment, she seemed as frail as a blossom and as beautiful. He recalled the sight of her bathing and his ardor grew.

Honus slowly moved his hand to Yim’s breast and cupped it through the thin fabric of her tunic. She didn’t pull away. His fingertips found her nipple and gently caressed it. Yim’s reaction was an almost imperceptible gasp. Honus was no stranger to lovemaking and knew how to arouse a woman. But his touch provoked only stillness. He detected neither resistance nor desire.
I can have her and not violate my pledge.
No force would be required. All he need do was assert his passion. In her fragile state, Yim would acquiesce.

But as soon as Honus realized he could fulfill his desire, he knew it would be a callous act. Four nights ago, he wouldn’t have cared. But after the day’s revelations, he saw Yim in a different light.
It’s not what she deserves
. Yet touching Yim’s body and the promise of her compliance tested Honus’s resolve. Her eyes still met his. Her parted lips were so close he could feel her breath. Yim seemed nervously expecting more intimate caresses. Only a lifetime of self-discipline allowed Honus to overcome his desire. He moved his hand away. “You must be exhausted,” he said.

Yim went limp against his shoulder. “I am, Master.”

“Then lie down and sleep, knowing you’ll be safe.”

In Durkin, an old woman peeled roots for a late supper, though her withered arm made the task a struggle. A knock on the door interrupted her. A low voice spoke from behind the barrier. “Open up, Ma, it’s Curdac.”

The woman unbolted the door to admit her son. He slipped in quickly and secured the door behind him. “Ale!” said Curdac. “I must have ale!”

“Ale’s dear,” replied his mother.

“So? That cloak I brought ye last should have paid for plenty.”

“I only got three coppers for it.”

“Pah! Don’t lie. ’Twas worth twice that. After what I’ve seen, I need drink!”

From a corner of the dingy room, the woman retrieved a jug and a bowl. When she brought them over, Curdac ignored the bowl to seize the jug and gulp from it. As he drank, his mother eyed the sack he had carried and was disappointed by its empty look. After Curdac set the jug down, she asked, “What did ye get?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Gone two weeks and nothing? And there’s fighting in Lurwic. The roads must be full of folk.”

“I went to Lurwic, and there are no folk.”

“What?” said the woman, noticing that her son was trembling.

“None on the roads. None anywhere.” Curdac reached into his sack and pulled out a child-sized shirt. It was rent with gashes and stiff with dried blood. “This was the most whole thing I found.” Curdac’s trembling became more violent. “More whole than the boy who wore it. They left nothing. No houses. No crops or cattle. No goods. Just corpses and only bits of them.” Curdac took another long draught from the jug. After several more, his hand grew steadier.

Seeing that her son had calmed somewhat, his mother attempted to ease his mood further with conversation. “I sold that cloak to a Sarf.”

“A Sarf?” replied Curdac. “What was a Sarf doing
here
?”

The old woman grinned. “Bought himself a strumpet. The cloak was for her.”

“Well, the world’s gone daft for certain. A Sarf with a whore.” Then Curdac shrugged. “Well, why not? Live while ye may. What other news?” He lifted the jug for another draught.

“A bunch of Black Robes passed through town. They were searching…”

The sound of the shattering jug interrupted her. The woman glanced at her son with surprise. A look of terror was frozen on his face, and it was a long moment before he could speak. “The Devourer’s priests are here?”

“Nay, they found what they wanted and left.”

The news did nothing to calm Curdac. “By Karm’s tits, that’s even worse! Gather up yer things Ma. We must leave by dawn.”

“Son, ye’re mad. Where will we go?”

“To the Dark Path if we stay. Those priests are an ill sign. They’re the crows that fly afore the wolf pack. Those that did bloody work in Lurwic must be headed here!”

As his mother watched openmouthed, Curdac began to dash about the room, stuffing things into his sack. He was too frantic to go about it rationally. Clothing was seized haphazardly and packed with roots, both peeled and unpeeled; dirty dishes; a stolen frock; and various household goods. His behavior inspired fear, and soon his mother was also packing. As she did, her eyes fell again on the child’s slashed and bloody shirt. It seemed a token of what would come.

SIXTEEN

I
N THE
dream, Yim revisited her childhood. She was just old enough to tend goats alone in the high meadows. The new spring grass was lush and felt soft beneath her feet. Clouds filled the valleys, so each peak about her seemed an island in a white sea. The homeward path faded into nothingness and Yim felt she was in a realm of spirits. The clouds rose higher and invaded the meadow. The grass grew pale, as did everything else.

Yim had turned to gather the goats when the mist grew bright and a young woman emerged from it. She was dressed in a simple white robe that fell halfway down her shins. About her bare feet, the grass turned white with frost. She advanced toward Yim, who was unable to flee or even move. The woman’s eyes were as dark as her hair. They fixed on Yim, who felt captured by them. The woman gazed at her, taking her measure, but with such a fond look that Yim thought she might be her mother’s spirit.

“Mommy?”

The woman smiled but shook her head. “Yim,” she said, “tonight when you return to your father, you must tell him to take you to the Wise Woman who lives above your village.”

Yim simply nodded, too astounded to ask how the strange woman knew her name.

“When you see the Wise Woman, tell her you met She Who Holds the Balance.” Yim noticed for the first time that the woman carried a set of scales. “Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes,” replied Yim, “but what if she doesn’t believe me?”

“She’ll believe you,” said the woman. “She’s expecting you. Tell her that you’re the Chosen.”

“The Chosen?”

“The Wise Woman will understand. She’ll know what to do.”

The mist grew thicker and the woman faded from view. When the air cleared, the meadow was empty except for Yim’s goats.

In the dream, Yim was also an observer hovering in the air. She cried out to her younger self, “Don’t tell anyone!” Yet, even as she said those words, she knew it would make no difference. Yim had been a dutiful child. She would give her father the message, and he would take her to the dark cottage that smelled of herbs. There, alone with the Wise Woman, Yim would recite the fateful words—“I’m the Chosen.” Afterward, her life would be ruined.

At dawn, Yim rose to prepare the morning meal. She lit a fire, then took out the grain sack and noted how little it contained. “I fear we’ll go hungry soon,” she said.

Honus peered into the sack. “If we eat sparingly, this might last us through Luvein. Then we’ll be among folk who’ll make us welcome. Meanwhile, we’ll supplement our grain by foraging and hunting.”

After a meager breakfast, they returned to the road, which descended into a rolling country. The air grew warmer, and though the land was still wild and empty, new foliage softened it. As Karvakken faded in the distance, Yim’s heart grew lighter and the way seemed less daunting.

“Master, would you tell me about Theodus?” asked Yim after they had walked awhile.

“Why?” he asked.

“The same burden that sat upon his shoulders now lies on mine. I have kindred feelings toward him, though I can’t explain why.”

“It’s hard for me to speak of him.”

“The dead find comfort when the living remember them,” said Yim. “At least, that’s what they say where I come from.”

“I think your people are wise.” Honus sighed. “I should talk of him.” After a quiet spell, he spoke in a soft voice. “Theodus was my Bearer. He was fond of pointing out that the word ‘bear’ has many meanings. It means to carry, but also to uphold…to announce…to give birth…to show patience…to render witness…to be accountable…to possess relevance…to move steadily…and, most importantly, to endure. Theodus encompassed all those meanings.”

“How did you meet him?”

“The Seers that chose me for the temple studied all us children. In time, they foretold our destinies. When I was five, I was informed I would become a Sarf. I commenced my training and also began to receive my tattoos.”

“The ones on your back or on your face?”

“My face tattoos had to be earned through mastery of the martial arts. Those on my back were divined by the Seers. Only when a child’s back is fully tattooed may he or she be paired with a Bearer. The fates of a Sarf and a Bearer are intertwined and the tattoos guide the matching. Theodus chose me when I was seven, though I didn’t begin to serve him for nine more years.”

“What did he see that made him choose you?”

“Something in my runes. I know not what. Sarfs aren’t taught to read, for the portents on their backs are supposed to be mysteries to them.”

“I think that would drive me crazy. Aren’t you tempted to peek?”

“If I could tell your future right now, would you ask me to do so? Would you really want to dread every adversity before it came to pass and never have a joyous surprise? I think not.”

“So you’ve never seen them?”

“I’ve glimpsed their reflection a few times, but as I said, I was never taught to read. They’re just scribbles to me. Though, when I was young, I was more curious about them. Theodus assured me they must be meditated upon—sometimes for years—before they make sense. He said it was life that gave them meaning.”

“Does that mean you could change their meaning by changing your life?”

“I don’t know,” Honus said. “I’ve never considered that. Perhaps Theodus did. Before we met, he had meditated for a dozen years.”

“So he was much older than you?”

“Yes,” replied Honus. “When he chose me, I thought Karm had given me a new father.”

“You must have been very fond of him.”

Honus’s eyes welled with tears, and he strode ahead to hide them. Yim hurried to catch up with him. “You honor Theodus with your feelings. There’s no shame in showing them.”

Honus let out a sob that seemed to explode from deep within. “Thirteen years I served him! Oh, the tales I could tell! He was wise, but funny, too. People liked him. With him beside me, I was never lonely. Even now, I expect to hear his laugh. My back still feels his hands upon my runes. He consulted them often and said they were his scriptures. I was useful. Now…” He gave a hopeless shrug.

Yim was unsurprised when Honus withdrew into silence, and she didn’t question him further. But when they paused to rest, she brought up Theodus again. “You said your Bearer was a funny man,” she said. “You must have many tales of his jests.”

A wan smile crept onto Honus’s face. “Yes,” he said. “One of my favorites is of the night we stayed with a miser. When a Bearer and his Sarf travel, they rely on charity for their needs. Even if Theodus were given a cart full of provisions, he would have still asked for his supper, for he loved meeting people. He was a good guest, full of tales, but he was also a good listener. He learned a lot that way, and much of his knowledge was useful to his hosts. Once, after helping a man cure his sick cow, he was given a large bag of grain, enough to feed us for days. Nevertheless, he asked for charity the next night at the house of a notorious miser.