[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers (33 page)

“He did, but I never drove it. I was his princess.”

“So you’ve claimed,” replied Honus. “Still, I’d think you’d have picked up the skill by watching.”

“I didn’t.”

Honus regarded Yim skeptically, but shrugged. “Well, it’s easy enough to learn.”

Hamin wouldn’t leave his seat at the front of the wagon, so when Yim took the reins, Honus had to crouch behind her to give instructions. These were simple, since the horses virtually guided themselves. Honus retreated to the rear for a nap, leaving Yim alone with Hamin. She, like Honus, readily perceived Hamin’s surrender to despair. He didn’t respond to Yim’s attempts at conversation, and after a while, she gave up.

The region Yim drove through became more populated. Villages gave way to ancient-looking towns, and the land between them was thick with small holdings. Traffic increased. Although most of the folk she passed were not overtly hostile, Yim was able to see beneath appearances. She often sensed hatred directed toward her and Hamin. The fact that people took care to hide it made her especially wary.

Yim didn’t waken Honus until the sun neared the horizon. Then he took the reins and drove until he found a suitable place to camp. Though it was swampy, no settlement lay close by, which was what he wanted. Honus drove the horses over sodden, reedy ground until the road was out of sight. He halted in a copse of willows on the shore of a stagnant pond. Dead trees stood in the dark water, and while Honus unhitched and fed the horses, Yim removed her sandals and waded out to break off branches. The effort proved far more painful than she anticipated, but she returned with enough wood for a small fire. Honus met her when she returned to camp, wet and muddy to the knees.

“Why did you do that?” he asked in a scolding tone. “You’re injured.”

“I thought a fire and warm food might raise Hamin’s spirits.”

“Yim…”

“I’m worried about him, Honus.”

Honus lowered his voice. “I am, too. He doesn’t wish to live.”

“He’ll get Hommy to Bremven. I’m sure of it.”

“Yes,” agreed Honus. “And after her funeral, he’ll get himself killed. He’ll pick a fight he cannot win or do something equally rash. I’ve seen it before.”

Yim shook her head sorrowfully, certain that Honus was right.

Yim cooked a meal, which she forced Hamin to eat. He ate mechanically before entering the wagon. There he succumbed to exhaustion and fell into a fitful sleep. Yim and Honus remained by the fire where, Yim busied herself with brushing the dried mud from her feet.

Whenever Yim looked up, she saw Honus watching her. His expression was different and Yim suspected that her brush with death had given his feelings greater urgency. Whatever the cause, the intensity in Honus’s gaze flustered her. It seemed as raw as Hamin’s grief. Yim found little comfort in Honus’s look. His ardor felt like another burden upon her journey.

“When…when do you think we’ll reach Bremven?” Yim asked in an attempt at casual conversation.

“The day after tomorrow, I think. We may even see a sign of the temple next evening. There’s a flame upon its mount that can be viewed from afar.”

“The temple,” said Yim in a distant voice. “Now that we’re so close, I feel nervous. I can’t imagine how I’ll fit in.”

“You were meant for the place. You’ll soon feel at home.”

“Will…will you be there, too?”

“For a while. The matching of Bearer and Sarf can’t be hurried. My Bearer may not even be grown yet.”

“You might choose a child?”

Honus smiled at the question. “I’ll choose no one. My Bearer will choose me.”

“But how?”

“Karm acts through the Seers to guide the selection. The process can take years.”

Yim could tell that Honus was waiting for her reaction. Though not knowing whether she was disappointed or pleased by the news, she chose the polite reply. “I’m glad you won’t leave soon.”

“I also.”

They shared another awkward silence. Yim resumed rubbing the dirt from her feet, avoiding Honus’s gaze. When she was done, she rose to retreat into the wagon. “I know I’ve rested most of the day, but I’m tired.”

“You have a wound,” replied Honus. “Pain exhausts the body.” He rose also, but didn’t move toward the wagon. “Sleep well. I’ll keep watch.”

“You aren’t going to sleep?”

“I will a bit. But lightly, so no foe can surprise us.” With that, Honus stepped from the circle of light and blended into the shadows. Yim entered the wagon where two bodies lay, one at peace and the other in torment.

Honus sat motionless against a tree. Wrapped in his cloak, he was a shadow within shadows. The night was clear and lit by the moon. From where Honus sat, he could both peer beneath the wagon and see through its rear to the sky beyond its open front. No one could enter it undetected.

As Honus sat alone in the darkness, he thought of Yim. He had sensed her unease that evening, but he had been unable to take his eyes away. Shyly rubbing her soiled feet, Yim had looked younger than her years—a mere girl. Honus tried to reconcile that vision with his conviction that Yim was a woman of power and holiness. He found that he couldn’t. The discrepancy made Yim more endearing.

The night was old when Honus spied movement. Yim peered from the wagon and glanced about before retreating into its interior. There Honus could discern the silhouette of her upright form. She appeared to be sitting on her heels. Honus was curious, but not alarmed. He remained still and watched. Yim remained still also.

Nothing happened for a long while, and despite his best efforts, Honus grew drowsy. Then it seemed that a second form arose next to Yim. Honus was uncertain what he saw, for it was nebulous—more like black vapor than anything solid. Honus rubbed his eyes to clear his vision, and after he did, he briefly glimpsed a luminous form. It resembled Hommy, nude with a tiny infant in her arms.

Honus rubbed his eyes again. Peering into the wagon, he saw nothing unnatural and suspected that he had been dreaming. As he watched, Yim knelt down to embrace Hamin. Then Honus heard a quiet voice. It was too faint for him to make out what was being said, but the words sounded soothing. He heard Hamin’s voice next. At first, it was raw with pain, but it gradually softened and became weeping. Yim continued to hold Hamin. She rocked him slowly, as if comforting a child. Eventually there were no sounds at all.

The moon was setting when Yim lowered Hamin down upon the wool and lay down herself. Honus didn’t stir. Instead, he sat and wondered what had transpired.

THIRTY-FIVE

W
HEN
H
AMIN
rose at dawn, Honus discerned by his vigor that he had undergone a change. It made Honus curious to discover its nature. He approached Hamin, who was tending the horses. Hamin appeared somber, but his vacant look was gone.

“Were you able to rest?” asked Honus.

“Aye,” replied Hamin. “Far better than I expected.” After a pause, he added, “I had a dream.”

“A dream?”

“Aye. I saw Hommy. Our child also. They seemed as real to me as you do now.”

“Really?”

“Hommy spoke and asked me to honor her by living. She said time passes differently in the Dark Realm. Even if I come to her as an old man, it’ll be a short wait for her. How can that be?”

“I’m not one to answer such a question.”

“While I do na understand it, I know she spoke true,” said Hamin. “My Dearest feared I might do something rash.”

“Will you?”

“Nay. Na now.”

“I think she loved you greatly to visit you like that.”

“’Twas Karm’s doing,” said Hamin. “I take back my hard words. She’s the goddess of compassion.”

“You speak truly.”

Hamin nodded. “I wish to make an early start. When we reach a village, I’ll buy bread for our breakfast.”

Honus helped hitch up the horses. As soon as they were on the road, he went to rest in the wagon’s rear. There he found Yim in a deep sleep. She was shivering and deathly pale. He touched her hand, and it felt icy. The discovery made Honus question whether he had merely dreamed that Yim invoked Hommy’s spirit. Judging from Yim’s appearance, he suspected that he had not and she had undergone some ordeal. Honus wondered what toll it had exacted and concluded it had been a heavy one. Before he lay down, he wrapped his cloak around Yim.

Honus’s thoughts returned to the previous night. He had heard tales of Seers who could invoke the dead, and he knew all Seers were taught the necessary meditations. Despite that learning, no living Seer had accomplished the feat. The ability was a gift that required more than knowledge. Some said it was a blessing from the goddess, while others claimed it was a curse. Looking at Yim’s face, haggard even in sleep, he suspected it was both.
Did she do for Mam what she has done for Hamin? If so, I have cause for regret.
The recollection of his righteous anger and of Yim shivering on the moldy hay disturbed him, making it difficult to fall asleep.

Honus woke from his nap when Hamin stopped to buy bread. Yim still slept, but some color had returned to her face. Honus rose and moved to the front of the wagon. He was sitting there when Hamin returned, bearing a large loaf of bread.

“Has Yim arisen yet?” asked Hamin.

“She sleeps still.”

Hamin climbed onto the wagon and turned to look at Yim. “She seems too frail to carry your burden,” he said. “I imagined a Bearer would be tougher.”

“If you think she’s weak, then you’re deceived,” replied Honus. “She’s more powerful than I.”

Hamin grinned, assuming Honus was jesting with him. When he saw that Honus was earnest, he turned serious. “Such things are beyond my understanding.”

“Mine also,” replied Honus.

It was nearly noon when Yim finally awoke. When she sat up, Honus silently handed her part of a loaf. Yim was glad that he didn’t ask why she slept so late or why her hands trembled, for she was too tired to come up with a convincing story. Both were consequences of raising Hommy’s spirit, which being only recently deceased, had clung to Yim overlong. The results had been devastating. Immediately after Hommy’s departure, Yim was nearly overwhelmed by the effort of living. Beating her heart was exhausting and every breath wore at her. When Yim was finally accustomed again to life, she still suffered from other aftereffects. The Dark Path’s coldness lingered in her flesh, and the memories of the dead troubled her thoughts. These were extremely disturbing, for only the most recent and the most traumatic surfaced. They flitted into her mind—moments of anguish or terror—and departed before she fully comprehended what she had experienced. Yim had lain awake, buffeted by frightening perceptions, until they grew fainter and more sporadic. Only then was she able to fall into a deathlike sleep.

Yim ate silently, focusing on basic sensations—the taste of the bread, the softness of the wool, and the warmth of the air. Through that means, she kept the disturbing intrusions at bay. When she had finished eating, Honus said to her, “I’d like to see your wound.”

Without replying, Yim lay facedown upon the wool. Honus climbed down from the front seat, knelt beside her, and pulled up her shirt to expose her back. “This is healing well,” he said. “More quickly than I imagined. When you get to the temple, a healer should remove the stitches.”

Honus didn’t immediately cover Yim’s back, but softly rested one hand upon it. Yim’s whole attention went to his touch. It felt warm and exquisitely delicate, a sensation purely of the living world. Slowly, Honus’s fingertips moved up and down her back, tracing a line parallel to her spine. When he lifted his hand, Yim lay perfectly still, hoping his fingers would return. They did not. Honus pulled down her shirt and left. Yim remained prone upon the wool awhile and realized that Honus’s touch had banished the intruding memories.

Yim put on her sandals and climbed from the wagon to walk. It felt good to move about, and the air was free of the faint odor emanating from Hommy’s shroud. Since the highway was busy with traffic, Yim stayed behind the wagon to keep out of its way. She had never seen such a densely populated land, nor one that bore the look of centuries of habitation. To her eyes, the old buildings and the ancient towns were marvels. As she gazed at them, she felt provincial. Yet her glimpses of the dead’s memories had given her another view of the surrounding land. She had seen its unrest. Malice moved among the people, and the ancient stone walls hid—but didn’t restrain—its spreading poison.

After Yim had walked awhile, Honus alighted from the wagon and approached her. He didn’t assume the customary position of a Sarf. Instead, he walked beside her. It reminded Yim that their roles of Sarf and Bearer were only pretense and the pretense would end soon.

“Did you sleep well?’ asked Honus.

“I slept long, but poorly.”

“It’s not restful to sleep with a ripening corpse.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Hamin should move Hommy off the wool. Otherwise, his goods might get spoiled.”

“He doesn’t care,” said Yim. “This is his last trip to Bremven.”

“He told me he’d do nothing rash.”

“He won’t be rash,” replied Yim. “He has sworn to take Hommy’s ashes back to Averen and call upon her mother and sister.”

“This is news to me,” said Honus. “When did he tell you this?”

“He talks in his sleep.”

“I see,” replied Honus, sounding unconvinced. They walked awhile in silence before he said, “You don’t trust me.”

Yim glanced his way and saw Honus studying her. She averted her eyes. “Honus, you
bought
me. I’m here through compulsion, not trust.”

“I’ve kept my oath to you.”

“You have.”

“Therefore, don’t I deserve your trust? Look at me, Yim.”

Yim turned to face Honus and made her eyes impenetrable. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

“Trust goes both ways, Honus. Do you trust me? Would you set me free without conditions?” She waited for an answer and got none. “I thought not.”

Toward day’s end, the road climbed a rise, and Bremven was visible in the distance. It lay beyond the Yorvern River, covering five hills with stone buildings. To Yim, it was an awe-inspiring sight. Before darkness obscured the view, they approached close enough for Honus to point out some landmarks—the emperor’s palace, the residential and commercial districts, the riverfront harbor, and upon the highest hill, Karm’s temple.