[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm (23 page)

“Do you mean Karm?” asked Yim.

“Dar gave her the Orcish name, ‘Muth la,’ but I think she must have been Karm. Anyway, Dar went to the dell and spoke with the Old Ones. She promised to always respect the dell and send a gift to its keepers in token of her promise. So
 every year the clan mother brings a gift when the tree turns gold.”

“Have you ever seen a faerie?” asked Yim.

“Nay, but I sense them watching in the dell. Do you have any metal on you?”

“No.”

“Good, because they will na abide it, and ‘tis perilous to anger them.”

Yim gazed at the gorge in the distance. Steep rocky walls shaded its interior, so that it seemed like a sliver of twilight amid a sunny day. An eerie sight, it made Yim respect the woman who first ventured there alone when the valley was all wilderness.
And Cara’s her heir 
, thought Yim, seeing her in a new light.

Then Yim was seized by a sensation that she could only describe as “otherworldly.” She sat in the boat while simultaneously rising aloft to peer down at herself from high above the lake. From that divine perspective, the boat looked tiny and fragile against the dark expanse of water. Nonetheless, Yim knew that she was totally secure and Cara would safely guide her through the unknown. Honus was visible also, left behind and standing on the shore. The moment passed, and Yim saw the world only from inside the boat. Nothing seemed to have changed, but with the certainty that comes from visions, Yim knew that she could let Honus go with Cronin and place her trust in Cara.

TWENTY
-
FOUR

AS THE
boat glided over the lake, Cara turned uncharacteristically quiet. The nearer they approached Faerie, the darker the lake became, as if it were bottomless or the evening sky lay beneath its surface. Ahead loomed a gorge where high walls of dark rock squeezed out the light. Cara rowed past the golden tree, its leaves blazing in the sunlight. As she did, a large white owl rose from its branches and flew toward the dell. Yim followed its form, a spot of brightness in the shadows, until it vanished from sight. At that moment, the boat glided from the sunlight into shade. Spruces flanked the waterway and the tall, somber trees enhanced the twilight mood of the place. The still water was a dark mirror. Cara pulled the oars only occasionally, so as to disturb it as little as possible.

The waterway narrowed into a stream, but a seemingly bottomless one. It twisted, and when Cara followed its bend, the sunlit lake was hidden from view. Then all was trees, water, and mossy rock illuminated by a sliver of sky. Yim peered at the water and saw stars reflected on its surface. Cara turned another bend and the waterway ended at a broad circular pool. Its shore was lined with rounded stones and boulders so covered with moss that Yim saw only shades of green. The boat’s keel scraped against gravel, and the vessel halted.

“Take off your sandals,” said Cara in a voice so hushed that it was scarcely more than a whisper. As Yim removed
 her footwear, Cara did the same and stepped from the boat. She grabbed the basket with the cheese and said in the same low voice, “Come with me.”

Yim stepped into the water. It was icy cold. She followed Cara to the shore, where the mossy stones felt wonderfully soft beneath her feet. They also muffled her footsteps so the only sound she made was her breathing. The moss-covered stones formed a broad, irregular pathway that climbed deeper into the gorge. To Yim, it resembled an alpine brook turned fuzzy green and petrified. Cara climbed it slowly and solemnly, and Yim did the same.

Yim had no sense of time other than the impression that it passed at a different rate. Thus she couldn’t tell if it was a short while or a very long one until Cara halted before a large, flat-topped boulder. Cara placed the sphere of cheese on its mossy surface, then knelt on the ground. Yim knelt also. Then Cara called out in a voice that seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. “Vertut Dargu-yat. Fer urak kala ur.”

There was a soft sound like that of a breeze in the trees, and a dreamy calmness stole over Yim. Her eyelids grew heavy. She blinked, and the feeling left her. Yim glanced at Cara, who was gazing at her. “We’re done here,” whispered Cara, rising to her feet.

Yim rose, and when she did, she noticed that the cheese was gone. She followed Cara back to the boat and climbed aboard. Cara pushed the boat free from the gravel, climbed into her seat, and took up the oars. When they turned the bend and could see the lake again, it was sunset. Yim stared at the darkening sky in disbelief. “We were there only a short while.”

“Mother used to say that time settles in the dell like sediment in a bottle. Whether ‘tis true or nay I can na say, but things move slowly there. That’s for sure. I think ‘tis why ‘tis so peaceful.”

“I’m glad you brought me there,” said Yim. “I feel like I measured my troubles against all of time. It made them look smaller.”

“I hoped it would. I was only nine when Mother died. That year I rowed out alone when the tree turned golden, and in the dell my grief grew bearable at last.”

“What did you say before the stone?”

“Those were urkzimmuthi words. They mean ‘Remember Dar. She gives this gift.’ When I say them, I think of how I’m kneeling on the same spot that Mother did, and Mother’s mother did, and all the mothers going back to Dar.”

Thinking of what Cara had faced and would face heightened Yim’s compassion for her, and that feeling helped Yim resolve her mind. “Cara, I’m going to send Honus to fight beside your brother. I’ll stay here and weather the storm with you.”

“Yim, are you sure?”

“It feels like the hopeful thing to do.”

“Well, you’ve certainly given 
me 
hope! I dreaded being left behind. I’ll be as glad for your company as Brother will be for Honus’s. And I really 
do 
think Brother’s plan’s our only chance. But oh my! You’ll miss Honus so!” A romantic look crept onto Cara’s face. “Would you like me to sleep elsewhere tonight?”

Yim sighed heavily. “No, you must stay put, and perhaps you should tie me up while you’re at it.”

“I’ve always wanted to be in love,” said Cara. “I mean truly in love, like in the songs the bards sing. But zounds, now that I see what it’s done to you, I’m na so sure.” Then she grew quiet and put her back into the oars to bring the boat more swiftly to where Honus waited in the gathering gloom.

The banquet hall was draped with fresh garlands of asters and filled with people. All residing in the manor hall were there, along with many of the villagers. Upon the tables
 were cheeses resembling miniature versions of Dar’s Gift. No one was seated, for the clan mother had not yet returned from the dell, and the hall was noisy with talk.

Rodric stood near the high table, showing one of Cronin’s officers his new dagger. “So what do you think of it?” asked the steward.

The soldier took the weapon and balanced it in his hand. “I like its look. Na fancy hilt; all the value’s in the blade.” He felt its edge. “Good steel, well forged, and nicely sharpened. A fine tool for deadly work.”

“I acquired it just today from a peddler named Rangar, an Averen man and an affable fellow. He has many more daggers like this one.”

“How much is he asking for them?”

“Three silvers, and that includes a sheath and belt.”

“A reasonable price. I’ll pass the word about.”

“Rangar’s just arrived at the inn. I told him he was lucky to show up in time.”

The officer cast the steward a sharp look. “Why did you tell him that? Did you say we’re about to move out?”

Rodric’s face paled. “Oh nay! I just said… Well, troubled times, you know.”

“Aye, times when loose tongues cause mischief.” The officer handed the dagger back to the steward. “Here’s hoping you’ll have na need for this.”

Rodric was retreating from the officer just as Cara arrived. She was still crowned with flowers that looked as fresh as they had that morning. All the company noted that her companion also wore flowers in her hair. They seemed to shine like stars against her dark tresses. Rodric was appalled that Yim had received a distinction reserved for the clan mother or her eldest daughter. It made him recall how Rangar had told him that Yim stirred trouble wherever she went.

The steward considered relaying his concerns to the clan mother, but concluded there would be no point to it.
 
Cara’s
 just a flighty lass 
, he thought,
 
more readily swayed by the lies of a friend than the wisdom of an elder 
. He feared what would happen after Cronin left. He watched as the clan mother approached her brother and had a private conversation. Whatever she said improved Cronin’s spirits. Rodric wondered what it was and whether he’d ever find out. It galled him to be on the outside after so many years of governing the clan in Cara’s name. He attempted to console himself by recalling that tradition required that a woman be chieftain.
 
But Cara’s still young, and these are dangerous times 
. He prayed to Karm that the clan would survive them.

The Gift Day Feast was a Clan Urkzimdi tradition that not even the threat of war could wholly dampen. In the inn, locals gathered in the common room for some revelry. Daijen avoided the festivities by staying in his room. As the drinking dragged on, he grew increasingly annoyed, for he wanted to venture out without being noticed, and he couldn’t do that until the common room emptied. It was long past midnight when he finally had the opportunity to slip away.

The village was dark and quiet under a moonless sky and the campfires of the refugees had burned out or died to a few red embers. Daijen was only one shadow among many as he quietly made his way to the meeting place. He had chosen it, a roofless hut on the lakeshore that was close enough to reach but sufficiently out of sight. When Daijen neared the structure, it appeared as a black shape against the deep gray of the lake. He halted and listened. He could hear footsteps on a stone floor. Someone was pacing inside the hut.

Daijen approached it noiselessly, and whispered in the doorway. “When our lord comes, what shall wash the temple floor?”

“Blood,” answered a whisper.

Daijen stepped into the hut and saw a dark shape move. “Come before me,” he said. The shape approached and
 took the form of a man. Daijen reached out and touched the man’s chest until he felt the pendant hidden beneath his shirt. It was in the form of a circle, the emblem of the Devourer. “You wear iron,” said Daijen.

“Token of our god whose grace is power,” intoned the priest.

Daijen revealed his medallion. It was iron also, but its elaborate silver chain was the emblem of his rank within the cult. “My name is Rangar,” he said. “Know that I have been sent by the Most Holy Gorm himself and demand your full obedience.”

The priest knelt before Daijen and kissed his hand. “I am Thromec, holy one. You shall command me in all things.” “First tell me why you’re here.”

“A dream has much troubled me. In it, I am our master. I peer from some dead meat and behold my enemy. Hate scalds me, and I crave this foe’s destruction. Yet the vessel that contains me sees imperfectly. I perceive a face, but not its features. There is brownish darkness about it. Then everything vanishes and only hatred remains.

“Others of our brethren have also had this dream. We have spoken together and concluded that the darkness about the face is long dark hair, and our master was viewing a woman. Thus we seek out dark-haired women and slay them. I’ve killed seven already, yet the dream returns. I’ve ventured here in hope of finding the one our lord despises.”

“And you’ve succeeded,” replied Daijen. “I’ve learned today that she’s staying in the hall. Her name is Yim, and she’s a Bearer.”

“Then we should kill her at once!” said Thromec.

“Her death must be certain,” replied Daijen, “and certainty requires patience.”

“Fie on patience! You haven’t suffered my dream! It gnaws at me.”

“I’ve suffered also,” said Daijen, “and it has tutored me
 to be thorough. I’ve an informant in the hall, a man I’m bending to my will. Already he has told me that the troops about this place will leave the day after tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll go and incite men to storm the hall. They could be here in seven or eight days.”

“I see that assault as augmenting the more stealthy one I’m planning. This woman must die, and a double-pronged attack will assure success.”

Thromec bowed. “I see why you’ve risen high. It’s wisest to leave nothing to chance.”

“Yes,” said Daijen, rubbing his newly aged hands, “our lord brooks no failure.”

TWENTY
-
FIVE

THE FESTIVE
spirit of Gift Day didn’t linger for long in a hall where men were preparing for a desperate battle. The following day, Cronin and his officers were busy getting ready for the march. Scouts were reporting back from reconnaissance. Emissaries from other clans came and went, a few bearing good tidings and most not. Refugees continued to arrive, and each carried news of feuds and strife. Bahl’s invasion loomed as a threat that was yet invisible, but felt by everyone. It drove events and made each action seem urgent.

Cronin found his sister drilling with the arms master in the courtyard. They were using blunted swords to practice thrusts and parries. He noted that Cara’s deficient form was partly compensated by her ferocity and that she was holding her own. Nevertheless, the master eventually disarmed her and held his blade against her neck.