[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers

by Morgan Howell

  By the twelfth day of the journey, the Cloud Mountains were no longer visible on the horizon and damp winds blew from the south. They whipped about the ribbons on Yim’s cloak so vigorously that she shed it and wrapped herself with a blanket. By evening, Yim was thoroughly chilled, and she gathered extra wood for a large fire. The Seer gulped his brandy to warm himself, and was glassy-eyed even before Yim started cooking.

  As Yim prepared dinner, she noticed the Seer’s bleary gaze and began posing questions. “What’s Karm’s temple like?”

  “What did the Wise Woman tell you?”

  “That it’s far away. That Seers and Sarfs and other holy folk train there. That Karm used to have other temples, but now it’s the only one.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that’s all you should know,” said the Seer, taking another gulp of brandy.

  Though the porridge was done, Yim kept on stirring it and watching the Seer drink. After she refilled his bowl a second time, she said, “So I’m to know nothing about the temple, while those at the temple know everything about me.”

  “Not so,” mumbled the Seer. “Only Seers know of you, and only a few of them.”

  “So you’re one of the select?” asked Yim, making sure that she sounded impressed.

  The Seer puffed up a bit. “I am. I’ve known of you since I was trained.”

  “And when was that?”

  “Over forty winters ago.”

  Before I was born! thought Yim. When she spoke again, she had to struggle to keep her voice even. “And who told you?”

  “My master. He learned it from his master. It’s an old secret.”

  “How old?”

  The Seer shrugged. “Old.”

  Yim felt stunned, and when she ladled out the porridge, her hand shook. The Seer didn’t notice, being more than a little drunk. While he wolfed down his food, Yim served herself. Despite her empty belly, the Seer’s revelation so occupied her thoughts that her porridge was cold before she tasted it. Nothing had changed, but Yim saw her situation in an entirely different light. It was as if she had been blithely walking down a narrow path at night when a lightning flash revealed abysses on either side. Every step thereafter felt different. While her new knowledge couldn’t aid her, it made Yim feel burdened by fate and the expectations of strangers. She understood at last why the Wise Woman had been so closemouthed. Yim wished with all her heart that the Seer had been the same.

  The next morning, Yim warmed leftover porridge for herself and the Seer, then hitched up the horses after cleaning the pot. The sky was clear for the first time since she left the highlands, and a mild breeze was melting the last patches of snow. But this first taste of spring did little to ease Yim’s brooding. I’m only an ant on a leaf in a river. She felt helpless and ignorant. All she could hope for was that Karm would send her a vision that would make sense of things. Riding down the thawing road, she silently prayed for one.

  In the late afternoon, the road took them through a tiny village. They were nearly past it when a man called out. “Hey, birdie, how much are your ribbons?”

  “A copper apiece,” Yim called back. It was a price that discouraged buyers.

  “That’s dear,” said the man as he ambled toward the wagon. His weather-beaten face had a prominent scar running down one cheek, and a long dagger hung from his leather jerkin. He grinned. “Sure they’re worth it?”

  “Finest in the Empire,” replied Yim.

  “Well, hop down and let me take a look.”

  The Seer reined the wagon to a halt, and Yim climbed down to the muddy road. There, the man glanced at the ribbons tacked to Yim’s cloak, but he seemed mostly to gaze at her. His look made Yim uneasy. After a while, he grabbed a wide red-and-yellow ribbon tacked near Yim’s collar. “My woman would fancy this one.”

  “Let go, and I’ll have my father remove it.”

  “No need,” said the man. He drew his dagger, and passing its blade close to Yim’s throat, cut the ribbon, leaving its stub still stitched to Yim’s cloak. Then he sheathed the blade, opened the purse that dangled from his belt, and took out a single coin. “Here’s yer copper.”

  Yim palmed it and quickly climbed back on the wagon.

  “Where ye headed, old man?”

  “South,” replied the Seer.

  “Then ye should know the road’s washed out nigh here. Ye’ll need to take another way.”

  “What way is that?” asked the Seer.

  “After ye reach the woods, there’s a lane that forks left. There’s only one, so ye can’t miss it. ’Tis tight, but a wagon can pass. It heads east, afore turning south and west to join the road beyond the washout.”

  The Seer nodded his head. “Thank you for that advice.” Then he shook the reins, and the team headed out. After passing a series of fields, the travelers entered the woods and reached the fork. Yim peered down the narrow lane as the Seer guided the team toward it. “This way looks little used,” she said.

  “The ground’s newly thawed,” replied the Seer. “That explains the lack of wheel marks.”

  “I didn’t trust that man. Nor his advice.”

  “His face was unsightly, but he dealt with you honestly. Don’t be swayed by appearances,” said the Seer. Still, he briefly hesitated before he shook the reins to make the horses advance. “It’ll be dark soon. We’ll want to be through this wood by then.”

  The dirt lane seemed little more than a footpath, and trees grew so close to it that the Seer had to take care not to wedge the wagon between them. The way was also muddy, and Yim often had to climb down and push the wagon while the Seer urged the horses forward. She kept expecting the lane to turn, but it continued running straight and eastward. It wasn’t until dusk approached that Yim could see where the woods ended in the distance and the lane entered a grassy field. Yet until they reached that open space, the way was so hemmed by thick, tangled brush that it resembled a tunnel. In the fading light, it was nearly as dark as one.

  Neither the Seer nor Yim saw the tree until they were quite close to it. Its trunk was no thicker than a man’s arm, but it spanned the lane at waist height, effectively blocking the horses. The Seer drove the horses on, halting them just before they reached the barrier. Then he climbed down to examine it.

  From her perch on the wagon’s seat, Yim watched the Seer walk toward the tree. As he did, she spied movement in the brush and saw three dark shapes pushing through it. The shapes resolved into cloaked and hooded men. “Grab the trunk, old man,” said one. “We’ll help ye heave it.”

  “I’m obliged for your help,” replied the Seer, seizing hold of the barrier.

  As the strangers clustered around the Seer, something caught Yim’s eye. Poking out from one of the hoods was a bit of ribbon. It was red and yellow. Recognizing it, Yim cried out, “Father!”

  The Seer began to turn. Before he could face Yim, he gasped and jerked slightly to the rear. Then he moaned and his hands slipped from the tree trunk. Afterward, he stood still for a long moment, wobbling slightly, before his body twisted in Yim’s direction. Then Yim could see the Seer’s belly. The man who had bought the ribbon was pulling a dagger from it. The long blade was bloody to the hilt. The Seer moaned again and gazed at Yim with a face filled with surprise and anguish. Then he silently mouthed the words “I’m sorry” and collapsed.

  Yim reacted instinctively. She leapt from the seat to the side of the lane farthest from the men and dashed into the surrounding brush. Twigs and branches clawed at her, scraping her face and hands. Each stride met resistance. The ribbons sewn on her cloak entangled in the brush before tearing free, so that Yim left a rainbow trail as she struggled forward. Yim could see that the brush was thinner ahead of her. With the strength born of panic, she pushed onward. Soon I’ll be able to run!

  Yim heard the thud of heavy footsteps and noise of large bodies crashing through twigs and branches. As she fled, Yim glanced about for something to use as a weapon and spied a fal
len limb that might serve as a club. She rushed toward it as her pursuers sounded ever closer.

  A hand gripped Yim’s shoulder. Then she felt a sharp pain at the back of her skull. It seemed that lightning flashed inside her head, white hot and brilliant. The light quickly faded to red and then black. The world faded with it. When Yim crumpled to the ground, she was senseless.

  THREE

  WHEN YIM became conscious, her first sensation was of pain. Her head ached with dull throbs that pulsed from the back of her skull. They made her queasy, and she feared that she might throw up. When Yim attempted to move, she discovered that she was bound. Her cloak was gone and so were her boots and socks. For a moment, she was confused. Then, with a surge of terror, Yim recalled that they had been attacked. The memory of the Seer’s murder came to her with the visceral impact of the actual moment: The blood-covered blade. His anguished parting look.

  It was night and Yim was lying on her side in the wagon. She couldn’t see her bonds, but she could feel them. Her wrists were tied behind her back with what felt like thick, coarse rope. Her ankles were bound also and roped to her wrists so that her body was bowed backward and her hands touched her cold, bare feet. It was an uncomfortable position, and it rendered her completely helpless.

  Despair threatened to overwhelm Yim. After a lifetime of preparation, everything had gone awry in an instant. How could Karm desert me so quickly? she wondered with a mixture of resentment and disillusionment. I was doing her will. Yim felt the urge to scream or sob, but she stifled it. If she surrendered to fear, it would own her. Furthermore, the last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself. The robbers had taken her boots and cloak and tied her up, but they hadn’t molested her. Not yet, Yim thought, fighting another wave of panic.

  The wagon was moving. Yim worried about the horses, for they had been driven all day and were surely at their limit. It made her wonder if the robbers were ignorant about horses or spurred by desperation. But what could they be fleeing from? No one will know or care that I’ve disappeared.

  All her captors were apparently sitting on the driver’s bench, for Yim could hear their voices through the wall at the wagon’s front. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they seemed to be arguing. Their loud and slurred voices had a drunken tone, which made her guess that they had found the brandy.

  Yim lay shivering for what seemed a very long time before the wagon halted. A few moments later, its rear door opened and moonlight spilled in on the wagon’s ransacked interior. Sacks lay strewn about. Several had been slashed open. Yim saw a man’s silhouette as he climbed into the wagon. In his hand was a bottle, which he put to his lips, upended, and drained. After tossing the bottle away, he reached into a crate and took out another. Yim made no sound and lay absolutely still, hoping that brandy was all the man wanted. The robber staggered back to the door and handed the bottle to another who stood outside. “Don’ get so stinkin’ ye get lost,” said the man. Yim recognized his voice; he was the scar-faced man who had bought the ribbon.

  “I know the way,” replied the man on the ground, “drunk or sober.”

  “Then don’ bother me till we’re there. Got me some business.”

  Yim heard a laugh. “I’d like a bit o’ that, too. Let me know when yer done.”

  “Stick to yer drivin’. This birdie’s mine.”

  The door shut and it was dark again. Soon the wagon began to move. Yim heard boots crunching spilled grain and then a drunken voice softly calling as one might to a frightened cat. “Ribbon Girl. Purr-ty Ribbon Girl.”

  Yim remained silent as the man stumbled about in the dark. She heard him trip and curse. Then a boot struck her knee. “Ah! There ye are.”

  Yim forced herself to be still and silent, then watched terror-stricken while the man moved so he straddled her. His shadowy form swayed unsteadily as he drew his long-bladed dagger and squatted to touch its cold blade against her neck. “Well, birdie, yer father walks the Dark Path. Wanna join ’im?”

  “No,” whispered Yim.

  The man pressed the flat of the blade more firmly against her throat. “What?”

  “I don’t want to die.”

  The man pulled the blade away. “Then don’ make me mad, ’cause it’s no great loss if I slit yer throat.” He used his dagger to cut the rope that bound Yim’s wrists to her ankles. “Get on yer back.”

  The man stood aside so Yim could roll on her back and extend her cramped legs. She remained as helpless as before, for her wrists and ankles were still securely tied. Afterward, her captor dropped his dagger so he could use both hands to tug at her shift. He jerked its skirt upward to expose her shins and then her thighs. He didn’t stop tugging until the fabric was bunched around her midsection and she was naked from the waist down. Then he clawed between her legs in a rough travesty of a caress. His touch made Yim shudder, and she clenched her teeth so as not to cry out.

  When the man finished with his pawing, he untied the cord about the waist of his trousers, lowered them partway, and flopped upon Yim as if he were falling into bed. He did nothing to soften the impact, which knocked the wind from her. When Yim gasped for air, she smelled the thick, sweet stench of drink on her assailant’s breath. His face was so close to hers that she felt warmth each time he exhaled. “Girly, Girly, Ribbon Girly,” he sang tunelessly as his heavy body pressed against hers. He felt as inert as a corpse. “Spread yer legs, Ribbon Girl.”

  “I can’t,” said Yim, her voice constricted by fright. “They’re tied together.”

  “I said spread them!”

  “I will! I will! Just cut my bonds.”

  The man began groping for his dagger and Yim had no idea if it was to cut her bonds or her throat. His hand struck the wagon’s floor, feeling for the blade without finding it. The beat gradually slowed, then stopped altogether. By then, the man’s stubbly cheek rested against Yim’s. It remained there as he became dead weight. Yim held herself absolutely still—except for a tremor that she was unable to control—although the mere touch of the man’s bare thighs against hers was repellent. After a while, her abuser’s breathing became regular. Soon, he was snoring loudly and wetting her face with his drool. Meanwhile, the wagon rolled onward.

  Throughout the remainder of the night, Yim lay beneath the unconscious man. Lying still was agonizing, but she didn’t dare move for fear of reviving her attacker and causing him to finish what he had begun. Yim couldn’t sleep or even rest. Every moment, she expected her nightmare to begin anew.

  Eventually the sun rose and the wagon halted. Someone pounded on its door. The pounding continued until the man atop Yim moaned. Then he shouted, “Stop yer noise!” He moaned again. “Oh my head!” He rose, pulled up his pants, found his dagger, and sheathed it. Then he gazed down at Yim with bloodshot eyes. She was still half naked. “Well Ribbon Girl, did I tup ye proper?”

  Yim faked a smile. “Yes.”

  “Good,” replied the man. “Wish I remembered it.”

  The pounding resumed, though more softly than before. “I found a buyer for the oats and grain.”

  As Yim wiggled in an attempt to pull down her shift, her abuser swung open the wagon’s door. Outside were one of his accomplices and a man who was missing an eye. “What’s yer offer?”

  “Afore I say, I want to see the goods.”

  The man in the wagon extended his hand. “Then climb up and take a look.”

  By the time the one-eyed man entered the wagon, Yim had managed to get her shift over her legs and was looking out the open door. She saw low, squalid buildings packed tightly together. They were built of timber and wattle and flanked both sides of a dirt lane that reeked of sewage. At the lane’s edges, men and women seemed gathering for an open-air market where all of the goods for sale were used.

  Yim glanced at the buyer and saw that he regarded her indifferently, as if he were accustomed to viewing bound women. Soon he turned his attention to the goods for sale, kneeling to examine the grain spilled on the wa
gon’s floor and fingering the contents of a slashed oat bag. Having done that, he gave Yim’s captor a disinterested look. “A copper a sack fer the oats, two coppers fer a sack of grain. Half that fer any sack that’s slashed.”

  “That’s robbery!”

  The buyer grinned. “Aye, no doubt ’tis. But I didn’t do the robbin’. If ye don’t like my price, take this lot to Lurwic and see what it fetches.”

  “Bahl’s headed for Lurwic.”

  “They say his army’s already there,” replied the buyer. “War ruins the market fer bulky goods. Yer lucky I’m buyin’ at all.”

  Yim’s captor sighed. “Sold. Count the sacks.”

  The buyer called out to the street. “Nabs! Tomby! Move quick and empty this lot.”

  Two ragged boys came over and the buyer tossed the sacks to them as Yim’s captor counted each one. Since the robbers had sold the provisions, Yim doubted that she would be journeying farther. Otherwise, she had no inkling of her fate. Once the sacks were emptied, her captors left the wagon’s door open and drove up the lane, stopping periodically as men and women appeared to haggle for the remaining goods. The wares dangling from the wagon’s eaves were sold, along with the pot that Yim had cooked in. The brandy went next, with the robbers keeping a few bottles for themselves. After much dickering, two ragged men purchased the barrel of salt mutton for eleven coppers, and then chortled as they rolled it away. It made Yim surmise that either her captors were poor bargainers or very anxious to leave town.