[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers

by Morgan Howell

  The black-robed priest bowed to Yaun. “Sire, already I perceive the Devourer’s power within you. It will be mighty when I see you next, for hate feeds strength.”

  “Expect His Most Holy in a moon,” said Lord Bahl. “All things must be accomplished by then. He will tell you what troops I’ll require in satisfaction of our pact.”

  Lord Bahl held out a hand for Yaun to kiss. When Yaun did so, the fingers’ otherworldly coldness stung his lips. Upon receiving that obeisance, Bahl turned and wordlessly left the room. Yaun shivered and was glad for the fire.

  “You shall come to cherish that scar,” said Gorm. “It will remind you of the day that made you a count. There’s a horse waiting for you, but first some servants will tend your wound. Perhaps you would like them to bring ale.”

  “Yes, Most Holy,” said Yaun, his voice reflecting a newfound assurance. “Ale would be good.”

  From a window, Lord Bahl and Most Holy Gorm watched Yaun gallop off. “What a worm,” said the priest.

  “That worm will grow into a viper,” said Bahl. “When a fool blames others for his faults, he finds much to avenge. Already Yaun seethes with hatred.”

  “Yet, he’s a coward.”

  “Give him power, and his cowardice will make him all the more cruel,” replied Bahl. “Nurture that cruelty, Gorm, but mind how you stir the people. This must be different from Lurwic. Discord will work against our purposes. I want Count Yaun to raise an army. A mob won’t do.”

  “The Devourer is ever hungry, Lord. Restraint will diminish your power.”

  “I just sacrificed Durkin.”

  “A thousand souls at most,” said the priest. “A pittance.”

  “Sometimes even a god must fast. Rile Yaun’s subjects, but direct their rancor outward. The Rising will come when we have sufficient blades. Then, even Bremven will feel their edges.”

  Gorm grinned. “A bounty of souls for the Devourer.”

  “Yes. Karvakken a hundred times over.”

  NINETEEN

  YIM WOKE in the dim light of early dawn to find Honus asleep with Tabsha. Yim lay motionless awhile, but aches from a day spent stooping prevented further rest. Furthermore, the hovel oppressed her. Its closeness, its smell, and most of all, its atmosphere of despair soon drove her to rise. She quietly crawled out the doorway into the chill, dewy morning and paced about to warm herself.

  Her labors, along with those of Honus and Tabsha, stretched before her—a patch of upturned dirt. It seemed insignificant. For two days, they had buried roots and beans in that ground, and in the upcoming day, they would finish the job. Burying all that food in hopes of a harvest. Is it an act of faith or futility? She thought of the hungry time ahead and doubted Tabsha would reap her crop. It was a dismal thought, and her future seemed equally bleak.

  Who will ever take joyous memories of me to the Dark Path? Yim could think of no one. Her mother had died at her birth and she couldn’t remember her father’s face. All she recalled were his beatings. The Wise Woman who had raised her had not been unkind, but she had been distant. Yim couldn’t envision that cold woman mourning her parting. As for her, she had no treasured moment, no instance of bliss to sustain her. All my life has been for duty, and this is where obedience has led.

  Yim had not cried when she had been captured. Chained in the filthy slave pen, she had been stoic. She had fought tears at every occasion and usually won. But the horror of her latest vision made her fear that Karm had forsaken her. As Yim stood alone in the dank morning, her sorrow burst forth and overwhelmed her. She cried for the loss of hope. She cried for herself. She cried for Tabsha and the ruined land about her. In her despair, she became oblivious of everything. Her sobs racked her until she had to gasp for breath.

  Then Yim became aware of another presence and turned to see Honus standing outside the hovel. She had no idea how long he had been watching. The expression beneath his tattoos was inscrutable to her tear-blurred eyes. Yim looked away and struggled to stifle her sobs. She gazed in Honus’s direction only after mastering her emotions. By then, he was gone.

  Yim walked over to the hovel and called into it with a low voice. “Master, should I gather some breakfast?”

  “Take Tabsha with you,” said Honus, “and show her where you found the tubers.”

  Yim heard Tabsha make a sleepy sigh, and she assumed that Honus was waking her. Soon Tabsha emerged carrying an empty basket. She stretched to ease her stiffness, saying, “Plantin’ be ’ard work.”

  “It is,” agreed Yim. As she led Tabsha to the swampy spot, she asked, “Don’t you collect wild foods?”

  “Mah mam be afeared o’ the woods, so I larned little from ’er,” replied Tabsha. “Toff larned me ’bout settin’ snares, but wolves usually empty them. There be some berries in summer. Apples in fall, though they be ’ard an’ bitter.”

  “Well, I can show you faerie arrow and fox sword. Both have tubers even this time of year.”

  “Tha’ would be good. Spring be always ’ard.”

  Tabsha fell silent while Yim pondered how to help her survive. Those thoughts led to an obvious question, and Yim gave voice to it. “Why do you live alone? Don’t you have any family?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then, why not leave and live elsewhere?”

  Tabsha seemed surprised by Yim’s suggestion, as if it were absurd. “Mah ’usband and mah childs be buried ’ere.”

  They reached the wet ground where the faerie arrows grew and worked to fill most of the basket before wading out into deeper water for fox sword. Those plants were harder to uproot, and they took only a few of their thick, branching tubers. Afterward, Yim tried to find every edible plant she could and show them to Tabsha. She located only a few after much searching.

  When Yim and Tabsha returned, they found signs that Honus had been watering the new plantings. Before they entered the hovel to cook, he emerged from the woods carrying the two buckets filled with water.

  “Master,” said Yim, “can I have some water for cooking?”

  Honus brought over a bucket. While Tabsha started a fire, Yim filled the clay cooking pot with fox sword tubers and water, then returned the bucket to Honus. After joining Tabsha in the hovel, she heard him empty the bucket and trudge off to the stream for more water.

  “Do ’e always work so ’ard?” asked Tabsha.

  “I don’t know,” replied Yim. “He’s owned me for only a few days.”

  Tabsha nodded, but made no further conversation. Yim filled the silence with talk of practical matters. “Fox sword tubers have to be boiled until the water turns brown before you can eat them. And never drink the cooking water, it’ll pucker your mouth.” As Yim cooked, she continued to instruct Tabsha on the storage and preparation of the various plants they had collected. Tabsha listened mutely, as one unaccustomed to talking. Her demeanor discouraged more personal conversation and Yim lapsed into silence upon finishing her instruction. She spoke again only when she heard Honus outside. “I can watch this, if you want to start planting.”

  Tabsha rose quickly, obviously eager to exchange Yim’s company for Honus’s. Yim felt more at ease after Tabsha left. Despite her sympathy for Toff’s widow, she yearned to leave the dispirited woman and her dismal home.

  When the pot finally boiled, Yim stirred the tubers to leach out their astringent juice. When the cooking water turned brown, she used a pair of sticks to place the tubers on a slab of wood that served as Tabsha’s only plate. Then she took the meal outside. Honus was away getting more water, so Yim helped Tabsha plant until he arrived. When he did, the two stopped work to eat with him.

  “Master, we should finish by noon,” said Yim.

  Her statement elicited the desired response. “Tabsha,” said Honus. “I must resume my journey once the planting’s done.”

  Tabsha nodded without betraying any emotion.

  Yim took Tabsha’s indifferent response as evidence that she had withdrawn into her shell. That impression made Yim all the more eager to de
part. “Will we leave today, Master?” she asked.

  “Yes,” replied Honus.

  After the meal, they resumed work. By early afternoon, the crops were planted and watered. Honus put on his sword and told Yim to get the pack. Then he bowed to Tabsha. “Mother, we must take our leave.”

  “Thank ya, sire,” said Tabsha.

  “I’m guided by Karm. If I’ve helped you, it’s her doing. If I haven’t, it’s my failing. May her peace be upon you.” As Honus bowed again to Tabsha, Yim shouldered the pack. “Come, Yim,” said Honus, as he strode away. Yim hurried to keep apace. When she reached the road, she looked back. Tabsha had vanished like a ghost, leaving only the empty field to recall her.

  As Yim and Honus walked down the road, Honus looked tired and his gait betrayed the soreness of his muscles. They didn’t speak. Yim felt uncomfortable, for after their stay with Tabsha, Honus seemed more baffling.

  The Wise Woman had taught Yim several arcane arts. The technique Yim used to call up Mirien’s spirit was only one of them. Like Honus, Yim could discern thoughts by gazing into a person’s eyes, and she also knew how to shield herself against such an inspection. Both these skills sometimes occurred naturally in people, though to a lesser degree. Thus Yim once had thought that she could probe Honus without arousing his suspicion. She had abandoned the idea. He suspects too much already, she thought, regretting her outburst about her visions. That indiscretion made it all the more important to appear ordinary.

  Forgoing use of her uncommon powers forced Yim to fall back on observation and conversation to understand Honus. Honus frustrated these, for while he was sometimes talkative, he was always guarded. Yim, accustomed to easy insight into people, keenly felt her uncertainty.

  Honus’s visit with Tabsha particularly perplexed Yim. She could ascribe a wide range of motives for it, from base to noble. He might have sought her out for carnal reasons, believing her to be still young and beautiful…or, perhaps, he helped her at Karm’s direction…or to spite me…or to atone for something…or to honor Toff’s devotion. Yim liked the last idea best, but she had no inkling if it was closest to the truth.

  As they walked, Honus seemed to brood. His expression was morose and Yim wasn’t tempted to inquire what thoughts troubled him. Yet eventually she asked the question foremost on her mind for three days. “Master, why did we stop at Tabsha’s?”

  “Do you think we did her good?”

  “I don’t know. Do you?”

  Honus sighed. “I’m no Seer. Yet that’s the real question. If we did her good, my reason’s unimportant. And if she comes to harm, good intentions matter not.”

  Yim wanted to press him for a less evasive answer, but his expression discouraged her. Instead she asked, “Will you hunt today?”

  “I’m too tired. Tonight, you must forage or fast.” He noted how Yim’s expression darkened and added, “Surely you don’t begrudge her our sack of grain.”

  “She thanked you for your generosity,” replied Yim, “but I, too, will go hungry.”

  “I’m certain she was grateful to us both.”

  “We have a saying back home: ‘You thank the goat’s herder for the milk, not the goat.’ She knew I was your property. In you, she found comfort. In me, she found someone to pity.”

  “If that’s true, then you’ve given her more comfort than I.”

  Yim glared at Honus bitterly. “How wonderful for her! She’s found someone more miserable than herself!”

  Honus replied evenly. “I didn’t make you a slave. I haven’t asked you to endure more than I.”

  Yim fought the impulse to throw the pack on the ground. Instead, she said, “It’s true. You haven’t asked me to do anything.”

  Honus sighed and resumed his brooding. Yim slowed her pace so that she could follow at a distance. They walked this way until Honus eventually stopped and waited for Yim to catch up. “You must carry my pack because Theodus said it’s Karm’s will,” he said. “But I’ll try to make your life easier. I’ll hunt this evening. If there’s anything else I can do, you need only tell me.”

  “I want to know who you are,” said Yim.

  “What?”

  “You asked me what you might do, and I’ve told you. I’d feel more easy if you weren’t such a mystery.”

  Yim smiled at Honus’s discomfort, knowing she had trapped him. He would either have to admit the emptiness of his promise or expose himself to her.

  “What would you like to know?” asked Honus.

  Yim knew exactly what she wished to ask first. “Why do you trance?”

  “It’s a useful skill,” replied Honus.

  “That’s half an answer at best,” said Yim. “It reveals nothing.”

  A rueful look came to Honus’s face, much to Yim’s satisfaction. “I’ve always had the gift for trancing, even as a child.”

  “It wasn’t part of your training as a Sarf?”

  “No. Few Sarfs can trance. I was never formally taught the necessary meditations, but picked them up from an older boy.”

  “Why would a child want to trance?”

  “I missed my parents.”

  “Were they dead?”

  “No, but they might as well have been. When one enters the temple, all worldly ties are cut.”

  Honus’s reply made Yim recall her lonely childhood. “But if they were alive, why trance?”

  “To find remembrances of mothers and fathers and relive them. I mostly sought out bedtime stories. You’d be surprised how common those memories are. Since then, trancing has become a habit. I find solace in it.”

  “Did Theodus approve of this habit?”

  “Not really. Yet he was indulgent, especially in the last few years, when our road was hard.”

  “What’s it like?”

  Honus paused to consider. “The Dark Path is all around us,” he said at last. “It mirrors our world, except it’s lifeless, worn, and wrapped in mist. One feels one’s way with the mind. As spirits travel westward, they leave a trail of reminiscences. When you chance upon one, it briefly becomes your own.”

  “Do you encounter the spirits themselves?”

  “Yes. That is when the memories are most vivid.”

  “Like Toff’s?”

  “Yes. Like Toff’s. Now are you satisfied?”

  “No,” said Yim. “Did you expect Tabsha to still be beautiful?”

  “She was never beautiful,” answered Honus. “Only to Toff.”

  “Oh.”

  “To be loved as she was…” Honus paused as if overcome by emotion. “Perhaps recalling that gift will sustain her through a trying spring.” He gave Yim a knowing look. “I didn’t go there for amorous reasons.”

  Yim blushed. “That never crossed my mind.”

  A grin formed on Honus’s face. “Posing questions is a revealing business. Are there any more you wish to ask?”

  Yim’s blush deepened. “No, Master. At least, not at present.”

  Yim and Honus walked until late afternoon, when Honus went out to hunt. Yim rested at the roadside in his absence. He returned empty-handed as sunset approached. In response to Yim’s disappointed look, he said, “The woods were empty. I didn’t even hear a bird.”

  “Should I set up camp?”

  “We’ll walk a bit more. I don’t trust a place that animals avoid.”

  They continued down the road until they reached a river. All that remained of the bridge that had spanned it were a single stone arch on the far shore and five piers barely jutting above the water. “Unless you care to swim tonight,” said Honus, “we must camp here.”

  “This place is fine with me,” said Yim. “I’ll gather firewood.”

  When Yim returned, she found Honus bent over in the river, trying to catch a fish. Yim didn’t wish to spoil his chances by talking. Since some daylight remained, she decided to forage in case he had no success. Before she left, an uneasy feeling made her take the knife from the pack. Thus armed, she headed out.

  Yim followed the r
iverbank, thinking it would be a likely place to find something edible. The fallen bridge had forced travelers to look for another place to cross, and there was a crude path heading upstream. Yim hurried along it, knowing there would be little time to find food before nightfall.

  Yim was far from the ruined bridge and still empty-handed when she came upon a stone-paved road. It emerged from the forest and entered the river to create a ford to the other bank. At least I’ve found a place to cross. Yim turned toward camp, for it had grown too dark to forage. Then she heard something that made her halt. From up the deserted road came an unmistakable sound—the faint wail of a small and terrified child.

  TWENTY

  YIM LISTENED carefully, afraid the wail would cease before she could find its source. However, it continued unabated, expressing terror so intense that Yim found herself shaking. She couldn’t imagine what horror could provoke such a cry. Remaining passive was unthinkable. Despite the deepening dark, she felt compelled to attempt a rescue.

  When Yim sought to locate the child, she discovered that its wail was not a sound that ears could hear. Another of her senses—one honed under the Wise Woman’s tutelage—had detected it. Am I hearing a spirit? Yet no ghostly voice had ever sounded so immediate. This is no echo from the Sunless World. It’s a scream from this one.

  Yim stopped using her ears and followed her intuition. The cry seemed to be coming from the road that led into the woods. Trees crowded its edges so tightly that in the failing light it resembled a cavern, not a thoroughfare, a place one enters without assurance of return. Nevertheless Yim followed the cry up the tree-shadowed lane. As she slowly advanced, the wail became louder. The sky darkened until Yim was walking nearly blind. She stumbled along the uneven pavement and at last approached a large ruin. All she could see was its silhouette, a huge expanse of blackness against the night sky. Though the structure appeared abandoned, Yim took no comfort from that. She felt the presence of something or someone malign. The impression was as distinct as the scent of a corpse in a dark room. Yim held the knife at the ready and advanced warily.