“It wouldn’t matter,” said Honus. “It’s not uncommon for Karm’s servants to make lives together.”
“I know. Cara said you married a Seer.”
“So, she spilled that to you?”
“She spilled more than that. She said you loved me.”
“I told you Cara was wise. Yim, I…”
“Don’t say it! You can’t love me!”
“Why not?”
“Because you mustn’t. It’s…it’s impossible.” Yim felt Honus touch her shoulder, but she dared not face him.
“Yim, you’re shaking.”
“Don’t touch me! You’ve mistook my feelings.”
Honus withdrew his hand. “Then why did you come to me?”
“I was cold, that’s all.”
“The night was warm,” said Honus. “I was wed to a Seer, so I understand your chill. What vision drove you to me?”
“I cannot say.”
“Yim, look at me!”
There was an edge to Honus’s voice, and Yim knew she should obey. She rose and turned to face him. “Yes, Master.”
Honus winced at the word, but his voice was mild. “At the temple there are people who understand such things. Speak with them before you say how I must feel.”
“All right,” Yim replied. “Maybe they can make sense of this.” Despite her words she felt dubious.
“You should change,” Honus said. “We’ll want an early start.”
Yim headed for the door, then stopped with her hand on the latch. “Honus, I’m sorry.”
To the north, in Falsten, the planting season was well under way. Dawn found Hendric in harness pulling a plow. His wife, eight moons pregnant, guided it over their plot. As the peasant strained against the plow’s resistance, he worried. The plot was small, but well manured, for sheep had grazed on the stubble of last year’s harvest. With Karm’s grace, the rains would come and there’d be enough grain for the winter and to pay the count’s portion. It was the new count that worried Hendric. Count Yaun was demanding more than grain. If he pressed his claim, Hendric’s small family would likely starve, rains or no.
For his wife’s sake, Hendric had kept his worries to himself. But when he saw some of his neighbors marching down the road, he feared she’d soon learn what troubled him. He was surprised that the men had returned so soon. This time they had a black-robed stranger with them. Hendric assumed he was one of the new priests that folk were talking about. Slipping out of the harness, Hendric walked over to his field’s boundary to meet the procession. His wife left the plow to join him.
With exception of the priest, Hendric had known the approaching men all his life. Yet when they halted before him, their faces had an unfamiliar cast. It was mostly their eyes that made them seem different. Some looked horrified. Others glared at him with rabid intensity. That look made Hendric’s hair rise. Moreover, the men carried scythes, pitchforks, and hoes. They held them not like farm implements but like weapons. Hendric was alarmed to note that some of the tools were bloody.
One of those with a rabid look was a burly man carrying a bloodstained pitchfork. He stepped forward. “Hendric, we’ve talked with ye afore. Our count needs men to fight the Averen folk.”
Hendric recalled that the man had always groused about the old count, and thought his younger son a useless wastrel. Thus he hoped to reason with him, despite his changed demeanor. “When we spoke last eve,” said Hendric, “I said my plight’s like that of Thom down the way. My wife’s with child and my sons be only babes. They cannot bring a harvest in.”
The man only grinned in a disturbing way and motioned to one of his fellows, who dumped the contents of a sack on the ground. As the bloody bits tumbled out, he spoke. “We fixed Thom’s problem. We can fix yers, too.”
Hendric stared aghast at the horrendous sight, his breakfast rising in his throat. From what seemed far away, his wife screamed. He felt someone’s hand grip his shoulder. It was the priest’s. Hendric gazed into the man’s face.
The priest had the sandy hair of someone from foreign parts. His deeply tanned face made his pale gray eyes stand out. They were fanatical and seemed somehow older than the priest’s young face. “Averen is our foe,” said the priest, “and those that won’t fight are its friends. On whose side do you stand? Ours?” He pointed to the carnage on the ground. “Or theirs?”
“I’ll join ye and fight.”
“Husband, the crop!”
Hearing his wife’s despairing tone tore at Hendric’s heart, but he forced his voice to sound hard. “Hush, woman,” he said. “To the hut. Ye have our babes to tend. The crop be only grain.” Then he took up a mattock and reluctantly joined the men.
Morning found Honus and Yim on the road to Bremven, having left Yorn’s house shortly after dawn. Honus had said little before their departure and nothing since. Because he led the way, his face was hidden, and Yim could only guess his mood.
Yim was also quiet. Her latest vision, not Honus, was foremost in her thoughts. She remained shaken by the previous night’s visitation. Throughout her lonely life, the goddess had been her sole comfort. Recollections of Karm’s first appearance and her loving look had sustained Yim through many trials. Yet in her latest visitation, the goddess hadn’t offered comfort. Instead, she seemed to need it.
It was an unsettling reversal of roles, and Yim struggled to make sense of it. As she ruminated, she recalled that the Wise Woman had said Karm worked her will through the deeds of believers. Thinking upon her own inadequacies, Yim considered people fallible tools at best. She imagined Karm witnessing the evils in the world without being able to directly intervene. That seemed a form of torment not unlike Yim’s ordeal at Karvakken Pass. Is that what Karm experiences? Does she feel people’s agony as if she’s drowning in their blood? Somehow, Yim knew it was so. Then she understood the cause of Karm’s sobbing. Moreover, she thought she knew why the goddess was pleading. Karm needs me to do what she cannot.
The idea of Karm’s torment roused Yim’s compassion. It also made her ashamed. She felt that by taking refuge with Honus, she had rejected Karm. Yim repented her weakness and resolved to be stronger in the future. Yet, for all her resolution, she had no idea how she would help Karm. Yim knew she must bear a child, but she needed guidance to find the father. Yim had always assumed that Karm would lead her to him, but after her last vision, she was no longer certain.
That uncertainty bedeviled Yim. For a while, she felt as lost as she had in the courtyard after the goddess vanished. Then she thought of the temple’s holy sages, and hoped that not all of them would be as remote as the Wise Woman or as closemouthed as the Seer who had played the peddler. Someone might offer me guidance. But to get to the temple, she needed Honus.
Yim regarded the Sarf striding ahead of her. Despite the pretense that she was his Bearer, she remained his slave. He still controls my fate. Yim wondered if Honus, having been spurned, would still give her to the temple. Thwarted men often acted spitefully, and Yim feared that she might be sold in Bremven. I could end up on a treadmill or tupping patrons in a pleasure garden!
Those dire possibilities caused Yim to consider reneging on her pledge to never flee again. She rationalized that she’d be doing it for the goddess’s sake, so Karm would forgive her oath breaking. But whether the goddess approved or not, Yim realized that fleeing would be a desperate move, one with a small chance of success. Even if she evaded Honus, she’d be a lone woman far from home. Without Honus, I can’t pose as a Bearer. I’ll be seen for what I am—a slave without an owner. An honest man would try to restore her to Honus, and a dishonest one would keep her for himself. When Yim pondered her options, she thought she might probe Honus as she had Cara. By that means she could learn his intentions. Revealing her talent seemed less drastic than running away, but still imprudent. Thus Yim hesitated before finally calling Honus’s name.
When Honus turned his face toward Yim, she needed no special skill to perceive the tenderness in his gaze. The look didn
’t seem entirely new, though it was more pronounced. Yim wondered how long it had been there. Why have I just recognized it? She felt naive for not having seen it sooner. Upon reflection, Yim came up with two possible explanations for her error: Either the look had grown so slowly that the change hadn’t been noticeable or she hadn’t wanted to see it. In one way, Honus’s affection was reassuring. It seemed to promise that he would do nothing to harm her. Yet Yim was also disquieted, for the gaze expressed a need she could never fulfill.
THIRTY-TWO
“HONUS, DID you have to kill the dog?” The sun had set, and Yim’s voice betrayed her weariness.
“I had no choice. It would’ve ripped your throat.”
Yim shuddered. “I suppose you’re right.” She trudged silently awhile, mulling over the encounter. “We’d already turned back. Why did they loose a dog on me?”
“For the sake of malice.”
Yim sighed. “I thought the goddess was honored in Vinden.”
“She was when I was here last,” replied Honus. After a quiet spell, he said, “Perhaps it would be better if you dressed in your old tunic.”
“No!”
When Honus didn’t press his suggestion further, Yim took his silence for acquiescence. It was, and she was unsurprised. Throughout the course of the day, she had come to understand that the balance of power had shifted between them. Though she was still Honus’s slave, she had gained a hold on him. Cara said a lot of slave girls rule their masters, thought Yim. She didn’t believe that she ruled Honus, but she suspected that she could sway him. To test her power, Yim had begun to assert herself. She had called rest breaks rather than waiting for Honus to do so, and each time Honus halted. She had decided when to eat the midday meal.
“We’ll camp tonight,” said Yim in yet another test “It seems futile to seek hospitality. We’ve been refused five times this evening.”
“There’s a wood beyond the next hill where we could spend the night,” replied Honus. “However, camping means no dinner.”
“I don’t care,” replied Yim. “I won’t knock on another door.” She gazed at the hill, a black hump against the dark sky. Already footsore, she was disheartened by its distance.
The moon had not yet risen by the time they rounded the hill. The forest beyond it seemed a vaporous shadow. Within the blackness burned a single campfire. It winked in and out as Yim and Honus passed among the trees. Mindful of their previous receptions, they neared it cautiously until they could make out two figures seated near the blaze. Behind them was a wood-sided wagon. “I know that style of wagon,” whispered Honus. “Those travelers should be from Averen. Shall we try for hospitality one last time?”
Yim thought of Cara and Cronin. “Yes.”
Honus approached the fire first. The travelers proved to be a man and a woman. Upon hearing footsteps, the man sprang up and drew a knife. His partner darted into the darkness. Brandishing his weapon, he called out, “Who’s there?” When Honus stepped into the firelight, the alarm left the man’s face, and he sheathed his blade. Honus motioned to Yim, and she stepped forward. Before she could utter a word, the man bowed and spoke. “Karmamatus, will you join us? ’Twould be an honor.”
Yim was relieved to be welcomed. She smiled as she returned the bow. “Karm sees your generosity, and we’re grateful.”
“Hommy,” called the man. “’Tis safe. ’Tis a holy one and her Sarf.”
A short woman, plump and pregnant, emerged from the darkness. She had the blond hair common among Averen folk. Her expression was warm and friendly as she bowed toward Yim. “Welcome, Karmamatus.”
Yim bowed in return. “Please call me Yim.”
“I’m Hamin,” said the man, “and my wife is Hommy. We’re taking wool to sell in Bremven.”
Yim regarded their host, who seemed relieved to see Honus and her. His craggy, weather-beaten face made him appear much older than his spouse.
“Pet,” said Hamin to his wife, “throw more roots in the stew and make tea for our guests. Come, Yim, rest by the fire.”
As Hommy scurried into the wagon, Yim sat on a log and removed the sandals from her tired feet. Honus remained standing. “My Bearer and I haven’t traveled this road for several years,” he said. “We’d welcome any news of the way.”
Hamin shook his head. “If I’d known aforehand, I’d have never brought Hommy. This trip is our wedding journey, and a sorry journey ’tis been.”
“So this road’s new to you?” asked Honus.
“Nay, I’ve traveled it each spring since I was a lad,” replied Hamin, “and nary a problem, until last year. But now, by Karm, ’tis a different path. We’re branded ‘outlanders’ and treated worse than dogs.”
“Everywhere?” asked Yim.
“In truth, nay,” said Hamin. “It just seems that way. But the closer we get to Bremven, the worse it gets.”
“This counters reason,” said Honus. “Karm’s holy temple is there.”
“So now is the Devourer’s black pile. They razed a whole district to build it across from the emperor’s palace. I’ve heard ’tis covered with gold inside, though I would na venture a look.”
“There was no such thing in Bremven when I left,” said Honus. “They certainly built it quickly.”
“Lord Bahl sent three thousand slaves to speed the work. He said ’twas a gift to the new emperor.”
Hommy came out of the wagon to augment the stew simmering in a kettle on the campfire. Then she set a small pot of water in the flames. “Karmat…er…Yim, is mint tea all right?”
“It’d be wonderful,” said Yim, smiling at Hommy. “We’ve had a trying day. Your kindness is our single joy.”
“Have you traveled far?” asked Hommy.
“We’ve journeyed through Luvein,” replied Yim.
“Luvein!” said Hommy. “Is it haunted as they say?”
Yim thought of the ghostly battle at Karvakken Pass. “Yes,” she replied quietly. “I’d rather not speak of it.” Then, in a heartier voice, she said, “So this is your wedding journey.”
Hommy beamed. “Aye,” she said. “Hamin and I have been married but eight moons.” She proudly patted her rounded belly. “This will be our first child. Will you bless it?”
Yim placed her hands on Hommy’s womb. “May Karm bless your daughter and guide her steps.”
“’Tis a girl?” asked Hommy.
Honus glanced at Yim, but said nothing.
Yim caught Honus’s look and regretted her slip. “Yes,” she replied. “You’ll have a daughter.”
“How can you tell?” asked Hommy.
“Such skill is not uncommon at the temple,” injected Honus, as he gave Yim a knowing look. “A Seer I knew was famous for it.”
“A girl!” said Hommy happily. “Hamin, we’re going to have a girl!”
“There’s a saying in Averen,” said Hamin to Yim, “that a firstborn girl brings Karm’s blessing.”
“And now that she has yours, Karmamatus,” said Hommy, “she’ll be doubly blessed.”
Yim smiled at Hommy’s remark, but her thoughts were still on Honus’s knowing look. It was not the first time he appeared to have seen through her. She wondered how much he had surmised. Quite a lot, she decided. That led to the next question. Does it matter? She concluded that it wouldn’t once they reached the temple. There, Karm’s Seers would readily discern that she was the Chosen. Then all this secrecy will be unnecessary. Yim took comfort in the idea that she would soon unburden herself and gain guidance from wiser heads.
While Yim thought, the tea water began to boil. Hommy poked a stick through the pot’s handle to lift it from the flames, produced some leaves from her apron pocket, mixed them in the hot water, and went to the wagon for some cups. When the tea was brewed, Hommy grasped the hot, sooty pot with her apron to fill the cups, burning a finger in the process.
Hamin watched his wife and shook his head. “I meant to stay in inns along the way. Hommy deserves better than to cook on campfires.”
“It’s fine, pet,” replied his bride. “The people were so horrid, I’d rather camp.”
“I’ll tell you plain,” said Hamin to Yim. “I was overjoyed to see your Sarf. I’m hoping you’ll ride with us to Bremven.”
“That’s very kind, but…”
“Please, Karmamatus,” said Hamin. “It would ease Hommy’s mind to have a Sarf with us.”
Hommy looked at Yim with hopeful eyes that also betrayed fear. “The wagon’s big,” she said. “You’ve never slept on anything as soft as a pile of wool.”
Yim knew the decision would be hers. Yim bowed her head toward Hamin. “You honor Karm and us with your kindness.”
Hamin grinned. “No, the honor’s ours.”
As soon as Yim accepted Hamin’s offer, she was glad that she did. Traveling with the wagon would simplify her dealings with Honus, for she was certain that Hamin’s and Hommy’s presence would subdue his feelings, or at least cause him to hide them.
After dinner, Hamin and Hommy bedded in the wagon and Yim joined them. Honus lingered by the fire awhile, giving Yim the hope that he’d keep watch outside. But eventually, he climbed into the wagon. It seemed crowded with four inside, but Hommy was right about sleeping on wool. It was as soft as a feather bed. For Yim, it had the added benefit of smelling like sheep. The Wise Woman occasionally received lambs for her services, and as a child, Yim had cuddled with them, seeking the affection her guardian withheld. The smell evoked pacifying memories that lulled her to sleep.
The following morning, the travelers headed out. Honus rode next to Hamin at the front of the wagon. Yim stayed in the rear with Hommy, who lazed quietly upon the soft cargo. Hommy’s silence suited Yim, for there was little she could speak about truthfully, and she would rather not lie. When Yim grew restless, she left to stroll behind the wagon.
Though walking without the pack felt leisurely and the weather was pleasant, Yim’s stroll wasn’t entirely peaceful. When she passed others on the road, she often encountered hostility. The unpleasantry waxed and waned. There were stretches of road where it was absent.
[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers Page 24
