[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers

by Morgan Howell

  Honus continued to touch Yim, as much to calm himself as her. When the cloth had boiled awhile, he fished it out of the pot with his dagger and let it cool. Then he cleaned around the gash. Yim tensed and her breathing came in short gasps, but she said nothing. Honus peered at the wound. It was still bleeding, but more slowly. He could see no bone. “You’re lucky,” he said.

  “I don’t feel lucky.”

  Honus took the cup that contained the leaves. “Drink this.”

  Yim raised herself on one elbow, wincing as she moved, and quickly gulped down the brew. Then she lay down and Honus wiped away a fresh flow of blood. “That tasted terrible,” she said.

  “Hope that you taste it only once.”

  Yim lay quietly awhile before saying, “The ground…it’s moving.”

  “That’s the brew working,” said Honus. “Stay still.”

  A short while later, Yim moaned. “Honus,” she said thickly, “I don’t feel so good.”

  Honus rubbed her back again to calm her. “It’ll pass,” he said. “Then you’ll feel drunk.”

  “Drunk!” Yim started to laugh, but winced instead. “Drunk! I’ve never been drunk in my life. Wha’ ya mean…uh…” Yim paused as if she’d forgotten what she was saying. “I’m…I’m not…” She gasped. “I can’t feel my feet!” Yim started to turn around, but Honus gently, yet firmly, pressed her down.

  “Lie still.”

  “All right, I won’t move.” Yim began to giggle. “Why…I…I can’t move! I’m all numb! Like when he cut me.”

  “Like when who cut you?”

  “Oh, you know, silly. That man in the castle.”

  “Oh, him,” replied Honus, hiding his interest. “I remember now. Why did he do that?”

  “Wanted my soul,” replied Yim in a slurred voice. “Wanted yers, too.”

  “But you saved me.”

  “Yeah,” said Yim groggily.

  “How?”

  Yim mumbled something incomprehensible and passed out.

  I made that brew too strong, thought Honus. But when he dabbed the solution made from the powder into Yim’s wound, he was glad she was unconscious, for she moaned as the liquid foamed up pink from the gash. Honus washed a curved needle and a strand of gut in the same liquid. He closed the wound with a series of neat stitches and washed it once more with the cleansing solution. Carefully and tenderly, Honus wrapped the blanket more securely around Yim. As he bent to lift her into the wagon, he kissed her cheek. When he placed her upon the wool, he noticed Hamin. He had ceased sobbing and was sitting upright, watching over Hommy in the dark.

  “You should try to rest,” said Honus.

  “’Tis na possible. I doubt I’ll ever rest again.”

  Thinking of Theodus, Honus replied, “I know it feels that way, but you will. Hommy would want it so.”

  Honus stood watch for the rest of the night, though all their assailants were dead. His guard would not bring Hommy back, nor erase Yim’s pain or prevent her scar. Honus kept watch as penance, for he saw the night’s disaster as his fault. The familiarity of his homeland and his desire to sleep close to Yim had caused him to ignore signs of danger. He felt certain that the attack would have failed if he’d been on guard. Honus resolved never to make that mistake again.

  In the darkness, his thoughts turned to Yim’s revelations. Most were not surprises. Honus had already surmised that Yim had rescued him from the dark man and that she had received a paralyzing wound in the process. Still, he hadn’t expected to hear his deductions confirmed by her own lips. Her statement that the man was after their souls was news. Honus wished he could have learned more, but that opportunity was gone. Yim would not remember what she had said, and Honus decided not to bring the matter up until she was settled at the temple. Until then, he wouldn’t pry into her mysteries.

  At first light, Hamin left the wagon to tend the horses. Honus went over to help. By the dull look in Hamin’s eyes, Honus guessed he had not slept. “I want to get far from here,” Hamin said. “We’ll eat on the road.”

  “Before we leave, I should hide the slain men,” said Honus.

  While Hamin hitched the horses to the wagon, Honus found the three corpses, dragged them far from the road, and hastily covered them. Yim was still asleep when they headed out, but woke when they reached the paved road and the wagon wheels rumbled on its stones. She rose, pale and bleary-eyed, and made her way to the front of the wagon, still wrapped in the blanket. “Are we traveling already?”

  “Hamin is anxious to leave,” said Honus. “How does your back feel?”

  Yim withdrew one hand inside the blanket to touch her wound. “You sew neatly,” she said. “It’s sore, but I guess that’s to be expected.”

  “I’d like to look at it.”

  Yim turned her back toward him and lowered the blanket. Honus couldn’t help noting how lovely she looked, wound and all. Then he examined the gash and was pleased by what he saw. “It’s mending well.”

  “My first scar,” said Yim. “Though I suppose you’re unimpressed. You’ve lost count of yours.”

  “So have you,” replied Honus. “Have you forgotten the sword cut on your foot?”

  Yim acted as though she hadn’t heard him. “I should get dressed. Will you look away?”

  Honus withdrew and joined Hamin at the front of the wagon while Yim dressed. When he glanced back at her, she was asleep again. Neither Honus nor Hamin had slept since the attack. Honus was trained for privation and remained alert. Hamin seemed to have spent all his strength hitching the horses. He stared at the road with vacant eyes, silent and withdrawn. When Honus took the reins from him, Hamin didn’t seem to notice. Honus perceived an emptiness in his companion that went beyond exhaustion. It was as if Hamin’s spirit were seeking Hommy’s on the Dark Path.

  They traveled until noon without any incidents on the road. Honus’s chief concern was Hamin. He refused to rest, though he was incapable of guiding the team. Honus had the self-discipline to stay awake, but he realized he was losing his edge. Even a Sarf needed sleep. If he were to keep watch through the night, he would have to get some. When they stopped to rest the horses, Yim was awake, and Honus asked her to drive the team in the afternoon. She reacted with an uneasy look. “Will you show me how, first?”

  “You’re a peddler’s daughter,” said Honus. “Surely your father had a wagon.”

  “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 f
or 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

  WHEN HAMIN 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 th
an 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.