“You’ve been around a Sarf too long. Such people see the world in black and white.”
“And you disapprove of that?”
“It’s not a question of approval or disapproval, it’s one of practicality. For centuries, Karm’s devotees prayed and labored in the temple. Yet did they save the world? They couldn’t even save themselves. Holiness achieves little. The things we do here may seem less grand, but they make a difference in everyday lives. We deal honestly and provide goods people need. We treat our slaves so they’re content with their lot.”
Yim didn’t want to argue her point further. Indeed, she feared that she had already said too much and glanced at Dommus to see if he was offended. She found only an indulgent expression and something else that surprised her. His gaze betrayed desire. We’ve just met! How could he have such feelings?
“Yim, you look upset.”
“I…I was just thinking that…that I’ve no right to criticize. You must think me ungrateful.”
“I don’t,” said Dommus. “Idealism is fine, but there’s no need to imitate a Sarf. You can live well and still honor Karm. Before you give Gurdy her freedom, find out if she truly wants it. Be sure you’re not confusing your desires with hers.”
“I’m not sure what I desire,” said Yim. “Since my desires never mattered, it seemed pointless to consider them.”
“They matter now,” said Dommus.
“As I said before, this day’s been most confusing.”
“I understand. You don’t have to figure out everything at once.”
They left the room by wandering through a maze of cloth bales. Dommus took Yim’s hand to lead the way. He still held it as he guided her into the walled garden she had seen beneath her window. It was quiet and empty. Spent blossoms colored the ground in pastel shades and a fountain filled the air with soft sounds. They sat upon a stone bench, where Dommus reluctantly let go of Yim’s hand. They said nothing, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Yim looked at the tranquil beauty around her and hoped Dommus was right—that it was possible to live well and still obey the goddess.
Yim turned to Dommus and met his eyes. She saw excitement in his gaze—the look of a man who had happened upon a treasure. Unbidden, a thought came to her: Could this be the man who will father my child? Almost as if he were responding to that idea, Dommus placed a hand on her shoulder. Before Yim could react, his fingers traveled down her back and raked across her wound. Yim cried out, exaggerating the pain she felt.
Dommus instantly withdrew his hand. “What did I do?” he asked, his voice conveying alarmed concern.
“You touched a wound that’s only partly healed.”
“I’m sorry, truly sorry. I didn’t know. Should I get a healer?”
“Is it bleeding?”
Dommus looked at the back of Yim’s robe. “It doesn’t seem to be.”
“Then I don’t think I need a healer. I’ll just have Gurdy look at it.”
“I’ll walk you to your room.”
Dommus escorted Yim to her door and left, saying he’d see her at dinner. As soon as Yim entered the room, Gurdy said in an anxious voice, “Why did you cry out, Mistress? Are you all right?”
Yim realized that Gurdy had been watching from the window and wondered how many others had also observed her and Dommus in the garden. Had Honus? The question made her feel oddly guilty. “Dommus touched my wound,” said Yim. “Would you look at it?”
“Of course, Mistress.” Gurdy untied the girdle and raised the robe until Yim’s back was exposed. “It looks fine,” she said. “Maybe a little red.” She let the robe fall back down. “What did you think of Master Dommus?”
“I’m not sure,” said Yim. “He seems pleasant, but rather forward. What do you know of him?”
“It’s not my place to say, Mistress.”
“I’m new to this house and know nothing of the people here,” said Yim. “I need your help, so I’ll ask again—what do you know of him?”
Gurdy looked at Yim and was immediately trapped by her gaze. She seemed to realize that her mistress would see the truth, and goose bumps rose on her arms. “He’s…he’s kind,” said Gurdy. “He truly is.”
“And fond of women?”
“Yes. I’m sure he’s fond of you.”
“Should I be wary of him?”
“Oh no!” said Gurdy. “He’s so nice you’ll want to…”
Gurdy flushed red, and Yim saw that she was one of Dommus’s conquests. While Yim understood the woman’s discomfort, she didn’t relent. “Were I to refuse him, what might he do?”
“You’d refuse him?” asked Gurdy, as if the possibility had never occurred to her.
“Yes,” said Yim. “I need more from a man than a moment’s passion.”
“I don’t know what he’d do,” said Gurdy. “He’s not used to that. When he wants a woman, he must have her.” Gurdy’s face lit up. “He might marry you! He truly might!” She became enthusiastic. “Master Commodus wants Dommus to settle down and produce an heir. Maybe you’ll be the one! Then what a grand lady you’d be!”
Yim released Gurdy, who avoided looking at her for a long while. When she finally did, she asked in a timid voice, “Did the Sarf teach you how to force truth from people?”
“I learned that skill long before I met him,” said Yim. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.” She walked over to Gurdy and gave her a reassuring hug. “You’ve a good heart. I saw that.”
“Thank you, Mistress.”
“If you can’t bring yourself to call me Yim when we’re alone, at least don’t call me ‘Mistress.’ It saddens me that you feel I own you.”
“But you do.”
“Up to this very morning,” said Yim quietly, “I was a slave myself.”
Gurdy’s only response was a look of surprised disbelief.
“It’s true,” said Yim. “Dommus has already found out, and I suspect the news will soon spread.”
“Then the goddess has truly blessed you to have raised you up so high.”
“Yet when I think of my own servitude, I feel guilty being your mistress.”
“Don’t,” said Gurdy. “I was given to you. It’s all right. I really don’t mind.”
Yim looked at Gurdy and saw she spoke the truth. That’s the greatest pity of all, she thought. Yim sat on her bed to think. She would have liked to be alone, but she was hesitant to send Gurdy away. Yim knew the girl would have a hard time keeping secrets.
While Gurdy gazed serenely out the window, Yim reviewed the day’s events, seeking some sign of the path she should take. Gurdy’s speculations about Dommus offered the only hint. Perhaps we’re destined to marry. A son by him would possess the power riches bring. Yim wondered if wealth could overcome evil. If so, must I marry Dommus? Is that what the goddess wants? Is that what’s necessary? Yim was unconvinced, and the optimism she had felt earlier that afternoon seemed wishful thinking.
As Yim further pondered her destiny, she questioned whether logic could guide her at all. Little that had happened since her first childhood vision could be described as logical. Circumstances had pushed her one way and then another. Whatever purpose she perceived could easily be her imagining, no more substantial than shapes in clouds. And now I’m considering marrying a man I’ve just met! Yim decided it was foolish to act when she was so uncertain. The proper action should be compelling. It should feel urgent, even inevitable. At the moment, having a child—whether by Dommus or anyone else—did not. Perhaps it will. Waiting for some clearer sign seemed the only prudent course.
Yim remained in her room until Jev arrived to escort her to dinner. It was served in a banquet hall large enough to seat dozens. Only Commodus and Dommus were there, their voices muted by the opulent emptiness around them. Rich tapestries hung on the walls and the soft light of dusk suffused through high windows. A slave was already lighting candles. Both father and son ceased talking and rose when Yim entered. By the way they looked at her, Yim suspected that she had been the su
bject of their conversation.
“Welcome, Yim,” said Commodus warmly.
“Thank you,” replied Yim. “You’ve shown me so much kindness.”
“I only hope you find this home a haven,” said Commodus as Yim was seated. “Honus told me you’ve suffered many trials, including one this very morning.”
“Where is he?” asked Yim. “I thought I’d see him here.”
Commodus’s eyes became sad, then evasive. “He’s fasting.”
“Here?”
“Elsewhere.”
“He left without a word for me?”
Dommus laughed. “That’s a Sarf for you.”
Commodus shot his son an angry glance before turning to Yim. “Of course he left a message. He said to thank you for all your help and that he’d see you soon.”
Yim was certain that Commodus was lying, but felt it was neither the place nor time to say so. “I shouldn’t be surprised he forgot to say good-bye,” she said. “He’s a man of few words.”
“He was,” said Commodus, his voice mournful. His reply sent a chill through Yim, for it seemed to her that Commodus spoke as if Honus were already dead—or soon would be.
FORTY
COMMODUS SAT in his bedchamber sipping a nightcap of hot spiced wine, for the night was chilly despite the season. It’s been a strange day, he thought, and it ended with a strange dinner. Throughout the meal, Yim had been polite, but edgy and withdrawn. Something about her made him uneasy, though he couldn’t precisely say what. Commodus wondered if he would regret his impulse to make Yim his ward. It had been uncharacteristic of him to act without calculation. I had to do it for Honus, he reminded himself. He needed that bit of solace. Recalling the heartbreak in Honus’s eyes made Commodus grieve anew. The way of the goddess is hard; Theodus taught me that. Whatever trouble Yim brings, I’ll not repent what I did.
Commodus could foresee one trouble already: Yim infatuated Dommus. Easily turned by a pretty face, he was already considering marriage. Commodus thought that premature at best and wondered how much his son knew about Yim. Does he know Honus loved her? Commodus decided not, for Dommus lacked the ability to read people’s eyes. Yim has that skill. Honus had hinted at others. Whatever they were, Commodus felt certain they’d make Yim a difficult bride. He doubted Dommus could handle her.
Knocks on the door interrupted Commodus’s thoughts. “Yes,” he said. “Who is it?”
“It’s Yim,” replied a muffled voice. “We have to talk.”
“We can talk tomorrow.”
“We have to talk now.”
So much for courtesy, thought Commodus. I hope this doesn’t foreshadow our relations. “Come in,” he said testily.
Yim entered the door and closed it behind her. She was still dressed in the white robe she had worn at dinner. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“Couldn’t this have waited?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Commodus caught Yim staring at him and made an irritated gesture, as if brushing a cobweb from his face. Then he looked away. “Don’t try that trick on me, young lady. I know how to defeat that glance. So, what do you want?”
“I need to know Honus’s plans.”
“I’ve already told you. He’s fasting.”
“He doesn’t intend to return. Why?”
How did she discover that? wondered Commodus. “I can’t tell you. I swore not to.” He glanced at Yim again and was annoyed to find that she was still staring at him. Commodus tried to turn his head, but this time he couldn’t. He felt as helpless as a mouse in the jaws of a cat. His world quickly contracted until it consisted only of Yim’s dark eyes. When she spoke again, it seemed that her words came from inside his head.
“What does Honus intend to do?”
Commodus heard his voice answer. “Fulfill his destiny.”
“How?”
“Tomorrow at dawn, he’ll enter the Devourer’s temple. There, he’ll embody the wrath of Karm.”
“He’ll kill,” said Yim, her voice heavy and discouraged.
“He’ll slay all he can until he’s slain himself.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.” Commodus felt Yim’s hold on him relax, and he found himself once again within his bedroom. He stared at the woman halfway across the room with a mixture of awe and fear.
“He doesn’t understand!” said Yim.
“Doesn’t understand what?”
“It’s not Karm’s will.”
Commodus summoned his courage and replied, “Don’t you think one raised in Karm’s service would best understand her will? After all, a Seer tattooed his face to show Karm’s wrath.”
“You’re wrong,” said Yim. “He mustn’t do this!”
“And how…” Commodus was cut short as Yim dashed from the room. He could hear her running down the hallway. For a moment, Commodus thought of having the house guards stop her. He decided against it. “This matter’s beyond my ken,” he said to himself. Instead of calling the guards, he gulped down his wine and rang for his slave to bring more.
Yim sped past a startled guard into the deserted street. Her thin robe provided scant protection against the night’s chill, and the shock of cold air cleared her head. She grew calmer, but her sense of urgency remained. Honus must be stopped! How can he believe that slaughter will please Karm? Yim was angry with him for even conceiving the idea. It also made her sad, for it seemed the only thing he could think to do. For the first time, she realized how helpless Honus was without Theodus. Despite his skill and valor, he’s but a tool without a hand to guide him.
Yim had no idea how she could prevent Honus from carrying out his attack, but she knew she had to try. She couldn’t bear the idea of him throwing his life away in an act that would grieve the goddess. Yim’s visions had never revealed a wrathful deity. Karm had wept—not raged—in Yorn’s courtyard, and Yim was convinced that further deaths would bring Karm only further sorrow. She wondered why Honus couldn’t see that another round of slaughter would feed hatred. Yim recalled her horrific vision at Karvakken Pass and the malevolent entity that thrived on death. I felt its presence at the temple today! She grew frightened and even more desperate to stop Honus.
Where would Honus choose to spend his last night? Yim concluded it would be at the pond in the temple garden, the one place where he had found peace. High upon its mount, Karm’s temple was the sole place in Bremven that Yim had any hope of finding. If it’s Karm’s will, Honus will be there. Yim shivered from the cold and briefly thought of returning for her cloak. Instead, she ran to warm herself and reach the temple quicker.
Honus wore his chain-mail shirt as he sat upon the rock in the temple pond and gazed at the moon’s reflection on the water. The surrounding garden had been ruined; only the pond remained unchanged. He concentrated on it, meditating to bring calmness. Yet peace wouldn’t come.
Honus didn’t fear dying; neither did he welcome death. He saw dying as a duty, one foretold when his face had been tattooed. When the sun rose, Honus would do his utmost to embody the wrath that the Seer had envisioned. He wondered if he would succeed. At the moment, he didn’t feel wrathful, only weary and sad. Leaving Yim had been painful. It was the hardest thing he had ever done—his ultimate sacrifice to the goddess. Dying would be easier. Yim’s better off without me, he told himself. She’s free and safe. She won’t miss me. Honus had tranced too often to believe that he wouldn’t miss her. The departed shed their memories slowly upon the Dark Path. Death wouldn’t quickly ease his longing.
Running down twisting streets, Yim worked up a sweat before she caught sight of the temple through a gap in the buildings. It wasn’t where she expected. Reorienting herself, she hurried off again. The narrow lanes soon confused her, and when she next spotted the temple, it was no closer than before. Tired, Yim slowed to a rapid walk. When she did, her sweat-soaked robe chilled her.
A voice came from the dark. “What’s the hurry, pretty?”
Yim froze, unsur
e where the voice came from. “I need to find the temple.”
A rough looking man stepped out from a shadow. He was close enough for Yim to smell the wine on his breath. “It’s ’ cross from the palace. Yer goin’ the wrong way.”
“Not that temple,” said Yim, backing away. “Karm’s temple.”
“It’s cursed. No one goes there now,” said the man, who grinned as he ogled Yim’s body. “That’s a skimpy robe fer a cold night. Let’s go someplace cozy. I’ll warm ye.” He lunged at her.
Yim leapt out of reach and began to run. She heard the man chase after her, cursing as he went. “Slut! Think yer too good fer me?” Yim ran until her sides ached, her wound throbbed, and her breath came in ragged gasps. She stopped and could hear nothing except her own panting. When she caught her breath, she started to walk again.
Proceeding more warily, Yim blundered about until she eventually found the road Honus and she had climbed that morning. Long after she left Commodus’s home, she reached the temple’s entrance and groped beneath a shattered door for the pack. It was still in its hiding place. When Yim searched inside it, her heart sank; the chain-mail shirt had been removed. Fearful that Honus had already departed, she hurried into the first courtyard.
In the pale moonlight, the bloodstained pavement looked black and the ruined temple seemed sinister. It was more than the appearance wrought by nightfall; the place had changed. The ominous presence Yim had sensed in the morning was stronger. As at Karvakken Pass, slaughter had worn thin the boundary between the living world and the Dark Path. Yim could feel the nearness of an evil presence, a thing from the Sunless Way that was eager to break through. It was close enough for Yim to perceive how it both hated and hungered for the living. It craved blood, and Honus was about to feed it.
The unseen malevolence became aware of Yim. Suddenly, her limbs felt so heavy that a single step was an effort. Soon she stood rooted as a wave of despair passed through her. The bloodstained pavement turned wet, and a viscous stream flowed toward her. Ghostly figures formed. Unspeakable acts took place before her eyes.
[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers Page 30
