[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm

by Morgan Howell

  “I gave you cause.”

  “That time I ran away, a woman nearly made me into sausage.”

  “And that improved your opinion of me?”

  “A little bit. But it wasn’t until ” Yim grew silent.

  “Until what?”

  “Until later when I Oh, Honus, it’s best you go with Cronin, but I can’t bear the thought of it!”

  Each rushed into the other’s arms, where they embraced tightly and desperately. They stayed that way a long while, neither speaking, as if only touch could express their feelings. Then Yim whispered. “I can’t kiss you because I won’t be able to stop.”

  “That would make for an awkward march,” said Honus.

  Despite her sadness, Yim smiled at the thought of them marching off with locked lips to face Lord Bahl.

  TWENTY-SIX

  IT MIGHT have been dusk; Hendric couldn’t tell. To his eyes, the days had grown darker until they blended with the nights. On those increasingly rare occasions when he was capable of thought, he wondered if he was marching on the Dark Path. It wasn’t the lack of light that gave him that impression; it was his distance from life. He had stopped tasting food, longing for his family, or feeling pain. His severed fingers made his right hand useless, but he noticed only because it forced him to grip his sword with his left. That made killing more difficult, but he managed.

  The horrific things that Hendric did no longer troubled him. He was detached from those he slaughtered. Men, women, and children had no more hold on him than the weeds he had plucked from his field in his former life. Their voices didn’t reach him, and their suffering washed over him without leaving a trace. Hendric had become an empty vessel that only Bahl could fill, and the only brew he poured was hate.

  As the world became darker to Hendric, Lord Bahl seemed to grow brighter. It wasn’t truly light that Hendric sensed, for the radiance was invisible. However, he felt it as he used to feel the sun’s heat on a cloudy day. He had no word for the brightness, but power or divinity came close. With each death, it grew stronger.

  Mountains loomed ahead. They were marching into a place called Averen, though the name no longer possessed meaning for Hendric. He was aware of only one thing: The end was drawing near. He didn’t know what would end—the war, his life, the world, or perhaps all three. But with what vestige of desire that Hendric still possessed, he wanted the end to come. And come soon.

  The activity was hectic on the last day before the troops departed. Yim saw nothing of Honus after breakfast. Having given him over to the campaign, she spent the day helping pack provisions and joined Honus only during the final dinner. This was not held in the hall, but outside with all the troops. It resembled a feast in that sheep were roasted over fire pits and the ale wasn’t watered, but the mood was somber. A table was brought out for the clan mother and the ranking guests, and they ate with the troops surrounding them.

  Most of the soldiers were Urkzimdi men, although a few of the other clans had also provided fighters. Yim tried to count the soldiers, but it was dark, and she soon gave up. She guessed the total was somewhere in the hundreds, not the thousands. Cara rose early in the meal, grabbed an ale jug, and wandered among the men to refill their bowls. When the jug was emptied, she had another brought to her, so that she circulated among the soldiers through most of the feast. Cronin watched his sister’s gesture with pride in his face, and when she returned at last to her cold food, he said, “Every man will remember how you honored him tonight.”

  Throughout the meal, Honus fixed his gaze beyond the circle of soldiers. Some men stood there, silhouettes in the fading light. Honus’s eyes never left them, and by his alertness, Yim guessed that he found them suspicious. When Cara and her company rose to return to the hall, Honus stayed close by Yim’s side. Once she was safely in the hall, he spoke to her. “Yim, will you do something for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Tomorrow when you wave farewell, do it from the wall. And afterward, please don’t venture from its protection.”

  “You saw something at dinner, didn’t you?” asked Yim.

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “What did you see?”

  “Men who would do you harm.”

  “It was dark. How could you tell?”

  “I’m a Sarf and can read a man’s carriage.”

  Yim stroked Honus’s face, certain of what he was thinking. “I’ll stay safe, Honus. I’ll be here when you return.” Touching Honus quickly led to kissing him, and Yim had to fight her mounting passion to pull away. She stood gazing at him, her heart pounding. “You’re my beloved. You always will be.” Then, feeling that she was at the very edge of a precipice, she retreated. Yim backed away, turned, and ran to Cara’s room. It was empty when she arrived. Yim threw herself onto the bed and burst out sobbing.

  Sunrise found Yim peering over the manor wall at the troops assembled beyond the village. She had arisen before dawn only to discover that Honus had already joined the soldiers. Mindful of her promise not to venture beyond the walls, she didn’t go to Honus; though she was sorely tempted to disregard his warning. If I do that, it’ll only add to his worries , she thought. Thus she stared at the mass of men until there was enough light to discern the blue-clad figure among them. Honus looked tiny in the distance, yet once Yim spotted him she never looked elsewhere. She waved, and eventually he waved back.

  Soon afterward, the troops marched off. Everyone in both the hall and village seemed turned out to see them go. Cara and the clan steward stood in the front of a throng that was mostly composed of women, children, and infirm men. The only hardy men comprised the garrison that Cronin left behind and those refugees who declined to fight. Yim noticed that a few of the latter were ignoring the soldiers and were watching her instead. Their gaze made her uneasy, and she worried that she had done Cara no favor in staying behind.

  Yim watched the long line of men and pack animals slowly move up the northern road, pass between two low mountains, head westward, and disappear from view. Although Honus marched with Cronin at the column’s head, Yim didn’t descend from the wall until the last man was out of sight. By then, people were returning to the hall. The atmosphere was somber and anxious, but also chaotic, for Cara had invited many of the villagers to dwell within the safety of the walled manor. Thus there were weeping children and their harried mothers to contend with, as well as the sickly and infirm. Cara had her hands full directing the settling in of so many guests, and Yim was glad to assist her by calming the distraught. The steward was no help in this. His fretting tended to upset those he sought to soothe, and Yim sensed his disapproval of the whole idea.

  It was late afternoon before there was some semblance of order, and Yim didn’t stop working until the evening meal. This was a crowded affair held in the banquet hall. The room was packed and noisy, and even the high table was crowded. Yim sat at Cara’s right, the place of honor, while Rodric was seated to the clan mother’s left. Dinner consisted of a reduced ration of porridge mixed with a few bits of salt mutton and boiled roots, which provided more flavor than nourishment. The ale was mostly water.

  Throughout the meal, Yim noticed that Rodric avoided looking at her. In their limited dealings he was always stiffly polite, but Yim had the distinct impression that he disliked her. That evening, she sensed that his dislike had blossomed into enmity. After the meal was over and she retired to bed with Cara, Yim suggested that Rodric be given the honored place at the table. “Zounds, do na be silly,” replied Cara. “You’re a Bearer , and he’s just a steward. By honoring you, I honor Karm. Besides, Rodric’s been out of sorts ever since I assumed my duties as clan mother. I think he rather liked the high seat and misses it. But he’ll get over it.”

  “When did you become clan mother?”

  “Just this summer, when I came of age. Until then, I only came here to present Dar’s Gift.”

  “You mean you made the trip every year?”

  “Nay, but when I did na come, the tr
ee did na turn yellow. I do na know why.”

  “It’s the Old Ones,” said Yim. “They know what happens among us and also seem to know what will happen, at least in part.”

  Cara stared at Yim, but there was no disbelief in her face. “Zounds! Will you ever stop surprising me? Where did you learn about faeries?”

  “On our travels we met a girl who visits them.”

  Cara’s eyes widened with excitement. “She saw the Old Ones! What are they like?”

  “She wouldn’t say, but she did say that they believe something momentous is about to happen.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t think even they know. But I feel it, too.”

  “A vision! A vision about the father for your child!”

  “I don’t know,” said Yim. “I hope so.”

  Cara yawned. “Well, I’ve been up since before dawn and so have you. We should get some sleep. I wish I could sleep through the days ahead until it’s over. Then I’d either wake up happy or never wake up at all.” With that, Cara blew out the rush candle and darkness filled the room.

  The following day was not a busy one for Yim. Honoring Honus’s plea to stay within the manor walls limited her activities, especially when Cara went out among the refugees. Yim tried to be useful while Cara was away, but the servants felt uncomfortable having a Bearer share their tasks. Finally, Yim found the same dusty room where Cara had taken Honus. There she gazed out the window, wishing she could view the men marching toward Tor’s Gate, discern the army advancing against them, and perceive the threat that lurked outside the manor walls. She knew all were real, and all were hidden from her.

  Yim longed for Honus with an intensity she scarcely had imagined possible. She wished she had kept one of his garments, so she might hold it to her nose and smell his essence. If she had thought love was torment before, it had become doubly so. The torture of restraint had been replaced by the chilling fear of loss. Her mind conjured up countless heartrending scenarios, and each one affected her as if it were real. She reminded herself that they weren’t, but since they were all possible, she couldn’t shut them from her thoughts. When she had joined with Honus’s spirit on the Dark Path, she had experienced the horrors that took place in Lurwic. Thus she knew what he faced, and it terrified her.

  Nevertheless, Yim suppressed her feelings when she joined Cara at dinner. Throughout the meal, she was the silent image of serenity. If Cara guessed Yim’s true feelings, she didn’t attempt to pry them out, even when they were alone. Yim wasn’t surprised, for her friend had enough troubles of her own.

  The following day, Yim grew even more subdued. Frightening dreams had disturbed her sleep, and though they slipped from her memory when she awoke, they left a lingering sense of dread. This combined with her fears for Honus’s safety to increase her misery. Throughout the day, Yim felt that matters were coming to a head, despite the goddess’s silence. At dinnertime, it was more difficult to hide her anxiety, but she felt that she pulled it off.

  The next day was worse yet, for Yim recalled some of her dreams. They were horrific glimpses of slaughter done by men stripped of their humanity. Yim grieved for both the slayer and the slain, for they seemed equally tormented. The images were so vivid and detailed that Yim feared they weren’t dreams at all, but visions. If they were, she questioned why Karm would show her atrocities that she was unable to prevent. It seemed pointless and cruel. Yim was so distraught that she retreated to the dusty room and spent the day there alone.

  It was dusk when Cara found her. “So there you are! Zounds, Yim, what’s the matter?”

  “I feel useless and in the way.”

  “Oh silly me!” said Cara. “And I thought that you were worried about Honus. Well, you won’t be in the way at dinner—which is about to be served, by the way—for there’s a place for you. And such a feast has been prepared! For a change, we’re having porridge and it’s so delicious that we’re serving only half portions. Ale-flavored water, too! ‘Twould be a shame to miss it. Or Rodric’s gay banter, for that matter. He’d sorely miss you. So, dust off your clothes and join the fun. And afterward, you can help me with an important task.”

  “What that?”

  “There’s something we must kill. But do na pry. You’ll learn about it soon enough. Now come along.”

  Cara’s cajoling lightened Yim’s mood somewhat, and she was able to seem tranquil during the meal. When it was over, Cara ushered her to her bedroom. “We must be proper attired,” said Cara, “before we kill this foe.” In response to Yim’s puzzled look, she said, “Get in your nightclothes.”

  While Yim slipped into her old slave’s tunic, Cara changed into a short smock that was equally loose. Then she climbed into bed, reached beside it, and produced a dark green bottle. Patting the place beside her on the spacious mattress, she said, “Join me on the field of battle. Tonight we shall kill this bottle.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “An old clan recipe. Falfhissi, which means ‘laughing water.’ You’ve been moping for three days straight. Tonight, I’m going to get you properly drunk.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  YIM EYED the bottle that Cara held. It was covered with dust except where Cara had touched it. The liquid inside appeared to be black, and Yim felt more than a little dubious about drinking it. “I’ve only been drunk once. Then I cried my eyes out.”

  “Well, even weeping would be an improvement! You’ve been acting like a lump ever since Honus left. All right, you’re a Bearer and must seem unflappable. But na around me. I’m your friend! You can share your sorrow.” Cara broke the wax seal about the bottle’s top, pulled out the wooden stopper, wiped the dust from the bottle’s neck, raised it to her lips, and took a long swig. “And this will help.”

  Tears welled in Yim’s eyes. “In all my life, I’ve never had a friend,” she said in an emotion-choked voice. “My guardian saw to that.”

  Cara reacted to Yim’s tears by hugging her. “Well, you have one now, and we’re going to get drunk together.” She released Yim to hand her the bottle. “Take a sip.”

  Yim took a small swallow. The liquid was sweet, tasting of honey and some spice that she had never encountered before. It was a complex and pleasant flavor, although the liquid burned her throat a bit when she swallowed. She took a second, larger sip. Soon her stomach began to feel pleasantly warm. She handed the bottle to Cara, who took another gulp and handed it back.

  “So this is falfhissi,” said Yim, taking a large gulp. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Dar brought the recipe from the north. ‘tis something orcs drank. Mother made this batch herself, so ‘tis extra special. I watched her make the stuff many times. You cook up whiteroot and let it sit until it gets bubbly and stinky. Then you heat it in a copper kettle with a thing like a twisty, pointed hat that catches the steam, but ‘tis na really steam because it turns into burning water. You mix that water with special black seeds and let it sit. Then pour it seven times through cloth, add honey, and bottle it. The older it gets, the better it tastes.”

  “So when we finish this bottle,” said Yim, taking several additional gulps, “we’ll not rush out to make some more?”

  Cara held up the bottle, noted how much Yim had drunk, and grinned. “Trust me, Yim, when we’re finished, we’ll na rush to do anything.”

  Yim flopped backward on the bed. She felt light-headed, and it was a pleasant sensation after the past few days. “Doing nothing sounds lovely.” She stretched and yawned.

  “Oh nay! Sit up!” said Cara. “Do na go to sleep. We’re going to talk. I’ve seen you take on other’s troubles. Now share your own. Do you miss Honus?”

  Yim sat up, her mood already altered. “Oh Cara! I love him so much! And I’m terrified for him!” Then she began to sob.

  Cara held and comforted her. “There, there. ‘tis frightening for sure, and ‘tis sometimes helpful to cry.” She let Yim vent her grief before she spoke again. “Let’s talk of something cheery. Tell me how you f
ell in love. That would be a grand tale.” Cara took a long drink from the bottle and gave it to Yim, who did the same. “Aye, ‘tis a fine thing, love. Na that I’ve had much success.”

  “But you will, Cara! You will! You’re pretty and wise and good and young and witty and rich and you’re a chieftain!”

  “Most men would rather be a chieftain than woo one. ‘tis na so easy to find a man who’s willing to be ruled. So tell me about your love. When did you know you loved Honus? After we talked at the Bridge Inn?”

  “Oh no! What you said confused me. I felt Well, I had no idea what I felt. Not really. Certainly not in love. Love was just a word to me. It had no meaning.”

  “Come on, Yim, everybody understands love.”

  “Well, they weren’t raised like me! By an old woman with only one purpose—to train me to be the Chosen.”

  “Train?” Cara laughed. “Zounds! Na woman needs training to have a babe! Really, Yim. You just lie back and let a man have his way with you. When the babe comes out, well, that’s a different matter. That’s why we have Wise Women.”

  “I was raised by a Wise Woman, so I know all about birthing babies. My training taught me different skills.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, stuff,” replied Yim, sounding breezy. “Stuff like when I forced the truth from you.”

  “Zounds! I remember that! I thought you were inside my head! What else can you do? Please tell.”

  “Just like Honus, I can look into a person’s eyes and see things about them. And I can stop others from doing the same to me.”

  “Oh, zounds! That’s so so spooky. So, what else?”

  Yim smiled in a silly, almost boastful manner. “I can call forth spirits.”

  “From the Dark Path? Nay! Really?”

  “Yep.”

  Cara started giggling. “Then call forth Dar, and we’ll drink with her!”

  Yim shook her head dizzily. “Her spirit would enter one of us, and that’s not much fun. Afterward is worse. You’re freezing cold. And if a spirit stays too long, even breathing is hard work.”