[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm

by Morgan Howell

  Yim put on a meek expression as she obeyed, but she shielded her thoughts from scrutiny. After a moment, the priest frowned and turned to Bahl. “Something about her isn’t right. I suggest you slay her.”

  “She’s just a wench,” said Bahl.

  “If you must sport with her,” replied the priest, “I insist you send her to Yaun first.”

  Lord Bahl shrugged and turned to Yaun. “Well, Count, it seems the Most Holy Gorm has given you this wench for the night. You know what he requires. Tup her thoroughly.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Count Yaun grinned maliciously at Yim, who was struggling to hide her shock. “I’ll use her well.”

  “I know your habits,” said Bahl. “Don’t mar her.”

  “Never without your leave, my lord.”

  “Good,” said Bahl, rising from his seat.

  Yim rose with the others, her face a mask to conceal her despair. It had all been for naught. She had thrown away her single chance for love, endured pain and terror, and degraded herself so a sadistic coward might violate her. In the end, she would die and no one would be saved.

  Yaun grabbed Yim’s arm, gripping it so his fingers pressed on nerves. Then he squeezed until she winced from pain. “That was just a taste, you foul-mouthed slut!” he whispered. Yaun squeezed her arm again. “Follow at my heels and don’t dare lag behind. We’ve a long night ahead.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  COUNT YAUN’S room was a large one on an upper floor of the keep. After Yim entered it, Yaun made her stand in its center as he shut and bolted the door. A blaze in the carved stone fireplace provided the only light. Its ruddy glow illuminated a large bed, stacks of valuables that Yim assumed were looted, a collection of shackles and other restraints, a pile of bloody rags, and a table covered with instruments for torture. The devices’ shapes hinted at their gruesome uses, and when Yim saw them, she shuddered.

  Yaun noted her reaction and smiled. “When Lord Bahl tires of you—and he most surely will—I’ll acquaint you with my playthings.” He slowly walked over to Yim, grabbed her gown at the neckline, and tore it from her body. Then he grinned salaciously. “Stand like you did on the slave block.” Yim lowered her hands to her sides and stared straight ahead as Yaun circled her. “My coppers bought you,” he said, “but Honus denied me even a feel.” Yaun reached out and grabbed one of Yim’s breasts. “Well, where’s Honus now?” Then he squeezed until Yim gasped from pain. “Answer me, slave!”

  “I ran away from him.”

  “To your real master. To the man who bought you.” Yaun squeezed Yim’s other breast, causing her to moan. “Do you remember how much I paid?”

  “Ten coppers.”

  “That’s ‘ten coppers, Master.’” “Ten coppers, Master.”

  “And now you’re secondhand goods. Did that Sarf use you often?”

  “Every night, Master.”

  “Stand still while I see how worn you are.”

  Yaun’s “inspection” was a brutal groping. As he pinched and poked Yim in ways that would leave no marks or in places where marks wouldn’t show, she realized that inflicting pain aroused him. Thus she exaggerated her suffering, gradually escalating her wincing and moaning to writhing and screaming. The ploy worked, for Yaun eventually commanded her to undress him.

  Yim obeyed, making sure she appeared abject and terrified. All the while, she steeled herself to attempt the one thing that might prevent her rape. She had conceived of it while following Yaun to his room. When her tormentor was undressed, she knelt on the floor before him, and bent down to kiss his feet in a slow, sensuous manner. Then she sat upright. “Since you’re my master now, shall I perform the feat Honus taught me? You’ll feel as if you’re with dozens of women.”

  “Do your whore’s trick,” replied Yaun, “and pray it pleases me.”

  “It will, Master.” Yim kissed Yaun’s feet again, then sat on her heels.

  Yim began her meditations, fearful she wouldn’t complete them before Yaun grew impatient. Sure enough, she was only partway done when he said, “What is this? If you’re just stalling, you’ll regret it!”

  When Yim remained silent to maintain her concentration, Yaun pinched her nipples. Still, Yim didn’t react other than to grit her teeth. He squeezed harder before suddenly releasing them. “What’s this?” he asked in an uneasy voice. “What are those moving shadows?”

  Yim said nothing and kept her gaze forward, but she sensed that spirits were approaching. She knew they had arrived when Yaun gave a startled gasp. With the summoning complete, she turned to view what frightened Yaun.

  The women were unclothed, as are all spirits of the dead. Yet when Yim glanced back at Yaun, he wasn’t staring at their bodies, but at their faces. “I know them,” he whispered in an awed voice. “I know them all!”

  “Soon, I think you’ll know them better,” said Yim. She had recognized the woman who had suffered on the stake and who had not lived through the evening. The rest she had never seen before. Nevertheless, she knew that all the spirits shared one thing in common: Each had been one of Yaun’s victims. The room was filled with them, and the air grew frigid from their otherworldly presence. The chill matched the spirits’ icy hate. Even before they advanced, Yaun was backing away.

  Unbound by the laws of the living world, the spectral women flew through the air and swirled around Yaun like a school of ravenous fish fighting over a bit of meat. The count fell to his knees and began to jerk and writhe. Yaun remained intact; yet by his actions, Yim assumed that he was suffering his victims’ torments. She feared that he would scream, but only hoarse gurgles escaped his lips.

  Driven by the vengeful spirits, Yaun gradually backed toward the fireplace. Then he entered it and cowered in the flames. His scorched flesh bubbled and fell away in blackened sheets. Yet he remained, immobilized by terror and whimpering shrilly, as the fire slowly consumed him. Apparently its torment paled compared to what his victims inflicted. As Yaun’s writhing on the burning logs grew feebler, Yim put on the fur-trimmed cloak he had worn to dinner. He was still alive when she left his room.

  Yim emerged into a dark hallway that was lit by only a few torches. She found a shadowed spot and leaned against the wall to regain her composure. She was shaky from her ordeal with Yaun and sore from his handling, but she knew that she had to act. Her doom would be sealed once Yaun’s body was discovered. She had only one night to conceive a child, and first she had to find the father.

  Looking up and down the hall, Yim tried to determine which doorway looked most opulent, reasoning that Lord Bahl would have the grandest quarters. Her greatest fear was that she’d blunder into the priest. The one Bahl called the Most Holy Gorm , she thought. He already suspects me . She studied the closed doors, but none stuck out. Eventually, she selected one because of its location at the end of the hall. Approaching it with her heart pounding, she softly knocked. The door opened. To Yim’s dismay, General Var stood before her. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Count Yaun’s supposed to tup you.”

  “He did,” replied Yim, “but he bores quickly when he can’t hurt a woman.”

  “Aye, that’s Yaun,” said the general, betraying his contempt.

  “So, I’m seeking my lord in hopes a man will finish what a boy had begun.”

  “Did Lord Bahl send for you?”

  “No,” replied Yim, trying to sound sensual and alluring. “But I’m certain he’s waiting by his doorway.”

  General Var glanced in the direction of an archway. “Nonsense. You overestimate your charms.”

  Yim smiled sheepishly. “Well, I’d hoped he was waiting.”

  “Go back to Yaun. Lord Bahl isn’t fond of surprises.”

  “I’ve been silly,” said Yim. She cast Var a grateful look. “Thank you for the warning, General. When my lord tires of me, I hope he’ll give me to you.”

  After the general closed his door, Yim rushed toward the archway. Beyond it lay spiral stairs leading upward. Although she wasn’t certain they led t
o Lord Bahl’s chambers, she thought the general’s glance was a telling clue. Yim quietly climbed the stairway until she neared its top and saw that the door above was open. Then she paused a moment, licked her fingers, and used them to moisten herself. That done, she took a deep breath and entered the room. A blazing fire not only lit the chamber, it made it torrid. Lord Bahl sat in a chair before the fireplace, gazing at the flames that painted his pale skin and hair a bloody shade. He was still dressed as he was at dinner, in black velvet and gold, and looked comfortable in the heat. Bahl turned to gaze at Yim sharply. “What are you doing here?”

  Yim slipped Yaun’s cloak from her shoulders to reveal her nudity. “My lord, the count tupped me as directed, but since you forbade him to mar me, he soon lost interest.”

  “So?”

  “I would fain please you, my lord. This body is yours, not mine.” With those words, Yim knew that she had done everything she could. She had found Lord Bahl and offered herself to him. If the sight of her didn’t provoke desire, no words could effect the trick. All she had left to do was wait.

  Bahl didn’t reply right away. He simply regarded Yim with an inscrutable expression as she stood naked before him. Finally, he spoke. “Come to me.”

  Yim walked slowly and sensuously toward the incarnation of evil, praying that she aroused him. Lord Bahl remained seated, and Yim didn’t halt until her knees touched his. Then he reached out with both hands and his icy fingers explored her body. They brushed her neck, moved to cup her breasts, traveled over her flat belly, wide hips, and rounded buttocks to finish at the cleft of her womanhood. His touch chilled rather than aroused, and it didn’t seem a true caress. Rather, Yim felt that he was examining her body as a man might touch a forgotten possession to refresh his memory of it. Again, there was another spell of silence before he spoke. “Lie on the bed.”

  “Yes, Master,” whispered Yim. “Thank you, Master.”

  Yim went over to the bed and lay upon it facing upward. She stared at the ceiling, her lips forced into a smile as she listened to Lord Bahl undress. Upon hearing his bare feet padding on the stone floor, she turned to look. Bahl’s torso was still dressed in black and gold, but his lower half was bare. To Yim, his erection seemed a dagger formed from flesh, a weapon he would plunge into her. She parted her legs to receive it.

  There were no caresses or tenderness, only the deed. Lord Bahl pushed his way into her with the drive of an infantry assault. Yim wasn’t ready for him—she could never be ready—and so it hurt. His pumping chafed, the stiff gold thread on his jerkin scraped her nipples, but the cold body upon her and within her felt the worst. It underscored the unnaturalness of their coupling, and Yim knew that something other than a man was violating her.

  Yim fought to hide her feelings, but she was unable to fake pleasure. It turned out not to matter. The one time she opened her eyes, Bahl was staring at her blankly. Is he enjoying this? she wondered. She had no idea. His tupping was mechanical, and seemed to go on forever before the tempo of his thrusting increased. Then it became more forceful and spasmodic. Bahl gasped, thrust a few more times, and ceased moving. He lay atop Yim awhile before he withdrew and silently rolled over on his back.

  “Were you pleased, my lord?” asked Yim, for it seemed prudent to inquire.

  Bahl grunted and rolled over on his side, facing away. Yim lay perfectly still, wondering if it had been for nothing. She felt raw inside and ventured to touch between her legs. Her fingers came up bloody.

  Yim shivered as she waited for Lord Bahl’s breathing to assume the evenness of sleep. His unnatural chill had made her feel that she had been tupped by a corpse. Worse, Bahl’s chill lingered in her despite the blazing fire. In fact, Yim grew colder as time passed. As her discomfort increased, it was accompanied by the disturbing impression that something alien had invaded her body. It felt like a taint of the vilest sort. The mere thought of her pollution made Yim nauseous.

  Yim had no guarantee that she would conceive, but since Karm had directed her to Bahl toward that end, it seemed likely. Regardless of the night’s outcome, Yim was certain that the malign entity within Lord Bahl had entered her. Apparently, it had left him to do so, for the man lying beside her was growing warm. Yim envisioned him waking sweaty for the first time ever in his overheated room and realizing that their encounter had been no ordinary tryst. Yim’s only option was to flee. She waited until Lord Bahl slept, then slipped from his bed.

  Having been preoccupied by her immediate goal, Yim had ignored the consequences of success. Suddenly forced to consider them, she saw that they could be as dire as failure. There was no question that Lord Bahl and the Most Holy Gorm would recognize her duplicity. Even if she became pregnant, she would be doomed if captured. Yim felt confident that Bahl wouldn’t harm her as long as she carried his child, but her fate after delivery would be a different matter. Yim doubted she would long survive the birth: There were many tales about the men who became Lord Bahl, but none mentioned a Lady Bahl. And if my son’s raised like his father, the destruction will begin anew . To prevent that and to live, she must escape and do so before morning.

  THIRTY-SIX

  HAVING LEFT Lord Bahl’s bed, Yim walked over to the cloak she had discarded and put it on. Then, after glancing at Bahl to assure that he still slept, she crept from his room. As she descended the winding stairs, the soreness and bleeding between her legs and her deepening chill evoked the violent consummation of her lifelong quest. Yim couldn’t help but feel bitter upon recalling her first vision and how Karm had smiled at her. I was only a child when she named me the Chosen . Yim felt blood trickle down her thigh. And this is what she meant by that! Yim was painfully aware that the goddess had known where her path would lead. Did the Wise Woman know also? Did the Seer? Did the Old Ones?

  Yim realized that she must shut such questions from her mind if she was to survive the night. She paused on the stairway to compose herself. It wasn’t easy, but she managed. Then, after taking a deep breath, Yim entered the hallway and slipped into Yaun’s room. The air inside the chamber reeked of burnt flesh, and an otherworldly coldness lingered, although the spirits had departed. Yim caught a glimpse of the blackened thing in the fireplace and quickly looked away. Then she began to search the room. She would need more clothing than a cloak, and her flimsy gown wouldn’t do, even if it had remained intact.

  Yim was rifling through Yaun’s gaudy wardrobe, trying to find something suitable, when she glanced at the pile of rags. Among them was a woman’s shift. Yim went over to it and discovered that all the rags had been women’s garments. Examining them, she found that they were torn and bloodstained. Yim had little doubt how they got that way. After much searching, she found a homespun shift and a baggy gray blouse that weren’t entirely blood-soaked. Both were ripped, but when worn in combination, the garments covered her. Then she found Yaun’s plainest pair of trousers and pulled them on over the shift and blouse, using them to fill the wide waistband. The pants were too fine for peasant wear, but Yim hoped that it wouldn’t be apparent in the dark. Taking a pair of blood-encrusted shears from Yaun’s collection of torture instruments, Yim cut the fur trim from the count’s dark-brown cloak. Then she cut a bloody rag and made a bandage to wrap about her head and hide her hair. All of the weapons in Yaun’s chamber were conspicuously bejeweled. Yim took none of them, for her only hope to escape lay in blending with Bahl’s ragged peasant army.

  Thus attired, Yim entered the dim hallway. It was empty, but she could hear the footsteps of guards making their rounds. Yim listened. The sounds seemed to be coming from around a bend in the corridor. She sprinted for the stairway leading to the lower level, her bare feet making little noise as she ran.

  The stairway exited in the dark banquet hall, where Yim was alarmed to spot three armored soldiers bearing torches. They were walking along the upright poles and inspecting the bodies impaled upon them. A dozen or more peasant troops followed behind them. “We’re to take down only the ripe ones,” said the leading
soldier with a torch. “Use yer nose ta pick them out.”

  “Pah! They all stink ta me,” said another soldier.

  “Shut yer gob!” said the first. “Ye know a fresh corpse from a stale one.”

  The third soldier laughed. “Aye, we’ve made enough of them.” The three halted before the blond woman skewered on a pole near the table’s head and gazed at her lifeless form. “This birdie can roost another night,” said the lead soldier. He moved to the next stake. “Phew! This bitch goes to the dump.” He turned to the peasant soldiers. “Hop to it!”

  Upon hearing this, the peasants moved to lift the pole out of its iron socket. As they struggled to do this, the soldiers with the torches moved farther down the row. Staying in the shadows, Yim reached the men just as they lowered the pole to the floor. None of them seemed anxious to touch the gray, stiff body, and that gave Yim the opportunity to seize an ankle. Then three men grabbed the other limbs to slide the body off the stake. Even free from the wooden pole, the corpse retained its bent posture, making it an awkward burden for Yim and the others who lifted it.

  One of the torch-bearing soldiers shouted back. “Get it out of here!”

  Yim helped bear the grisly burden out of the banquet hall, through the corridors of the keep, across the courtyard, past the guards at the gatehouse, and into a moonlit field filled with scattered encampments. Although Yim had passed through the field only once before, she immediately noticed a change. She no longer sensed a malign presence, and though she doubted the ragged men could perceive the change, they appeared to be reacting to it. The men seemed agitated. Many were up and pacing about, despite the late hour. Sleepers tossed and turned. They woke in increasing numbers as Yim watched.

  The men who bore the corpse with Yim headed for a large pile of bodies in the center of the field. They halted when they reached the putrefying mound, and tossed the dead woman upon it. When they turned to head back to the stronghold, Yim dropped to the ground on the shadowed side of the pile and lay still.