[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers

by Morgan Howell

  “Yes. She’s surprising,” said Honus. He fixed his eyes on Yim. “How did you know to call her ‘Mommy’?”

  Yim looked away to avoid his gaze. “That’s what I called my own mother.”

  “Then it was a clever guess,” said Honus.

  “’Twill make na difference,” said Gan, glancing at his swaying mother. “She’ll ferget all this by morning. Then, maybe, she’ll have a new fit…” He grinned at Yim with jagged teeth. “…an’ slit yar throat.”

  Yim didn’t react to Gan’s remark, but quietly asked, “What happened to Mirien?”

  “Ah beed young, but Ah ken na ferget,” said Gan. “It be like yesterday. Mam an’ me came back from gatherin’ mushrooms. My da be slain an’ Mirien be gone.”

  “Was your sister young?” asked Yim.

  “Aye,” replied Gan, “but old enough fer some men. We found her in the road…” He poured and gulped down another bowl. “Mam went daft. Day after day, she prayed ta the goddess!” he said. “The goddess that took her child, then took her mind! Honor Karm? Ah’d sooner honor a whore! Ah’ll tell ya ’bout yar Balance. A strong man pushes down on it, till the scale favors him!”

  “Like the strong men who took your sister?” asked Honus.

  “Ya ken na fool me with yar Karmish talk. Ah found a true god! A strong god, na some sluttish woman.” He pulled at a cord around his neck to reveal an iron pendant in the form of a circle. “The Eater!”

  Honus coldly eyed the rusty symbol. “The Devourer of Souls.”

  “Ta become one with his strength! My hate becomes his hate!”

  TEN

  GAN’S SHOUTING broke his mother’s reverie, and she looked about in confusion. If she noticed Yim or Honus, she made no sign of it. “Gan,” she said in a whiny voice, “Ah’m hungry.”

  Gan gathered up the bowls and went over to the pot. With a wooden spoon, he fished out one root for each bowl and poured in some of the cooking water for broth. He brought Mam’s and his bowls over to the table, leaving Honus and Yim to get theirs. Taking out a knife, he peeled Mam’s root and mashed it into mush with the spoon. He placed the bowl and spoon before her, then picked up his own dinner and began to eat.

  Yim served Honus and herself. The roots in the muddy broth were small and partly rotted. She placed the largest one in front of Honus and sat at the end of the bench to eat. Before she could do so, Honus wordlessly switched their bowls. “Thank you, Master,” said Yim. Honus didn’t reply.

  The meager meal was eaten in silence. The only sounds were Mam’s slurping and the falling rain. Yim was so hungry she ate the root unpeeled and drank all the gritty broth. As she ate, the fire died down to embers and the room grew darker. When the meal was consumed, Gan rose. “There be some hay in the room closest ta the outer door,” he said. He went over to the wall and dragged two large, lumpy sacks that served as beds closer to the dying embers. Mam hobbled over to one and lay down. Gan took the ale jug and a bowl over to the other sack and sat upon it.

  “We’ll find our way,” said Honus in an amiable tone. He rose and left the room. Yim followed. She went slowly through the dark chambers. When she stepped in a puddle, she paused to wash her muddy feet in the shallow water. By the time she entered the outermost chamber, Honus was already wrapped in his cloak and lying on some hay piled near the wall. Yim could barely make out his dark form in the dim light. He didn’t call for her to lie beside him and though Yim would have liked the warmth, she was relieved that he didn’t. Yim groped for a dry spot in the moldy hay and wrapped herself in her cloak. She was exhausted and wished to sleep, but couldn’t. Instead, she considered what to do.

  Don’t be foolish, Yim told herself, recalling all her guardian’s warnings. Yet the Wise Woman was far away, and Yim couldn’t shake Mam from her thoughts. The old woman’s grief and madness tugged at her heart. In her mind’s eye, Yim envisioned Mam weeping over her murdered child and the image overwhelmed caution. Yim abandoned prudence. Compelled to act, she listened to Honus’s breathing for signs that he slept.

  Yim waited a long while before she rose from the hay. By then, the rain had ceased and the moon glowed behind thin clouds. Cautiously, she made her way to the room where Mam and Gan slept. Moonlight shining through high windows revealed them lying on their sacks near the ashes of the dead fire. Gan snored noisily, an ale bowl still in his hand. Yim knelt on the stone floor a few feet from Mam, then sat on her heels and folded her hands in her lap.

  Staring straight ahead, Yim took a deep breath and began the meditations she had learned as a child. As the world emptied from her mind, her surroundings seemed to fade while the invisible became apparent. Without moving her eyes, Yim glanced about until she spied a vaporous form. Wordlessly, she beckoned it.

  Yim remained rigid, and for a while, the only motion in the room was Mam’s tossing and turning as she slept. Then, the moonlight wavered as if clouds were streaking across the sky. Vaporous patches of shadow began to move over the floor. They grew darker until they became absolutely black. The room turned icy, and as Yim sat in perfect stillness, her breath came out as a foggy mist. The blackness gathered before her, forming a pool. The surface of that pool began to move upward like a person rising beneath a velvet cloth.

  Frost formed on the stones of the room, but sweat dripped down Yim’s brow. The blackness stopped rising and a pale glow appeared within it. A translucent figure of a child could be discerned, her form illuminated by some unseen source of light. The dark dissipated, leaving the girl standing before Yim. She was unclothed, as are all spirits of the dead.

  “Mirien?” whispered Yim.

  The child’s lips moved, mouthing words that only Yim could hear. Yim rose to her knees and held out her arms to embrace the ghost. The child stepped forward, and as Yim’s arms enfolded her, she dissolved. Yim began to shiver violently as she peered about the room. Everything about her wavered, being one thing and then another. Gan was a drunken man, and then he was a tiny boy. The filthy clutter came and went. Mam’s ratty white hair turned black and her wrinkled skin became smooth. Eventually, Yim’s vision settled, and she saw everything through long-dead eyes.

  She reached out and gently touched the cheek of the young woman asleep before her. The woman stirred. “Mommy,” said Yim in a child’s voice that was not her own.

  The woman’s eyes opened, then widened as she saw her daughter’s spirit within Yim. “Mirien,” she said, “Ah thought ya beed…”

  “Ah’m embraced by the goddess now.”

  The woman’s face crumpled beneath the weight of her grief, and Yim moved to cradle her in her arms. She held Mam and let her cry. When the sobbing diminished, Yim spoke again. “Great was my sorrow, but now great is my joy. Ya must believe that, Mommy.”

  “Mirien…Mirien, Ah miss ya so!”

  “Ah know, Ah know,” said Yim.

  “Did ya suffer much?”

  “My life seems but a dream with the sad parts over quick. Think on this instead—we’ll be together an’ we’ll be happy.”

  “Ah want ta die,” sobbed Mam. “Die an’ be with ya.”

  “Only ya ken take care o’ baby brother,” said Yim. “He’s so sad and angry. Please help him. Do this fer me.”

  “Aye, Mirien. Ah promise.”

  Yim kissed the young woman who smiled and grew peaceful, then fell asleep in her arms. Yim continued to hold Mam while Mirien’s spirit departed for the Dark Path. Then Yim’s own vision returned. The woman in her arms grew old and the room turned dirty and cluttered. Yim lowered Mirien’s mother down on the sack and covered her with a filthy blanket. The frost upon the stones began to melt, but effects of the spirit’s visit lingered with Yim. She was chilled to the bone. Her hands and feet stung. Rising unsteadily, she cautiously made her way back to the outer chamber.

  When Yim entered the room, she heard Honus’s harsh voice in the dark. “Where were you?”

  “I…I was cold, Master. I looked to see if there was any ale left.”

  “Su
ch thievery dishonors Karm,” said Honus. “I should beat you.”

  “Please, Master, I took none.”

  “No doubt, because there was none to take.”

  Honus jumped up and seized Yim’s forearm. She gasped at his painful grip and flinched, expecting a blow. None came. Honus relaxed his hand. “Am I that fearful?” he asked. “You’re trembling all over.”

  “I’m cold, Master.”

  “Gan is an ungracious host, yet he has little to give. It’s not for you to betray his generosity.”

  “I won’t do it again.”

  “See that you don’t. Otherwise, you’ll feel my hand.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Honus released Yim. “Now go to sleep.”

  Yim went over to the hay, glad that Honus couldn’t see her tears. She ached from the cold and her arm throbbed where Honus had seized it. Wrapped in her damp cloak, she was too cold and miserable to sleep, despite her exhaustion. Honus sounded like he was awake also, and swallowing her pride, Yim called to him. “Pl…pl…please, Ma…Master, may I lie beside you? I’m so c…cold.”

  “I think it best,” said Honus, “that you lie alone and contemplate how you disgraced the goddess.”

  Gan awoke to the warmth of a fire. As much as that surprised him, he was even more surprised to see his mother sweeping. He couldn’t imagine where she had found a broom. “Mam! Ya’ll choke me with that dust.”

  “Ah be sorry, Son, but Ah could abide it na longer.”

  “It never bothered ya afore.”

  “That be true, but it should have.”

  Gan rubbed his bleary eyes and tried to ignore the throbbing in his head. Then, he noticed the pot was on the fire. “What be ya cooking?”

  “Breakfast. We have guests.”

  Gan’s expression turned sour. “Beggars,” he said contemptuously. “A Sarf an’ his whore.”

  Mam walked over to him and grabbed his shoulders. Her strength astonished him, but not as much as the look in her eyes. Her gaze was lucid and intense. “Do na speak o’ what ya do na understand.”

  “Aye, Mam,” said Gan meekly.

  “Ya be a good son,” said Mam, “but hate be poor medicine fer sorrow.”

  Mam went over to the pot and gave it a stir. “Ya ken tell our guests that thar be food fer them.”

  Gan rose to waken Honus and Yim. By the time the three returned, there were four bowls of porridge on the table. The steam that rose from them smelled of fresh spring herbs. Mam walked over to Yim, who looked pale and drawn, and hugged her. “Ah do na remember yar name.”

  “It’s Yim, Mother.”

  “Yim,” said the old woman so lovingly that Honus looked at her intently. “Thank ya fer yar visit.”

  “Ah told ya she’d be like ta have a fit,” said Gan.

  Honus nodded, but seemed not to agree. They all sat down to a meal that, despite its humbleness, was as savory as the last one had been loathsome. Mam put down her bowl and smiled at the way her son was enjoying his breakfast. “Gan, do ya recall the old gardens behind the ruins north o’ the bend?” Her son nodded as he ate. “Roses used ta grow thar. White ones. Ah think they might still.”

  “So?” replied her son.

  “Ah be thinkin’ ya could dig one up ta put by our door.”

  “Why?”

  “It would help me ta recall Mirien. She liked roses.”

  Gan studied his mother’s face. “Aye,” he said after a few moments. “White roses would be good.”

  Whatever was going on puzzled Honus and made him reluctant to leave. Nevertheless, he stood up. “Come, Yim,” he said. “We should depart.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Wait!” said Mam. She rose from the bench, went over to the chest, and opened it. After rummaging about, she found what she was seeking and pulled out some cloth. It was yellowed and moth-eaten, but it appeared to have been white once. Mam gave the cloth to Yim and asked her to unfold it. It was a dress, embroidered with white roses.

  “Ah’ve been saving this fer…fer…” Mam fought to control her tears. “Ah want ya ta have it.”

  “Shouldn’t you keep it?” asked Yim.

  “Nay, Mirien has na need fer it.”

  “Then I’d be honored by your gift.”

  “Put it on,” said Mam, “an’ wear it as ya leave.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Yim left the room and returned a short while later in the dress. She turned around slowly so Mam could see the wedding gown. Honus and Gan watched silently as Mam’s eyes welled with tears. She walked over to Yim and softly kissed her cheek. “Thank ya,” she whispered. “Thank ya, Karmamatus.”

  Gan’s lips were quivering as he turned to Honus. In a husky voice he said, “Pah! She has na cause ta call her that.”

  ELEVEN

  YIM WALKED gracefully from Mam’s home despite carrying the pack in her arms. Before she was halfway across the muddy field, the dress began to disintegrate. Bits of fabric fell like flower petals thrown after a departing bride. By the time she turned a bend and was out of Mam’s sight, Yim was nearly naked. She stepped behind a tree and emerged wearing her slave’s tunic and cloak. All that remained of the dress was a piece of embroidery, which Yim placed in the pack before shouldering it.

  Yim’s stately air had vanished with the dress. When she resumed walking, she looked sullen and moved as though already weary. Honus started to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, he scrutinized Yim’s face, trying to understand what had transpired. As before, his powers of perception were frustrated. All he could detect was resentment. Thinking upon it, Honus briefly regretted his harshness. Then he grew annoyed that Yim’s mood affected him. He thought it was weakness on his part and a distraction from his obligations. Stop fretting over her. She’s only a slave.

  Honus picked up the pace, but Yim made no effort to keep up. Soon, she lagged far behind, and he was forced to wait for her. When Yim shambled wearily to where he stood, Honus didn’t hide his irritation. “Are you doing this to provoke me?”

  Yim tensed, as if expecting a blow. “No, Master. I’m doing the best I can. I’m not used to this, and I slept ill.”

  “Oh yes, I forgot. You’re a princess.”

  “Just a peddler’s daughter, Master,” said Yim, gazing at her feet, “but I rode in a wagon.”

  “So finally, a bit of truth. What did you think to gain from that silly tale?”

  “I hoped you’d think better of me.”

  “Then you haven’t been around royalty. Princesses incline toward vanity and indolence.”

  “I’m sorry I lied, Master.”

  Honus merely grunted and began walking again. He set a slower pace, and though Yim followed at a distance, she kept up with him. Every time he glanced back at her, she was glaring at him in a way he found annoying. At last, he halted and waited for Yim to catch up. “Will you mope all the way to Bremven?”

  “If you wanted a cheerful companion, you shouldn’t have bought a slave.”

  “I had my reasons.”

  “I obey your commands, yet I seem to vex you.”

  “That’s because you do!”

  “Then buying me was a bad idea, but that’s not my fault.”

  Honus advanced toward Yim, and again she tensed. Honus scowled, saying, “I’m as displeased by that purchase as you.” He started walking, then turned to see if Yim was following. When he saw that she was, he said, “Put away that sour face and I’ll let you rest soon.”

  Yim flashed him a broad and patently insincere smile. “Thank you, Master.”

  “Soon” turned out to be not soon at all, for Honus walked half the morning without stopping. The road he followed, though paved, was devoid of traffic. It wound through hills, climbing ever higher. Trees hemmed its sides, but the surrounding forest didn’t appear old. None of the tree trunks were thicker than the span of two hands, and most were smaller. They grew among the stones of tumbled walls and poked through the shells of roofless buildings like giant weeds. Throughout t
he entire morning, neither Honus nor Yim said a further word. They remained silent as Honus led the way up an embankment and entered a ruined house that consisted of three partial walls. Thorny vines shrouded the stones they were slowly prying apart. Then Honus spoke. “You can set down the pack. I’m going hunting.”

  Yim slipped the pack from her shoulders. Wordlessly, she spread her cloak over the dead weeds inside the ruin and lay upon it to rest. Closing her eyes, she heard Honus leave. She lay still, not resting but thinking. If I’m going to escape, this is the time to do it. Honus was taking her into desolate territory on a journey that suited only his purposes. And at its end, I’ll be sold again. Yim’s resentment grew as she recalled Honus’s self-righteousness the previous night and his impatience during the day’s march. He’s not carrying a pack! I am. Even Honus’s protection was suspect. Although he had saved her from rape or worse by the two brigands, he had also used her as bait to lure them out. The more Yim thought about her situation, the more freedom seemed less risky than remaining with such a man.

  Yim rose and put on her cloak. Her apparent weariness had been partly a show to conserve her energy. With Honus gone, she was determined to use that energy to flee. She searched the pack for the knife and water skin, but Honus had taken both. Though disappointed, Yim didn’t change her mind. She slipped out of the building and headed for the road. Yim assumed that Honus wouldn’t hunt near the roadway, so it would be the safest route to take. Additionally, she’d be less likely to leave a trail, since the road was paved. Yim planned to head deeper into Luvein, for she thought Honus would be less likely to suspect her going that way. There, she would hide until she thought it was safe to return to more settled parts.

  Yim ran down the road after she reached it. Without a heavy pack on her shoulders, running felt almost effortless and the exuberance of freedom invigorated her stride. Before long, Yim slowed to a more sustainable pace as she planned her next move. For the moment, she focused on evading Honus. She assumed he would search about the ruin and find her trail to the road. She hoped he’d head in the wrong direction, but she couldn’t count on it. Even if he does, he’ll eventually come this way. Yim envisioned the enraged Sarf tracking her, and she quickened her steps.