When the two resumed their journey, Yim played a willing servant. Although she fell short of being cheerful, her demeanor gave Honus hope that she’d be less grating in the future. She seems to have accepted her lot, he thought.
Despite Yim’s improved attitude, Honus dreaded the journey ahead. He was familiar with Luvein, for he and Theodus had trekked up and down it. The way was hard, for the roadways were abandoned. There were perils as well. Luvein’s tragic history had left a legacy of evil. The malevolent found refuge in the empty countryside, and there were haunted spots as well, malign places where travelers were prone to misfortune. But it wasn’t hardship or danger that disheartened Honus; as a Sarf, he was used to both. What discouraged him was the prospect of a journey without Theodus.
Honus’s late master not only had provided companionship, but had given meaning to Honus’s life. Through obeying Theodus, Honus believed he was serving Karm. Since infancy, he had been taught that was the highest good. His role didn’t require him to understand his master’s ends, only to help fulfill them. Sometimes Honus fought for causes that Theodus deemed worthy. Sometimes he merely gathered firewood. Whatever Honus did served a purpose. Without Theodus, the trek through Luvein would be nothing more than a long and arduous hike.
Moreover, Honus dreaded the journey’s conclusion. He had served only one master, and the idea of getting a new one daunted him. Honus couldn’t imagine anyone taking the place of one he so loved and revered. Yet he was a Sarf, and a Sarf’s function was to serve a Bearer. When he reached the temple, both he and Yim would get new masters. Honus glanced at his slave as she trudged uphill, bent beneath the pack. She gazed ahead with eyes already dulled by weariness. What hope has she for the future? It seemed to Honus that in the bleakness of her prospects, Yim and he were kindred.
As noon approached, they descended into a valley. There, Yim was surprised when Honus led her away from the road and up a wooded rise. Upon it was the ruin of a delicate stone building that provided more a semblance of shelter than its substance. Some of the many windows that perforated its partial walls retained stone mullions so finely carved that they blended with the vines entwining them.
“Set down your burden,” said Honus. “I intend to seek what game’s about.” After Yim unshouldered the pack, he asked, “Need I bind you for my absence?”
“No, Master. I’ll never run away again. I swear by Karm.” Yim arched her thumb in the Sign of the Balance.
Honus seemed satisfied. He removed his cloak and handed it to Yim. “Find a spot to rest. You’ll be safe here.” Then Honus took a sling from the pack, gathered stones, and slipped noiselessly into the woods.
In one corner of the ruin, a portion of a vaulted roof remained, and the leaves beneath it were dry. Yim laid Honus’s tattered, bloodstained cloak upon them. As she did so, she reflected that his garment was not as fine as hers. With so many wares to choose from, why would he purchase me a cloak that was better than his own? Why is he so contradictory—sometimes harsh and sometimes gentle? Yim lay upon Honus’s cloak and curled up beneath her own. Soon her master was forgotten as sleep overwhelmed her.
Yim woke to view the light of afternoon glowing on the ruined walls. Honus sat nearby. “Have I slept overlong?” she asked.
“Don’t concern yourself with that. We’ll travel faster with you rested.”
Yim rose, brushed off Honus’s cloak and handed it to him. “Thank you for letting me sleep.”
“Let’s leave this place,” said Honus. “It’s less tranquil than it seems.”
The remark caused Yim to guess that Honus had tranced. She went to get the pack and discovered two slain hares tied to it. Her mouth watered at the prospect of a hearty meal. As they started out, she said, “I’ll look for wild onions and thyme as we walk. They add a fine flavor to roast hare.”
“That sounds good,” replied Honus. “We’ll camp again in the open. There’s no chance of finding hospitality.”
“The last place we lodged was certainly ill-favored,” said Yim, thinking of her brush with Auntie Flora. “Are all the folk here as poor as Gan and his mother?”
“Most are even more desperate.” Honus gave Yim a knowing look. “As perhaps you’ve discovered.”
Anxious to deflect Honus’s line of thought, Yim replied, “No wonder Gan was so grudging.”
“It goes deeper than that. The servants of Karm are seldom welcome here.”
“It has something to do with that pendant, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, many in Luvein have turned to the Devourer.”
“Why’s that?” asked Yim. “Gan’s creed sounds hate-filled.”
“Haven’t you heard of the cult?”
“Only rumors. At home, all worship the goddess.”
“Just as folk oft seek the protection of violent men, they’ve turned to a bloodthirsty god. Hate can be empowering, especially to a mob. I’ve seen it firsthand—men and women shorn of their humanity and capable of any cruelty. There’s madness abroad. It’s spreading.”
“Why?”
“That’s what Theodus sought to discover, and it cost him his life.” Honus looked at Yim. “You’re trembling.”
“Just a chill,” she replied quickly. “It’ll pass when we walk a bit.”
“I think my Bearer’s fate touches you more than you pretend.”
“It concerns me only because Theodus’s counsel resulted in my purchase.”
“That was happenstance,” said Honus. “Don’t look for omens in his death.”
“What happened to him?”
“That tale isn’t good to hear,” replied Honus. “It would only trouble you as it troubles me.”
Honus grew withdrawn, and Yim didn’t question him further.
The road began to ascend again, and its winding way took Yim and Honus to a high ridgeline that headed toward a range of peaks. The ridge resembled a rocky spine, its lichen-encrusted rock softened only by stands of wind-stunted firs and pines. Yim marveled how the ancient roadway had been carved through solid rock in places. By late afternoon, the mountains ahead dominated the skyline. They looked dark and barren. Honus pointed to a notch in them. “That’s Karvakken Pass. A great fortress once stood there.”
“Is that where we’ll spend the night?”
“No,” replied Honus. “The ruin’s a fell place, even in daylight. We’ll camp near here, where it’s more wholesome.” Soon afterward, he left the road and followed a tiny stream until he found a sheltered spot. “This will do,” said Honus.
“I’ll gather wood,” said Yim.
“Gather a lot. The night will be cold.”
By the time Yim returned with her third load of wood, Honus had a blaze going. The hares, skinned and dressed, lay on a rock. Yim shredded the herbs she had gathered and rubbed them on the raw meat. “Your sword would make a good spit,” she said.
“I’d sooner use my hands.”
“Men and their weapons!”
“You think we prize them overmuch?”
“What kind of sword could you buy for ten coppers?”
Honus smiled. “I can see where this is going. Yes, the Balance is askew. There once were times when a Sarf might be a builder or an artist. Now, the only art we learn is that of killing.”
“Killing an art?”
“Call it a trade, if it makes you feel better.” Honus picked up the knife with which he had skinned the hares. “I’ve seen men do terrible things with these—cruel, inhuman things. Still, a knife can be used to prepare a meal or whittle a child’s toy.”
“Yet, you’re not a knife,” said Yim. “You’re a sword.”
Honus saw that Yim was watching him intently, and he became aware that she was probing him much as he had attempted to probe her. Despite that gaze, or perhaps because of it, he felt compelled to answer truthfully. “Yes,” he said at last. “I’m a sword, best fit for killing. I take no pride in that. I don’t believe Karm delights in death, but I think she’s sometimes served by it.”
&nb
sp; “How can killing serve the goddess?”
“In the same way a great fire may be stopped by a small one in its path. Good people may be protected. Good laws may be upheld.”
“And what has all that killing done to you?”
Honus looked away so suddenly it appeared that Yim had struck him. Yet when he gazed at her again, his features were composed. Speaking in a voice that was calm but cold, he said, “It’s not your place to ask.”
FOURTEEN
IT WAS a frigid morning, and when Yim awoke, her back was against Honus’s chest. His arm rested on her waist and his hand gently pressed her belly. The position felt far too intimate and Yim wondered if Honus was awake. The thought alarmed her. When she tried to slip away, Honus gripped her more firmly. In the effort to get up quickly, Yim threw her elbow back and struck Honus in the chest. “I’m sorry, Master,” she said as she scurried from his reach on hands and knees.
Yim glanced nervously at Honus. His face bore the same aloof expression it had the previous evening. Like then, Yim was certain that it was a facade to hide his feelings. Beneath it, she sensed irritation. “Shall I light a fire?” she asked, hoping to defuse the situation.
Honus rose, put on his sandals, and strapped on his sword. “Break camp and shoulder the pack. We’ll warm ourselves through walking.”
“Won’t we eat first?”
“No. Now hurry up. I’m eager to depart.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“Apparently nothing,” replied Yim. Then she set about breaking camp. Soon, they were back on the road. Dark clouds hung in the sky, and the mountains ahead looked bleak. Karvakken Pass seemed particularly somber. Even from a distance, it was foreboding. Yim was dispirited, and that mood was exacerbated by her predicament with Honus. We can never be friends, she thought, but must we be at odds? She feared that might be the natural state between slave and master, but she wasn’t certain. Hoping to ease the tension, Yim tried to make conversation about something they had in common—their journey. “Master, will it take long to reach the pass?”
Honus also seemed inclined to ease their relations, for he responded benignly. “It’s not as close as it seems. We must walk quickly to reach it by afternoon.”
“Last night, you talked as though it was an unwholesome place.”
“It is. We’ll want it far behind us when night falls. Karvakken has a grim history and many believe evil lingers in those ruins.”
“Do you, Master?”
“I don’t know if all the tales are true, but I certainly wouldn’t tarry there.”
Honus’s reply reinforced Yim’s disquiet. “Need we go that way?”
“It should be safe enough in daytime. Besides, it’s the shortest route to Bremven.”
Yim gazed apprehensively at the pass. “How could a place become so fell?”
“It’s a long tale, but I’ll tell it if you’d like.”
“Please.”
“Long ago, Luvein was rich and fair,” said Honus, “but its lords were locked in conflict. Greed and power hardened their hearts, and they cared not that their struggles caused misery. Battles raged back and forth without any clear victor. Only scribes remember the combatants now. They’re all forgotten—except the one named Bahl.”
“I know that name. It’s infamous,” said Yim. Then she looked puzzled. “But Lord Bahl’s alive today.”
“Many men have borne that name. It’s the legacy of his line. That, and a fearful reputation. But the first Bahl was no lord in the beginning. Where he came from is a mystery. Some say he was a wanderer from the north, others claim he was the bastard of a local lord. Wherever his origin, he possessed the dark power that makes his name so feared.”
“I’ve heard of it,” said Yim. “They say Lord Bahl sways men easily.”
“‘Sway’ is too gentle a word,” said Honus. “Men become fanatics who fight heedless of their persons. I’ve seen it firsthand.”
“And Luvein’s where it all began?”
“Yes,” said Honus. “Bahl was a common soldier in some lord’s household troop. Even then, he had uncanny power over others. It caused him to rise quickly. Soon, he commanded an army. His patron became the most powerful lord in Luvein, but he had kenneled a rabid dog. Bahl destroyed what he conquered. When his master objected, Bahl slew him to seize his lands and title.
“The other nobles allied to fight Lord Bahl. The more destruction Bahl wrought, the stronger grew his hold over men. Reason forsook his soldiers, and they fell upon Luvein like ravening beasts, leaving only corpses and ruins in their wake. And the carnage reached its climax at Karvakken, where the nobility of Luvein made its last stand.
“Karvakken was called invincible, but Bahl overcame it. No one could say how, for no defender lived to tell. Peace came in the guise of death, for all Luvein was desolated.”
“What was the purpose of such slaughter?” asked Yim.
“That’s the mystery,” said Honus. “Bahl’s savagery earned him naught but a wasteland. Tales speak no more of him, but he must have sired a son, for a new Lord Bahl appeared. And he possessed his father’s power.”
“What became of him?”
“He departed Luvein. In the west, he conquered a tiny realm. There, he erected an iron fortress.”
“The Iron Palace?”
“The same.”
“Even in the North, that name strikes fear,” said Yim. “But Bahl’s realm isn’t tiny.”
“Not now,” said Honus. “Under each successive lord, it’s grown larger. And the current Lord Bahl threatens to outdo the original.” Honus gazed at the surrounding desolation. “Perhaps someday every land will look like this.”
“And you’ve fought against him?”
“Only a skirmish in the scheme of things.” A tormented look came to Honus’s face that even his tattoos couldn’t hide.
“Yet I see the memory pains you.”
“It was hard to see my Bearer fall. And the way he fell…” Honus lapsed into silence.
“I grieve for your loss.”
Honus nodded, but didn’t speak again.
Yim had grown accustomed to Honus’s sudden silences. He hoards his words, and then spends them all at once. It seemed the mark of a conflicted man. For the most part, Honus’s silence suited Yim. She had no desire to become more involved with her master; her slavery involved her far too much already. The Wise Woman had warned Yim that she would face trials, and she feared Honus was one of them.
Karvakken Pass promised to be another. Yim perceived its malevolent aura as coldness that was of otherworldly origin. If I can feel it from this distance, how strong will it be at the pass? Already, her hands and feet were icy. She looked at Honus to see if he was affected also, but could detect no signs. Yim clutched her cloak about her and was glad for Honus’s brisk pace.
As Yim and Honus neared the pass, the woods thinned out and the landscape grew more barren. The desolation of the lowlands paled against the starkness of the mountain road. The few remaining trees were stunted, bare, and twisted into grotesque forms. Nothing delicate survived. It was a hurtful landscape of rocks and thorns that offered no prospect of rest. Yet, these were only outward signs of the land’s afflictions.
Yim began to perceive distant voices. At first, they were faint and easy to ignore. As the pass loomed ever closer, they became louder and more insistent. Yim began to distinguish individual sounds within the cacophony. Sometimes it was a wail of pain or a cry of rage.
“Master, what are those voices?”
Honus looked at her strangely. “What voices? I hear only wind.”
Yim winced and said, “Don’t say you didn’t hear that!”
“What are you talking about? Is this some jest?”
Yim didn’t reply, but her frightened look caused Honus to look about. They were nearly at the ruined fortress, a dark, ugly structure constructed from black basalt quarried from the surrounding cliffs. It nearly fi
lled the inside of the pass, pressing against a sheer wall of rock that towered above it. No living thing was visible around the site, only bare stone. The crude and massive masonry fitted its stark location so perfectly that the ruins more resembled a malignant growth than the work of human hands. High crenellated stone walls, still mostly intact, encircled an enormous ruined keep. As Honus surveyed the grim structure, the wind died down and the scene was wrapped in deathlike stillness.
Yim saw far more than a ruined fortress. The sounds that terrified her were voiced by ghostly visions. An army was besieging the walls. While she watched, the wraiths became more solid. The noise of combat reverberated within her head. Screams and shouts combined into a roar, yet Yim could also distinguish sounds unique to war’s butchery—the thud of blows, the hacking of flesh, the crunching of bone. Yim felt something sticky beneath her feet and saw blood. The road was covered with it.
All the while, Honus strode forward as if the road were not flowing red. Yim felt rising panic and the urge to run away. Still, part of her realized the horrors were illusions. Thus, she staggered behind Honus, knowing he was her sole guide through the terrifying vision. They reached the fortress. Yim saw a writhing mound of living and dead soldiers piled beneath its walls. They seemed as real as the black stones above them. As Yim approached, the pile grew and became a stairway of flesh. An immense human wave slowly mounted it. It crested the ramparts and overflowed them. The air was filled with the sounds of slaughter. Yim became nearly oblivious of Honus. She thought he might be shaking her, but she couldn’t tell. The ghosts commanded her attention.
The blood seemed real. The blood was real. It flowed thick and hot over her bare feet. It steamed in the cold air, turning it heavy with its sharp, metallic smell. Soon it was above her ankles. It splashed her legs with every step. All around her were madness, agony, and gore. The sensation was so powerful that Yim shared the combatants’ pain. She felt wounded in a thousand places and in a thousand ways. Then, in the midst of the chaos, she sensed something new. It was the malevolent center of the battle, a thing that was both its cause and effect. Yim knew it for a denizen of the Dark Path, where time and place were relative. For it, this ancient battle was perpetual. In some unknown way, it was aware of her and was attempting to draw her into eternal terror.
[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers Page 9