The night was absolutely still; yet the wail sounded so loudly in Yim’s head that she could hardly bear it. Only its piteousness prevented her from fleeing. Just then, the moon peeked over the horizon, and its light revealed more of the structure. It was a castle where vines and trees were completing the destruction wrought by some ancient enemy. Yim could make out a gateless and crumbling gatehouse, breached walls bearing stumps of watchtowers, and a cylindrical keep.
The cry came from the gatehouse. Yim entered it. Between the outer and inner archways was a roofless space littered with rubble. The night sky provided the only illumination, for the moon was too low to shine into the gatehouse’s interior. Yim stubbed a toe as she stumbled about in the gloom. While she waited for the pain to subside, she noticed a doorway in one of the walls. It was pitch black, but she could make out a pale object that was suspended in the opening. It was the source of the wail.
Yim carefully felt her way across the rubble-strewn space. She reached the doorway and touched the object. It was a child’s skull, dangling from a cord that passed through the eye sockets. Yim’s sensitive hands felt the subtle tingling that she recognized as the presence of a spell.
The cries inside Yim’s head were agonizing. They conjured images of a toddler trapped in a pitch-black cave, screaming for help that would never arrive. Most appalling was the freshness of the terror. It seemed as if the spirit had just realized its doom and was trapped perpetually in that terrible instant.
Yim cut the cord with the knife and carried the skull to the moonlit road to examine it. There, she saw that the skull was painted with runes. They were the source of the spell her fingers had detected. This wail I sense may be only a trick, a way to frighten off intruders. Yim rejected the notion. It would serve no purpose. Ordinary persons couldn’t hear it. Yim pondered the problem and decided that she should try to contact the spirit within the skull—if there was one. She assumed that the technique for contacting the spirits upon the Dark Path should serve in this instance also. Placing the skull before her, Yim sat on her heels and began the mental rituals that would allow her mind to reach beyond her body.
Yim wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Spirits on the Dark Path were distant from the living, but the skull held a spirit that had never left this world. When Yim contacted it, the immediacy of the experience nearly drove her mad. In a confused and horrifying instant, Yim experienced an abduction, a bizarre ritual, a frightening glimpse of a boiling caldron, and a state of perpetual terror. She felt like a swimmer gripped by a drowning person who threatens to sink them both, and it took all her will to break free. When Yim returned to the earthly realm, she was shaking and sobbing.
The skull imprisoned a soul between life and death. Yim couldn’t imagine the purpose of such an abomination, but she knew that it must be ended. Picking up the skull again, she felt its magic and realized that destroying it would release the trapped spirit. She took a loose paver from the roadway and used it to smash the skull.
The piercing wail stopped abruptly. Yet Yim wasn’t at peace, for it became apparent that the child’s cries had drowned out fainter ones. These were no less heartrending. Yim could detect several distinct voices within a cacophony of despair and terror. A woman sobbed. Another screamed. A man moaned piteously. All the cries seemed to come from within the dark castle.
Yim was in a quandary: She was afraid to enter the castle, but she couldn’t ignore the tormented spirits. Moreover, she knew Honus would be curious about her absence. I might convince him I got lost if I return now. That would mean abandoning the spirits. Yim knew that returning tomorrow would mean revealing her powers—something she had been warned never to do. It was her guardian’s strictest injunction, and Yim had taken it to heart. Should I keep my secret or save these spirits? Yim felt she would regret whatever choice she made.
A dark figure emerged from the gatehouse while Yim was wrestling with indecision. He moved so silently that she was unaware of his approach until he stepped into the moonlight. Even then, he seemed wrapped in shadow. The dark face over the inky robe appeared featureless, except for two glaring eyes. Yim gave a startled cry and pointed her knife at the advancing stranger. He glanced at the weapon, but didn’t slow his pace.
“You’ve taken something that was mine,” he said in a low, hoarse voice. “Now you must replace it.”
“Stay back!” said Yim as forcefully as fright permitted. “I’ll use this if I need to!”
“So this sneak thief has a sting.”
“You’re the thief! I know what you did.”
The dark man bared his teeth in a grin. “You do? Then you must have powers. Good! Good! That spirit would have sustained me for years, but you’re a greater prize.” While he talked, the man slowly advanced. His empty hands hung limply. “If you wish to stop me,” he said calmly, “you must kill me.”
“I will!” shouted Yim, hoping the man couldn’t see how her hand shook.
“You lack the courage,” replied the man. He stepped in front of Yim, his arms still passively at his side. Yim gritted her teeth and stabbed at his chest. She felt her blade touch flesh; then there was a flash of brilliant blue light. It illuminated a cadaverous face that grinned in triumph. Yim felt a jolt so painful that it seared away her consciousness. She collapsed in spasms on the roadway as the blade, which glowed eerily, was flung from her twitching hand.
Through a fog of drowsiness, Yim thought a goat was licking her stomach. It was a pleasant sensation, and she was inclined to let it lull her back to sleep, despite the fact that the goat was sitting on her thighs. She lay still, enjoying the gentle stroking until a confusing thought came to her—I no longer herd goats. So where did this goat come from? Another question arose. Where am I? Yim reluctantly decided to open her eyes and find out. When she tried, some force opposed her. As she struggled against it, her initial puzzlement became fear that approached panic. Through intense will, she forced her eyes open. They gazed upon the ceiling of a vast circular chamber. Though a fire cast reddish, flickering light on its stones, the room was shadowy.
The sensations on her stomach were created by a paintbrush. Yim’s memory was restored when she saw that the man who had emerged from the gatehouse wielded the brush. He was sitting on her thighs and painting runes upon her naked body. The red-brown paint smelled of herbs, decay, and blood. It tingled slightly as it dried. Already, the man had painted her torso down to the navel. Concentrating on his work, he didn’t notice she was watching him.
Too late, Yim recalled the Wise Woman’s tales of sorcerers who knew a spell against iron weapons and overcame their foes by enticing them to strike. Such men were said to preserve their lives by use of dark magic. With horror, Yim thought the man upon her might practice such sorcery, for he looked like a sun-dried corpse. His face was formed of human leather that had darkened to grayish brown. Yellowed whites surrounded his gray pupils. Wisps of gray hair surrounded his skull like fibrous fog. The skeletal hand holding the brush was the same shade as the face. Yet, just beneath the sleeves of his black robe, the man’s wrists appeared deathly white.
Yim realized her ankles were bound by what felt like a thick, rough rope. Her wrists were tied behind her back. The arm that had held the knife was partly numb. She tried to sit upright and caught a glimpse of a huge brass caldron surrounded by a roaring fire. The man quickly pushed her head back down, slamming it against the stone floor. Through her pain, Yim heard the man’s rasping voice. “Move again and you’ll regret it.” He picked up a large brass needle and pointed it at her face. “I can make you suffer greatly.” He made the needle’s point wander down Yim’s cheek and neck, over her breasts, and down her belly. Yim’s flesh stung everywhere the needle scraped. “Next time,” said the man, “I’ll push down every once in a while. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” whispered Yim.
The man took a damp cloth and wiped a spot on Yim’s stomach. “You made me smear a rune. That won’t do.”
“Why are you d
oing this?”
“Why, why, why?” mimicked the man in a mockingly high voice. “They always ask that. Why does the hawk seize the sparrow? It’s natural for the strong to prey upon the weak.”
“There’s nothing natural about this!”
“It’s natural to avoid death. All creatures prolong their lives at others’ expense. You’re no different. I imagine you’ve eaten your share of hares.”
“Do you intend to eat me?” asked Yim in horror.
“It’s your spirit that will sustain me, though I won’t waste your meat.” In anticipation of Yim’s reaction, the man picked up the needle and placed his hand on Yim’s throat. “Accept your fate, and you need not suffer until the water boils.”
“Why not kill me now and be done with it?”
“For the spell to work, you must be living when you go into the brew.”
“This is foul magic,” said Yim. “Look what it’s done to you!”
“You understand nothing, my young sparrow,” said the man. “I’ve lived over three hundred years. How can you lecture me? I’ve heard more arguments and pleas than you could possibly imagine. Now shut up and be still if you wish to enjoy what life you have left.”
Yim’s helplessness made her obey. She lay still and the man returned to his painting. All the while, she thought furiously of how she might escape. No plan came to her. Despite her terror, as the symbols crept down her body, Yim’s drowsiness returned. She found it increasingly hard to think, and she became confused. Her eyelids turned heavy and closed.
Suddenly, the man’s weight was gone and a sandaled foot was insistently pushing her thigh. Yim heard a voice shouting, “Get up! Get up!” She felt the ropes around her ankles fall away. Someone began gently kicking her. “Yim!” The voice sounded more urgent. “You must get up!”
It required even more effort than before for Yim to open her eyes. When she finally succeeded, she saw Honus standing next to her, his sword drawn. He was not facing her, but the man in the black robe. Yim’s mind was foggy, her body felt leaden, and her wrists were still tied. It seemed to take forever to rise. The effort made her dizzy. All the while, the man slowly advanced toward Honus.
“Run, Yim!” yelled Honus, still keeping his eyes on his opponent. “The door behind you leads out of the keep.”
Yim saw the doorway and moved toward it with the slowness of a sleepwalker. Her mind was still sluggish and all she could do was stagger. Honus yelled once more. “Run! Run! Run!”
As Yim crossed the room she heard a hoarse voice say, “If you wish to stop me, you must kill me.”
Yim passed through the door and a hallway to the keep’s entrance. When she stepped into the cold night air, her mind cleared slightly. When it did, terror gripped her. She ran heedlessly across the castle courtyard into the dark gatehouse. There, she tripped over the rubble and went crashing onto the fallen stones. Yim cried out in surprise and pain. Her left shin hurt so much that she feared it might be broken. Yet she was able to rise to her feet and make her way to the road. Once there, she ran down the lane without pausing to examine her injuries.
Yim didn’t stop running until she reached the ford. She entered the cold water and sat down so it flowed around her nude body. The river soothed her hurts, but more importantly, it washed away the marks painted on her flesh. As they dissolved, the spell that clouded Yim’s mind eased its hold, and she was able to think clearly.
Yim left the river to wait for Honus to come and free her wrists. It took only a short while to realize that he would never arrive. He’s been ensnared, just like I was. Yim struggled with her bonds until her wrists were raw, but the knots wouldn’t budge. I’ll need my knife. Perhaps it’s still where I dropped it.
The last thing Yim wanted to do was return to the castle, but she saw no other choice. Reluctantly, she walked to the gatehouse to search for the knife. The pavement was empty. Yim remembered only a jolt of pain between the instant she stabbed at the man and when she awakened in the keep. Recalling that jolt, she thought she might have jerked her hand and tossed the knife into the weeds that surrounded the road. Yim began to methodically feel about them with her bare feet. All the while, she kept a wary eye on the gatehouse entrance. After a long, anxious search, her toes touched metal. She squatted down and picked up the knife. It tingled slightly in her hand.
Yim fled down the dark roadway until she reached the river. Kneeling down on its bank, Yim began the awkward business of cutting her bonds. She was unable to see what she was doing or to hold the knife properly, and it seemed to take forever. When her hands were finally free, she used them to scrub the last vestiges of the unholy markings from her body.
With that done, Yim needed only to flee to obtain her freedom. She could dress in Honus’s spare clothes and forage for food until she reached a town. And who would blame me if I did? No one would even know. Yet when Yim imagined such a deed weighed on Karm’s Balance, she knew she couldn’t desert Honus. He had saved her, so despite her fear and her desire for freedom, she would try to save him. It wasn’t a rational decision, but it felt like the only right one.
Yim hoped her opponent’s sorcery might prove to be his weakness. She reasoned that if she could release the captured spirits that sustained him, the dark man might be gravely weakened or even killed. To accomplish that, she counted on surprise. Hawks never think a sparrow will attack. As dawn’s first glow appeared in the sky, Yim cut down a stout sapling and made a spear. His iron spell can only trick me once. When he sees this, he won’t say I must kill him!
At dawn, Yim headed toward the castle carrying a wooden spear and the knife. Though the latter was useless as a weapon, it would be needed to cut down the skulls. Yim’s plan was simple—collect all the skulls and destroy them simultaneously. She hoped to do this without alerting the dark man. If she succeeded, she would see what happened next and improvise. Yim had no further strategy other than to use the knife on herself and Honus if things looked hopeless. That way, at least, our spirits won’t be captured. She wondered what Honus would think of such a haphazard attack. Not much, I suspect.
Yim entered the gatehouse and peered about the courtyard. The ancient castle was weathered and crumbling, but no living thing was visible inside its walls. Not a blade of grass grew between the cobblestones. No vine softened the dank keep. Everything was deathly still, but Yim could already sense the torment of the captured spirits. It was evident that the dark man felt no need to hide the skulls, since two were visible from the gatehouse. Yim became aware of three others. If she included the skull that she had already smashed in the pattern, then all the skulls were hung at equal intervals along the castle walls. She cut them down and used their cords as carrying handles.
After Yim collected the five spirits outside the keep, she discerned one more imprisoned inside it. This spirit sounded like a man struggling—and failing—to repress wrenching sobs. Yim worried it might be Honus. With mounting apprehension, Yim entered the keep. When she reached the doorway to the inner hall, she cautiously peered around it.
Honus lay motionless on the floor, bound and naked. Runes covered his body from his neck to his feet, making it look bloody. The fire about the brass caldron had brought the liquid inside it to a boil, and steam billowed into the air. Its putrescent stench nearly gagged Yim. A series of ropes and pulleys spanned the ceiling above the caldron, and the black-robed man was busy with them. He lowered a rope with a brass hook to the floor, grabbed it, pulled it over to Honus, and attached the hook to the bonds around Honus’s ankles. It seemed clear that he was preparing to plunge Honus into the caldron.
Yim urgently scanned the room for the final skull. She felt it should be easy to find, since the room was virtually bare, except for the caldron at its center. However, the walls were empty. No skull dangled from a doorway.
The dark man walked over to a rope and began to pull. Wooden pulleys creaked. The rope attached to the hook grew taut. Honus’s ankles were lifted up as he was slowly dragged across the stone
floor. He came to rest beneath a pulley attached to a rope that spanned the room and passed over the caldron.
The sobs of the spirit imprisoned in the remaining skull echoed within Yim’s head. She knew it was close by, but she still couldn’t see it. Think! Think! Spells usually involve patterns. Think about the pattern! A circle of six skulls and a seventh one…where? The answer seemed obvious. In the center! But what center? Center of the castle? The keep? The room? It must be the room—it’s circular. But the caldron’s in the room’s center. Yim stared at the boiling caldron, but it seemed impossible for the skull to be there. Her eyes followed the rolling cloud of steam upward and her heart sank. She had found the skull. It dangled from a cord high above the caldron.
TWENTY-ONE
YIM’S EYES left the skull and followed the cord from which it hung upward to the steam-fogged ceiling of the room. There was a tangle of ropes traversing the hall, and most passed over the caldron. The cord that suspended the skull was tied to one of those. Yet try as she might, Yim couldn’t distinguish which rope it was. Ultimately, all the ropes passed through pulleys and down to the floor at the far end of the hall. There were over a dozen of them, and Yim knew she would be able to cut only one or two before she would face the dark man again. The prospect left her paralyzed by panic and indecision.
Meanwhile, Honus’s bound ankles rose higher from the floor as the man continued to pull the rope. Soon Honus’s legs pointed directly upward. Yim continued to agonize over what to do until she heard a woman’s calm and authoritative voice, “Throw the skulls into the fire.”
Yim turned to see who had spoken, but the hall behind her was empty. Again the voice sounded, more insistent than before. “Burn them now!” The voice was compelling, and Yim obeyed it. She sprinted to the side of the caldron away from the dark man and tossed the skulls into the fire. The man had been facing away, and since Yim’s bare feet made little noise, he was unaware of her presence until he spied her dashing toward the ropes. He reacted quickly and released the rope. As Honus’s legs dropped to the floor, the dark man darted after Yim.
[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers Page 14