[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers

by Morgan Howell

  The sound of a galloping horse interrupted these thoughts. Edmun turned and recognized Yaun. “Brother!” he called. “I’m glad you’ve come.”

  Yaun reined his horse alongside Edmun’s. “I had to get out of the house.”

  “You’ve seen too many grim things,” said Edmun. “This festive day will do you good.”

  “Anything to be away from Father.”

  “Why do you say that? He was overjoyed at your return.”

  “Don’t play with me, big brother. Last night, I heard rebuke in his every word.”

  Edmun looked at Yaun in astonishment. “Were we sitting at the same table? I recall no such thing.”

  “That’s because you were unconcerned. Soon you’ll have your fortune.”

  “A falling-down house and a title? My principal inheritance will be a good name.”

  Yaun sneered. “Am I a fly to be snared with honeyed words?”

  “Brother, let’s not quarrel. I’m happy you’ve come home.”

  “Then my ruin satisfies you. I know you opposed my going.”

  “My satisfaction lies solely in your safe return. It’s true I advised against your leaving. War is gruesome and perilous. You know that now. I feared Alaric had turned your head with his grandiose tales.”

  “I wanted glory. Shouldn’t I have ambition?”

  “A warrior’s glory is but a trinket—one for which many trade their real treasure. I think Alaric would forsake all his renown to once more feel a spring breeze. Be glad to enjoy what he cannot.”

  “Well, Father was pleased to be rid of me.”

  “You seem to forget that joining Alaric was your idea. Remember how you wheedled for days until Father gave his blessing? And when he relented, he spared no expense in outfitting you. He could ill afford that jeweled sword.”

  “A man must bear a worthy weapon.”

  “If I had my way, swords would look as ugly as the work they do. To adorn a weapon must affront Karm.”

  “Oh, spare me your sanctimony. I care not what the goddess thinks.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,” said Edmun. “She’s the source of our good fortune.”

  “Your good fortune. You love her because she smiles on you. To me, she’s but a strumpet, tupping with some and denying others.”

  “My good fortune could be your good fortune,” said Edmun. “When I become count, I’ll share everything. You need only settle down and earn true glory, not through bloody deeds, but by good works.”

  “Those are loving words, brother,” said Yaun, “and I repent my hard ones. In truth, my tribulations have opened my eyes. I swear things will be different between us.”

  Edmun smiled. “You don’t know how happy that makes me. You’ve been dealt a hard blow, but your life will change. I’m sure of it.”

  Yaun smiled, too. “I’m certain also. Let’s take our horses to the river. There, we shall bless our new life.” In response to Edmun’s puzzled look, Yaun said, “It’s a charm I learned in Lurwic. The flowing water washes away the past.”

  Edmun gladly agreed and they rode to a small river and had their horses wade into it. There, Yaun began his oath. “River, river, wash away the past and receive my blood in promise of a better future. Edmun, draw your dagger and cut my hand.”

  “I don’t wish to draw your blood.”

  “You need only prick me, a few drops will do.”

  Edmun reluctantly complied. Then he held out his own hand to Yaun. “Now draw my blood in token of our bond.” Yaun drew his dagger and nicked the back of his brother’s hand.

  Edmun jerked his hand back. “That burns!”

  Yaun grinned. “I thought only women were afraid of pricks.”

  Edmun, oblivious of his brother’s coarseness, stared aghast while his fingers curled and stiffened, transforming his hand into a rigid claw. The hand turned numb and gray as the affliction traveled up his arm, which twisted into a grotesque shape. When he looked at Yaun, his eyes were filled with fear. “What have you done to me?”

  Yaun abandoned his pretense and laughed. “Why, brother, I’m changing my life.”

  The poison prevented Edmun from responding with other than gurgling gasps. His features contorted until only his eyes remained unchanged. As they peered from his graying face, they were filled with disbelief and despair. For an instant, Yaun was horrified by what he had done. He recalled his boyhood and the older brother who always took his side. But those recollections were followed by thoughts of Lord Bahl’s venomed words. They washed remorse away, replacing them with maniacal hatred.

  Then Yaun exulted in his deed. “Where’s Karm now?” he asked, as he kicked his brother’s leg from the stirrup and pushed him from his horse. Edmun splashed into the muddy water. Yaun watched him slowly drift away. Then he grabbed the reins of Edmun’s steed and led it from the river.

  “Oh, Father dear,” he said to the empty landscape. “I went riding and found Edmun’s horse. I traced its tracks to the river, where I fear my brother has been thrown! Call out the household! We must search for him at once! Oh my! Oh my! They have such dreadful news! That stinking, bloated thing is your sweet, precious Edmun!” Yaun giggled at his little drama. “Oh how you’ll weep for your favorite son, the one you always loved best. Poor, poor Father. I’m afraid your grief will poison you.”

  After Honus and Yim returned to the main road and traveled awhile, Yim’s spirits lightened. Her thigh ached, but the pain was not as sharp as before, and she willingly endured it to leave the castle behind. Not only was her ordeal there over, her secret seemed safe. Honus showed no sign of suspecting her. Secrecy had a renewed importance to Yim, for she had come to believe that Karm hadn’t forsaken her after all. The goddess had aided her twice during her confrontation with the dark man: First, when she had appeared to Honus and told him that Yim was in the castle. Later, when she had told Yim to throw the skulls into the fire.

  Although Yim didn’t understand why she had the horrific vision at the pass, she repented her initial reaction to it. She recalled crying “I can’t do it!” and “Karm asks too much!” and the memory shamed her. Yim resolved to have more faith in the future. Perhaps the vision’s meaning will be revealed in time, thought Yim. However, she found that hard to imagine. What could it have to do with finding the man who’s to father my child?

  Honus was another mystery to Yim. The Wise Woman had told her that Karm sent both trials and aid. Honus seemed both. His skill with arms had saved her life, and his desire had jeopardized her quest. Yim’s brief encounter with his spirit had exposed a complex and contradictory nature, and she felt leery of trusting him until she understood him better. With that goal in mind, she recalled his promise to be more open and began asking questions. “Master, when we waded that stream, I noticed a scar on your leg. Where did you get it?”

  “What scar?”

  “It was on your lower calf.”

  “I forget. I no longer keep track of my scars.”

  “Scars?” Yim said, feigning surprise. “You have more than one?”

  Honus smiled ruefully. “I have a whole collection. More than I’d care to count.”

  “How’s that possible? When you fought those bandits, you looked invincible.”

  “If you fight often enough, you get wounded. In my early years with Theodus, I fought all the time.”

  “That’s what you did for him—fight? I thought he was a holy man.”

  “He was. You should understand that the emperor’s justice is more memory than reality. His authority fades rapidly beyond Bremven. Powerful men make their own rules, and bandits disregard even those. Theodus thought he might use my skills to lend strength to the side of the goddess.”

  “So you fought for the sake of Karm?”

  “Everything from bandits to armies.”

  “And was the Balance truly served?”

  Honus sighed. “It seemed that way, and yet…”

  “And yet what?”

  “It never ended,” sa
id Honus. “Theodus came to feel we were seeking to sweep back the tide and despaired of bringing justice to the world. He stopped entering disputes and began to visit Luvein in a search for the root of evil. It was forsaking fighting that led to his death.”

  “How?”

  “He was drawn to study Lord Bahl. He got too close, and I…I failed him.”

  Yim caught the anguish in Honus’s eyes, and changed the subject. “Tell me a happy memory. Something from your childhood.”

  Honus thought a moment. “The garden.”

  “What garden?”

  “The temple in Bremven contains more than a sanctuary. Many live there. I grew up within its walls. In the center of it all, there’s a huge garden. It looks like a patch of the world, if the world were perfect. Everything seems natural. Yet each rock, tree, and plant is carefully tended. It was so peaceful. No matter how I felt, it calmed me.” Honus’s voice grew dreamy. “There was a rock I used to sit upon. It was in a pond, close to the bank. The times I spent there were always tranquil.”

  Honus smiled slightly. “And you? What memory shines in your childhood?”

  “When I was little, I had a goat. Her name was Rosie.”

  “A goat?” teased Honus. “What of your mother and father?”

  A cloud passed over Yim’s face. “You said you’d reveal yourself to me. I made no such promise to you.”

  Honus showed no reaction, but fell into a thoughtful silence. Yim followed suit. As she limped down the road, she observed the countryside. It was thoroughly desolate. The few hovels she spied were falling down and appeared long deserted. The fields about them had reverted to scruffy woodland choked with thorny vines. Yim wondered if the absence of people was the dark man’s work. Whatever the cause, it was a disquieting landscape, as if its violent past had poisoned it. Toadstools and nettles hemmed the road. They crawled with black spiders. Brambles snagged her limbs and clothing. Creatures were scarce, as were wholesome plants. The longer Yim walked, the more her surroundings affected her. She grew jumpy without knowing why, and when Honus went hunting, she was anxious for his return.

  When Honus appeared, Yim spoke of her unease. “This place has an unwholesome air,” she said. “Do you think it’s the doing of that man in the castle?”

  “Theodus would have said both yes and no, as Bearers are prone to do.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It has to do with the nature of magic. Theodus believed men and women are incapable of magic without the aid of a higher power. A Seer’s foresight is a gift from Karm, not the result of learning meditations.”

  “Surely that man’s spells didn’t come from Karm!”

  “Theodus thought that dark magic arises from another source, something foul. Furthermore, when invoked for evil magic, its presence lingers. That is what he believed haunts Luvein.”

  Yim recalled her vision at Karvakken Pass and the being that thrived on slaughter. “So the dark man in the castle is somehow connected to the first Lord Bahl?”

  “Certainly neither man’s powers came from Karm,” replied Honus. “Perhaps that’s their only link, perhaps not.”

  Yim wondered if the dark man had helped destroy Luvein or had slunk into its ruins only later. Since she couldn’t discuss the matter with Honus without revealing that she had talked with her captor, she asked a different question. “Why did your master visit Luvein?”

  “Theodus believed that something happened here that changed the world, something that went beyond the outcome of wars.”

  “What?”

  Honus shrugged. “He was still seeking that answer when he died.”

  Yim surveyed the blighted landscape around her. “So all this…” She paused, groping for a word that expressed the evil she sensed. “…all this foulness could be the result of men’s deeds? Didn’t they realize what they were unleashing?”

  “There are those who are mindful only of themselves,” replied Honus. “When they act, beware of the consequences.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  YIM AND Honus journeyed until dusk without encountering another soul. As darkness fell, they set up camp by the huge trunk of a fallen tree. Honus had killed a small squirrel and three sparrows for dinner. The birds were reduced to morsels once they were plucked and roasted. The squirrel was scarcely more substantial. Yim was able to find only a few tough greens to augment their meager meal.

  Hunger made Yim grumpy. When Honus asked to see her wound, she looked at him irritably, with more than a hint of suspicion. Nevertheless, she hiked up her tunic to display her discolored thigh. Honus examined it and told her to lie down. Yim reluctantly complied. To her consternation, Honus began to massage her leg. At first, she feared it was another sexual advance. Yet his strong fingers never wandered between her thighs. He seemed intent only upon kneading her sore muscles. Gradually, Yim relaxed. When Honus stopped, her leg no longer throbbed. Afterward, Honus spread his cloak upon the earth, removed his sandals, and lay upon it. Yim settled next to him, throwing her warmer cloak over them both.

  Yim and Honus’s journey through the remainder of Luvein settled into a wearing routine. Every day, they traveled on a road so neglected that, at times, it was only an overgrown path. They met no other travelers, for the land was virtually empty. Most of the time, they walked silently, for Yim’s growing exhaustion made her as taciturn as Honus. Unlike her master, she hadn’t trained to endure privation, and it took a greater toll on her.

  When the dark man’s castle was far behind them, Honus tranced more frequently. Sometimes, his visits to the Dark Path left him tranquil. On those occasions, he shared the memory he had encountered: “The man who planted this tree saw his grandchildren play in its branches.” “The child born here was the joy of her parents.” “Two brothers forgave each other at this place.” More often, the encounters left Honus troubled and morose. Then, he would resist trancing for a while. But he always succumbed to the temptation eventually.

  They encountered a few isolated hovels on their journey but stayed at none of them, for the farmers’ poverty and the scarcity of the season made Honus loath to ask for charity. Instead, they slept in the open when the weather was fair. When it was not, they found shelter in ruins. Honus disliked such places, for he couldn’t trance without reliving their destruction. Yim also sensed the buildings’ grim histories. Once, a defaced nursery reduced her to tears. Even when she slept outdoors, Luvein haunted her dreams. Every morning, she awoke feeling vaguely troubled and barely rested.

  For food, they survived on the game Honus killed and whatever edible plants Yim could find. It was never enough, and they were always hungry. Starvation exacerbated Yim’s fatigue, numbing her emotions and dulling her thinking. She ceased speculating about Honus’s intentions and Karm’s plans as her existence increasingly centered on the pangs in her empty belly and her tired, aching body. She expended her dwindling energy only on what seemed important—finding food and taking the next step.

  In her exhausted state, Yim failed to note the changes in Honus. He gazed at her ever more often. He set an easy pace and let her rest frequently. He gave her more to eat than he took himself, and his voice was gentle, even when he made commands. When he began to massage her back each night, saying that he had done the same for Theodus, she simply accepted his ministrations without questioning his motives. While Honus’s growing solicitude made little impression on Yim, she felt more at ease around him. When she thought of their relations at all, it seemed to her that she and Honus were two stones that had rubbed together until they fit.

  The days followed one another until they blurred in Yim’s mind. Then one morning Honus announced, “If we travel hard today, we’ll reach Yorvern Bridge by nightfall. An inn lies there where the goddess is honored.”

  Yim perked up. “An inn?”

  “Yes,” said Honus. “There’ll be soft beds tonight.”

  “And food?”

  “Bread, cheese, and ale,” answered Honus, “followed by a hearty stew.”r />
  “It sounds glorious! If I had the strength, I’d run the whole way.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” said Honus, smiling at Yim’s excitement. “This is our last day in Luvein. Bremven is not so far now.”

  Happiness faded from Yim’s face as she thought of Bremven’s slave market. “Oh.”

  “When we arrive there, I thought I might give you to the temple.”

  “The temple?”

  “Those children chosen by the Seers live there. They need people to care for them.”

  “And help teach little boys ‘the art of killing’?”

  “There aren’t just boys at the temple. Girls are chosen also, and only some children become Sarfs. Others become Bearers or work in the temple. A few become Seers. And all are needy. It’s a hard fate to be taken from your mother and father.”

  Yim noted Honus’s melancholy tone and thought it revealed much about his childhood. Her heart went out to the children and to him also. “Forgive me,” she said. “That was an unkind answer to a kindly offer.”

  “It’d be good work,” said Honus. “I think you’d be happy there.”

  “Thank you. It would suit me.”

  “Then I’m glad.”

  The prospect of a stay at an inn sped Yim’s and Honus’s steps, and at dusk they spied the Yorvern River, a silver ribbon dropped upon a darkening valley. A long stone bridge cut the ribbon with a series of arches.

  “I had no idea the river would be so wide,” said Yim.

  “It’s good to see it,” said Honus. “It marks the beginning of Vinden, my own land. I’ve not seen it for three years.”

  “Do they make good cheese in Vinden?”

  Honus laughed. “Why? Does that interest you?”

  “I’ve been thinking of cheese all day.”

  “And nothing else?”

  “Bread, too. And stew. And ale.”

  “I’m glad your interests are so broad.”

  “Aren’t you hungry, too?”

  “I am,” admitted Honus. “Roric keeps a good inn. It’ll be a pleasant night.”