[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers

by Morgan Howell

  The road they traveled followed the river awhile, then turned south into a countryside of gently rolling hills. There were no weeds on the highway, for its paving stones were kept clear by traffic. Soon the surrounding woods gave way to orderly fields, vineyards, and orchards. Vinden was an ancient land, but unlike Luvein, history had been kind to it. The pleasant countryside reflected the caring husbandry of generations.

  Yim had never seen anywhere like it. Her mountain homeland was harsh and flinty. Only the lowest hollows supported crops, and even there, cold alpine winds made farming a chancy business. In contrast, the earth of Vinden was rich. Although the cottages she saw were not large, they seemed homey and comfortable. In the yards of many, spring flowers blossomed. The folk she saw appeared well fed and content. A few nodded toward her and made the Sign of the Balance. Yim inclined her head and returned the sign.

  “How could you ever bear to leave here, Honus?”

  “Whether I wished to leave or not was of no consequence,” he replied. “Karm directed my Bearer elsewhere, and I followed him. Yet I’ll admit I’m glad to see these hills again.”

  “It looks so peaceful,” said Yim. “I find it hard to believe Cara’s tales. She claims many here now follow the Devourer.”

  “That’s also what Cronin said.”

  “I can understand why someone like Gan might turn to the Devourer. He had nothing, and craved vengeance when none could be had. But why would folk in this fair place take up such worship?”

  “That question puzzled Theodus also,” said Honus. “If the answer eluded him, what hope have I of learning it?”

  Yim had no reply. Instead, she turned her attention to the sights around her. The sunny landscape, awash in the colors and scents of spring, soon banished her dark musings. The manner of the people they passed on the road matched the warmth of the day. Most were friendly, and everyone was courteous. All salutations were directed to her, not Honus. After some initial surprise, Yim grew accustomed to others’ deference. For the first time since her capture, she had regained her dignity. It made her optimistic about the future. Soon she would be living in Karm’s temple. What could be a better home for the Chosen? she thought. Perhaps I need only to bear a child who will undo evil. My fate could be a peaceful one. Yim fancied that her trial was over, and hope invigorated her steps.

  Yim and Honus walked until noon, then stopped on a stretch of the road that was lined by trees. Beneath the shade of a huge sycamore, they ate a lunch of fresh bread, well-aged cheese, and spicy sausage. Yim dined with relish. Afterward, she lazed upon the soft grass. Honus was less lighthearted. He watched Yim wistfully before lying back to gaze skyward.

  Yim turned on her side and studied his pensive features. “Honus, did it hurt when they tattooed your face?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did they do it?”

  “To mark my mastery of the martial arts.”

  “But why do it at all? They don’t tattoo Bearers.”

  “A face such as mine is useful in combat. It’s hard to see at night. During the day, it’s fearsome and difficult to read. However, the Seer who made these marks gave me another reason.”

  “What?”

  “He said my face reflects Karm’s wrath.”

  “Her wrath? Do you think Karm’s wrathful?”

  “That’s a question you should ask at the temple. I’m only a Sarf.”

  “Only a Sarf! How can you say ‘only’? You do Karm’s work.”

  “I’m her tool. Does a hammer understand the carpenter?”

  “Don’t be silly. Why call yourself a hammer?”

  “You’re right,” said Honus. “As you once said, I’m a sword. I build nothing.”

  Honus’s answer surprised Yim, and she didn’t know how to respond.

  “I’m fit only for killing,” said Honus. “Karm must be wrathful indeed to have need for one such as I. No wonder you shrink from me.”

  Honus’s despondency tugged at Yim’s compassion. Almost without thinking, she gently stroked his blue-lined cheek. “No,” she said. “The Seer was wrong. Yours is not the face of wrath.”

  Honus froze at Yim’s touch. She withdrew her hand and realized her fingertips were wet. Gazing into Honus’s eyes, she saw they glistened within their pools of permanent shadow. Yim was reminded of when she contacted Honus’s spirit in the dark man’s castle. This time she needed no special powers to see his torment. She had caught hints of it before, but had never felt its full force. He’s consumed by self-doubt. Yim looked away, rubbing her moistened fingers. These tears are his confession.

  Yim felt that she had mistaken Honus’s intentions on the previous night. He wasn’t spurred by lust, but by loneliness. A loneliness that seemed like hers. Then Yim wished that she hadn’t judged his need for closeness so harshly and could unsay the words she spoke that night. An urge to comfort Honus seized her. Yet, even as she thought to fling her arms around him, she remembered Karm. Yim saw her impulse as yet another test, perhaps the most severe of all. She recalled Cara’s words—“You need only climb into Honus’s bed to thwart Karm. Honus will do the rest.” Yim stifled her feelings.

  Only when Yim regained her composure did she look at Honus. By then he had wiped his eyes and formed his expression into one of calmness. Yim studied his tattoos. The angry visage they created was hard and implacable. Such a face must be difficult to bear. The marks seemed callous treatment for a lifetime of devotion. In that way, it reminded Yim of her own fate. Perhaps the Seer understood Karm after all.

  Honus remained silent, and so did Yim, for she was unsure what to say. She felt awkward, and she imagined Honus felt the same. It was a relief when he asked her if she was ready to resume their journey. Yim replied that she was and put on the pack. They headed out with Honus in front, his face hidden from Yim.

  As the day wore on, Yim began to encounter hostility. No one dared abuse Honus; all the ill will was directed toward her. Sometimes it was only a baleful glance. Once, she was forced from the road when a cart suddenly swerved. She heard muttered curses, but not all the curses were muttered. After passing a particularly foul-tongued man, Honus turned and caught Yim’s shaken expression. “I’m sorry, Yim. I hadn’t foreseen this.”

  “Aren’t Bearers supposed to forgive abuse?”

  “You’re not a Bearer.”

  Yim held her head up. “I can act like one.”

  Later, they came upon a burnt cottage. About the blackened structure were signs its destruction had not been accidental. Fences had been knocked down. A pair of dogs had been hacked apart and bits of them were strewn about. Graffiti was painted on the smoke-stained walls. The derelict house looked so out of place in the peaceful countryside that Honus left the road to investigate it. Yim followed him, but he stopped her at the doorway. A sweet, sickening smell issued from the interior. “There’s no need to look inside.”

  “What happened here?” asked Yim.

  Honus didn’t immediately reply, but moved a short way from the cottage and sat down to trance. Soon he opened his eyes. “This farmer’s grandfather came from Averen. That was enough to condemn him in his neighbors’ eyes.”

  “They killed him for that?”

  “Him and his family. Cara’s and Cronin’s tales were true. Vinden has changed since I was here last.”

  “Why?”

  “The answer is hidden from me. One thing is plain, though: The Devourer’s followers did this.”

  Yim looked about and saw the land in a different light. “Was Luvein once as fair as Vinden?”

  “Tales say it was even fairer,” replied Honus.

  By late afternoon, the small cottages had given way to large estates. Broad fields and orchards surrounded the manor houses and their outbuildings. When evening approached, they spied such a house. It lay far from the road at the end of a lane flanked by newly plowed fields. The house was built of stone, and except for some of the ruins in Luvein, it was the largest Yim had ever seen. Honus said, “It’s time to as
k for food and lodging.”

  Yim’s experiences in the afternoon heightened her trepidation as she approached the manor and knocked on its door. A man dressed in a long gray robe opened it shortly afterward. An elaborate brass medallion hung from a chain about his neck, and his face bore a haughty look. He fixed his eyes on Yim.

  Yim bowed her head. “Father, we’re servants of Karm. We request shelter and food in respect for the goddess.”

  The man didn’t return Yim’s bow. Instead, he replied, “My master decides who receives hospitality. I’ll speak with him.” Then, he closed the door.

  Honus said nothing, but Yim thought he looked surprised. It seemed a long time before the servant emerged from the house and shut the door behind him. “Follow me,” he said. Then he led Yim and Honus around the manor house to a long, low hut in its rear. Built of wood and constructed like a shack, it provided seasonal housing for the field-workers. Since it was early spring, its single, narrow room was mostly empty. “Find a bed to your liking,” said the man as he pointed to the row of straw-covered wooden pallets. “Then, I’ll show you to dinner.”

  Yim laid the pack on an empty pallet and looked around for a place to wash. There was a basin near the door. She washed her face and hands in it, though the cloudy water obviously hadn’t been changed recently. When Honus had done the same, the gray-robed man led them to the rear of the manor. A door there opened on a room with a long table where three dozen servants and field hands were eating their evening meal. A rotund woman with a good-natured face rose when Honus and Yim entered. Their escort addressed her. “Our master bids these two be fed.” Then he left.

  “Karmamatus,” said the woman to Yim, “I am Emjah, the cook and mistress of this meal. I’d be honored if you and your Sarf sat by me.”

  Yim bowed her head. “The honor is ours.”

  Some of the diners slid down the bench to make a place for Yim and Honus. A little girl brought out bowls of thick porridge, wooden spoons, and empty ale bowls for the new arrivals. Upon the table were loaves of coarse, brown bread, ale flagons, a large chunk of cheese, and a crock of shredded cabbage preserved in brine. These were passed toward Yim and Honus when they sat down. According to custom, Yim served her Sarf before helping herself.

  Emjah appeared eager to talk, but she first let Yim take the edge off her hunger. When Yim finished her porridge, Emjah smiled and said, “Would you like some more, Karmamatus?”

  “No, thank you, Mother,” replied Yim as she broke off another piece of cheese.

  “Please call me Emjah, Karmamatus.”

  “Then you must call me Yim.”

  Emjah smiled at Yim in a maternal way. “Yim, you look so young to be a Bearer.”

  “All must be young once.”

  “And where have you been traveling?”

  “In Luvein.”

  “Luvein!” said Emjah with amazement. “Such a fell place! Your tender looks are deceiving; you must be made of stern stuff.”

  A man laughed harshly. “Our old hen has found a new chick.”

  Yim looked at the man who had laughed. He was burly and coarse-looking, with a bushy beard and a dark tangle of greasy hair. There was dirt beneath the nails of his large hands, and his rough clothes were thoroughly soiled. Two similar men flanked him. He stared contemptuously at Yim. “So, girly,” he said. “Me and my mates plowed from sunrise. What did you do to deserve supper?”

  The room hushed. Honus remained silent, but Yim saw from the corner of her eye that he flushed red beneath his tattoos.

  “Who can tell what a person deserves?” replied Yim evenly.

  “So you’re fond of riddles,” said the plowman. He leaned across the table to snatch the cheese in front of Yim. “Well, I’ll answer yours. A man deserves what he has strength to take.”

  “So you follow the path of the Devourer?”

  The plowman tugged at a cord around his neck to produce a circular pendant. “Times are changing, girly. When the Devourer’s priests visit, they dine with the master.”

  “Those black crows!” said Emjah. “They’re honored only out of fear.”

  “You should learn our master’s lesson,” said the plowman. “The world honors power. ’Tis the sign of the Devourer’s grace. Is that not so, girly? You’ve traveled. In every land, isn’t the strong man respected? Dare you deny that he deserves whatever his might wins him?”

  Everyone’s eyes were on Yim, and she knew that she must respond. “I’ve heard that speech before,” she said. “It reminds me of a certain village north of Luvein built on the shore of a large lake. The market town lies on the opposite shore and the route around the lake is a hard one. To make matters worse, a nobleman exacts a toll on all who pass that way. Some years ago, an enterprising fellow built a boat to ferry the villagers to market. The trip was easy and short. The fare was less than the nobleman’s toll.”

  “Speak to the point!” said the plowman.

  “I am,” replied Yim. “The nobleman sent men abroad who spoke very much like you. They would go into the taverns and say, ‘How can you abide that boatman? When the wind blows, one side of the boat gets wet with spray. Yet that overbearing lout makes everyone stay in place. Why must a strong man tolerate such treatment? He should do what’s best for him and sit away from the wind. If someone is in that place, then let them move aside.” Yim looked at the plowman. “Isn’t that your message?”

  “’Tis.”

  “In time, many on the ferry came to agree with you,” said Yim. “One day, a hard wind blew up. The largest men aboard the boat, thinking only for their own comfort, crowded to the drier side. And who could stop them? They were strong.” Yim addressed the plowman. “Wasn’t it their right?”

  “Aye,” said the man. “By the Devourer, ’twas.”

  “Thus the boat was unbalanced,” said Yim. “It tipped over. All aboard were drowned. And the nobleman? He increased his toll.”

  The plowman scowled and looked away.

  Emjah laughed. “Yim’s got you there!” The cook glanced around the table and saw she expressed the general opinion.

  “It seems to me,” said an elderly man, “that Karmamatus deserves more respect than some would give her.” He gazed balefully at the plowman. “Perhaps if her Sarf lopped off a head or two, she’d get it.”

  “You mistake the working of the Balance,” said Yim, “if you think chopping heads would be a remedy. Karm’s scales don’t favor such deeds. Only goodness counter-weights evil.”

  “I can see why you’re a Bearer,” said the elderly man. He turned to the plowman. “You should be thankful Karm chose so wisely.”

  The plowman’s face darkened. He and his fellows quickly downed their ale and left the room. Yim concentrated on the last of her meal, modestly avoiding the glances of her audience. She didn’t notice how Honus regarded her, nor did the other diners, who avoided the eyes of the fierce-faced man. Thus, none noted his wonderment. When Yim eventually looked his way, his expression was bland again. Seeing that he had finished his meal, Yim spoke. “Emjah, my Sarf and I have journeyed far and must rest.” With that, she rose and bowed her head. “Karm sees your master’s hospitality and your graciousness as well.”

  Honus led the way back to the workers’ hut. There was no lamp or fire in the long, tunnel-like room. The only illumination was the twilight entering through unglazed windows. Within the dim room, Yim could see the plowman and his two comrades seated on a pallet. Somehow, they had obtained a large jug of ale and were passing it back and forth. When they noted Honus’s aggressive carriage, they moved to the far end of the building.

  “Will we be sleeping with them?” Yim whispered.

  Honus nodded. “It wasn’t my place to speak at dinner,” he whispered, “but as your Sarf, I’ll protect you. Sleep untroubled.”

  Yim removed her sandals and sank down into the straw. She quickly sat upright. “Phew! This bedding stinks! I’d almost rather sleep outside.”

  “You’ll get used to it. Be glad i
t’s spring. The winter has killed the lice.”

  Yim leaned toward Honus and whispered, “I thought a Bearer’s life would be less trying.”

  “It’s seldom easy.”

  “I learned that at dinner,” replied Yim.

  “That plowman gave you a hard time, but you acquitted yourself well.”

  “Now I understand why Bearers have Sarfs. I would have feared to speak without you by my side.”

  “That parable you told…I’ve never heard it.”

  “I made it up. Was that wrong?”

  “No. It was a tale worthy of Theodus. More importantly, it spoke wisdom. Now get some sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

  Yim lay down and tried to ignore the smell of old straw, dirt, and stale sweat. Her exhaustion aided the effort. As she drifted off to sleep, she saw Honus sitting upright, keeping watch in the darkening room.

  THIRTY

  YIM WOKE to the sound of the plowman and his comrades, the worse for their night of drinking, moaning and cursing the dawn. She glanced toward Honus and found him in the same position as when she fell asleep. Yim wondered if he had slept at all. “Is it already time for breakfast?” she asked sleepily.

  “Most estates don’t feed the servants until midmorning,” replied Honus. “We should be gone by then.”

  Yim stretched and put on her sandals. “Then let’s leave now.”

  Honus readied himself while Yim washed her face. They were heading for the road when Emjah emerged from the manor house. “Yim! Wait!” She hurried over and handed Yim a loaf of bread. “For your journey, Karmamatus. Have your Sarf keep a keen eye. These are dark times.” Emjah bowed and dashed back into the house before Yim could thank her.