[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers

by Morgan Howell

  Yim put on her sandals and climbed from the wagon to walk. It felt good to move about, and the air was free of the faint odor emanating from Hommy’s shroud. Since the highway was busy with traffic, Yim stayed behind the wagon to keep out of its way. She had never seen such a densely populated land, nor one that bore the look of centuries of habitation. To her eyes, the old buildings and the ancient towns were marvels. As she gazed at them, she felt provincial. Yet her glimpses of the dead’s memories had given her another view of the surrounding land. She had seen its unrest. Malice moved among the people, and the ancient stone walls hid—but didn’t restrain—its spreading poison.

  After Yim had walked awhile, Honus alighted from the wagon and approached her. He didn’t assume the customary position of a Sarf. Instead, he walked beside her. It reminded Yim that their roles of Sarf and Bearer were only pretense and the pretense would end soon.

  “Did you sleep well?’ asked Honus.

  “I slept long, but poorly.”

  “It’s not restful to sleep with a ripening corpse.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Hamin should move Hommy off the wool. Otherwise, his goods might get spoiled.”

  “He doesn’t care,” said Yim. “This is his last trip to Bremven.”

  “He told me he’d do nothing rash.”

  “He won’t be rash,” replied Yim. “He has sworn to take Hommy’s ashes back to Averen and call upon her mother and sister.”

  “This is news to me,” said Honus. “When did he tell you this?”

  “He talks in his sleep.”

  “I see,” replied Honus, sounding unconvinced. They walked awhile in silence before he said, “You don’t trust me.”

  Yim glanced his way and saw Honus studying her. She averted her eyes. “Honus, you bought me. I’m here through compulsion, not trust.”

  “I’ve kept my oath to you.”

  “You have.”

  “Therefore, don’t I deserve your trust? Look at me, Yim.”

  Yim turned to face Honus and made her eyes impenetrable. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do.”

  “Trust goes both ways, Honus. Do you trust me? Would you set me free without conditions?” She waited for an answer and got none. “I thought not.”

  Toward day’s end, the road climbed a rise, and Bremven was visible in the distance. It lay beyond the Yorvern River, covering five hills with stone buildings. To Yim, it was an awe-inspiring sight. Before darkness obscured the view, they approached close enough for Honus to point out some landmarks—the emperor’s palace, the residential and commercial districts, the riverfront harbor, and upon the highest hill, Karm’s temple.

  “I see no temple,” said Yim, “only a bare, rocky cliff.”

  “It harmonizes with its surroundings,” replied Honus. “See that cleft in the rock? That’s the temple entrance. Within that cleft are huge bronze doors, green with age.”

  Yim peered at the hilltop, trying to discern human handiwork, but couldn’t. “I expected something grander.”

  “I think you’ll find it grand,” said Honus. “Remember, Karm’s the Goddess of the Balance. Her temple celebrates nature rather than seeking to dominate it.”

  “What’s that huge black building near the palace, the one with all the sharp-pointed spires?”

  “That one’s new to me. It must be the Devourer’s temple that Hamin spoke of.”

  Yim gazed at the structure and was dismayed by how it dominated the city. “It looks hideous, almost cruel.”

  “Then it’s fittingly constructed.”

  Hamin drove his horses until they reached an open field on the outskirts of the city. Scattered about it were numerous wagons and carts with cooking fires burning between them. Yim and Honus, who had continued to travel on foot, watched a man emerge from a small shack and approach Hamin. They talked briefly before Hamin handed him some coins. The man called out, and two more men exited the shack. One led Hamin to an empty spot in the field. The other followed with a wheelbarrow filled with firewood and fodder.

  Honus and Hamin tended the horses while Yim lit a fire. She was heading to the wagon for provisions when Hamin called out, “You’ll na cook tonight, Yim.” As if on cue, a woman appeared with a handcart laden with food and drink. Hamin went over to her and purchased three large, flat loaves, upon which the woman piled an aromatic mixture of cubed meat and vegetables. Hamin also bought a large bottle of wine. He handed loaves to Honus and Yim while the woman opened the wine. When she departed, Hamin said, “Tonight we’ll feast in honor of Hommy and Honus.”

  “Hommy deserves honor,” said Honus. “I don’t.”

  “You avenged her murder,” said Hamin. “Without you, I’d be slain, too.”

  “If I had more foresight,” said Honus, “she’d still be alive.”

  “True,” replied Hamin, “but na man has foresight. It’s said na one may know his or her fate, na even Seers.”

  “That’s true,” said Honus after seeming to reflect a moment. “Karm hides those things that concern each person most.”

  “Then do na blame yourself, Honus. You did your best, and I’m grateful.” Hamin went to the wagon, brought out three bowls, and filled them with wine. He raised his high and said, “To Hommy and Honus.”

  Yim took a sip and made a face. She had never tasted wine before, and it was not what she expected. She looked over her bowl to see Honus grinning at her.

  “Did you think it’d taste like grapes?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, taking a second, tentative sip. “But it’s not bad, once you appreciate it for itself.”

  “Understanding a thing’s true nature is the key to appreciation,” replied Honus. “That goes for persons, too.” He gave her a meaningful look.

  Yim sighed. Not again, she thought. I’m tired of his innuendoes. She turned her attention to the food instead.

  The meal was delicious, and it quickly occupied everyone’s attention. Hamin paused from eating only to refill the bowls with wine. After her initial disappointment, Yim discovered that she liked the wine. Hamin was a diligent host, and he made sure her bowl was never empty. Soon, she felt relaxed and happy. The night was clear and the lights of Bremven blazed in competition with the stars. Yim gazed at the scene in tipsy ecstasy. “Oh! It’s so…so pretty!”

  Honus glanced toward the city and nodded. He had drunk but a sip from his bowl. “It is.”

  Yim continued to stare at Bremven. “But where’s the light you said…you know…the one on the temple? I don’t see it.”

  Honus peered into the darkness and looked puzzled. “I don’t see it either.”

  “Probably something’s blocking our view,” said Hamin. “But what’s one missing light? ’Tis a grand sight. I only wish Hommy…”

  Yim’s loud sob interrupted him. Both Hamin and Honus turned to see tears welling in eyes that only moments before had shone with delight. “Oh Hommy,” Yim whimpered before dissolving into racking sobs. She tried to say something else, but her bawling made it unintelligible.

  Honus wrapped an arm around Yim, and she leaned to bury her face in his chest. Her hands clutched his shirt as she dampened it with tears. “I fear,” said Honus to Hamin over Yim’s sobbing, “that you were overgenerous in your pouring. She’s unaccustomed to drink.”

  “Drunk or na,” replied Hamin, “she honors Hommy with her tears.” His own voice had turned husky with grief and his eyes glistened in the firelight. “I should be to bed. There’s much to do tomorrow.” He rose and entered the wagon.

  Yim’s sobbing gradually subsided and, as it did, her embarrassment grew. I’ve upset Hamin, she thought with dismay. She was also chagrined that, once again, she had sought refuge in Honus’s arms. Yim pulled away and wiped her face with her sleeve. “You must think I’m a fool.”

  “No. You’ve shown a kind heart.”

  Yim didn’t reply, and Honus dropped the subject. He yawned and said, “They post guards h
ere, so I’ll sleep easier tonight.” Then he crawled under the wagon and wrapped himself in his cloak.

  Yim walked over to where Honus lay and knelt down. “Aren’t you going to sleep in the wagon?” she whispered.

  “I’d rather not sleep next to a ripening corpse.”

  Yim remained kneeling, undecided where to sleep. Her feelings toward Honus pulled her in opposite directions. His love was unsettling and inconvenient. On the other hand, he offered protection and eased her loneliness. Sometimes Honus seemed safe, and sometimes he seemed the opposite. Which is he? Yim wondered. She was in no state to decide. Nevertheless, she took off her sandals and crawled beside him.

  THIRTY-SIX

  YIM OPENED her eyes to see a pair of bare feet on frost-covered ground. They were spattered with gore. She looked from under the wagon and saw Karm, her white robe still dark with blood. The goddess stepped back and made a beckoning gesture with a red-stained hand. Then she turned and walked away. Yim left the warmth of the cloak she shared with Honus and followed. Although the sun had not yet risen, people were already stirring. None seemed to notice Karm or her.

  Karm reached the empty road and turned to face Yim, who immediately knelt before her. Yim gazed up at the sad-faced goddess and waited for her to speak. Karm said nothing, but there was something in her expression that encouraged Yim to ask the question that had troubled her ever since the last vision.

  “Goddess,” whispered Yim, “whose blood is this?”

  “Yours.”

  “Mine?” said Yim in alarm.

  “Mingled with the blood of countless others.”

  “But why is it upon you?”

  “Because you’ve gained the wisdom to see it.”

  Yim was perplexed by this response, but dared not say so. Instead, she humbly bowed her head. “What do you wish me to do?”

  “What’s necessary.”

  “Do you mean bear a child?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then, what?”

  “You already know.”

  “I don’t,” cried Yim. “I truly don’t!”

  “Don’t what?” asked Honus as he gently shook Yim. “Why are you shouting?”

  Yim lay beneath the wagon, next to Honus. She was surprised to find herself there, and for a moment, she looked at him in confusion. “I…I had a dream,” she replied, “but I’ve already forgotten it.”

  The wagon above them creaked as Hamin rose and climbed down. “Since everyone’s up, we might as well head out. Bremven’s gate opens at dawn.”

  Most of the other travelers were preparing to leave also. Hamin hitched the horses and went to find the woman who sold food and drink. He returned with a loaf of bread and an earthenware jug filled with hot, spiced tea. Yim drank the tea gratefully, for she was chilled to the bone. The drink brought a bit of warmth and eased her headache from the wine, but she still ached from the cold. Her discomfort seemed proof that her conversation with the goddess hadn’t been a dream. Yim wished that it had been. It made as little sense as a dream, she thought. Why can’t Karm speak plainly?

  “You look glum,” said Hamin, “for someone returning home.”

  “I’m not glum,” she replied, “just tired.”

  “Would you like to ride beside me?” asked Hamin. “It’ll be your last chance.”

  “Thank you, I would.”

  When Hamin came back from returning the tea jug, he found Yim sitting in the wagon’s front, shivering beneath her cloak. Taking the reins, Hamin sat beside her. Then he spoke to Honus, who was sitting in the rear. “Would you hand Yim a blanket? It’s a chill morning.”

  Honus passed a blanket forward and Yim wrapped herself in it. Hamin flicked the reins and they were off. Fog had risen from the river, obscuring the city. The highway disappeared into a gray void. After they traveled in the dank mist awhile, shapes materialized ahead. At first, Yim thought they were trees flanking the road, yet as they came nearer, Yim saw that she had been mistaken. What had appeared to be tree trunks were stout poles. They were not crowned with leaves, but with hanging corpses. There were men, women, and even children—so many that they formed thick layers. Yim closed her eyes in horror. “What is this ghastly thing?”

  “Emperor Morvus’s idea of justice,” replied Hamin.

  Yim kept her eyes squeezed tight. “Tell me when we’re past them.” Although she couldn’t see the dead, the damp air was heavy with their odor and the call of crows assaulted her ears. She felt colder than ever.

  Hamin wrapped an arm around her quaking shoulders. “I forgot this sight is new to you. Theric was emperor when you were last here.”

  When Yim heard the sounds of water, Hamin said, “We’re past them now.” Yim opened her eyes and saw that they were on a bridge. It was broader than the one at the Bridge Inn and could easily accommodate two passing wagons. Soon, the high walls of the city and the tall arch of the gateway loomed out of the fog. They drove past two sleepy soldiers who barely seemed to glance at them.

  Yim peered about in wide-eyed amazement. Everything seemed gigantic, beginning with the huge, ironclad gate. She had to remind herself that she was pretending to be returning home and must hide her wonder. Yim didn’t have to keep up the charade for long, because Honus soon grabbed the pack and alighted from the wagon. “Our paths diverge here,” he said to Hamin. Yim climbed down to the road and the three said their good-byes.

  As Yim watched Hamin drive away, Honus started to shoulder the pack. “Don’t,” said Yim. “That’s my job.”

  “Your wound…”

  “It won’t bother me.”

  “You say that without a pack resting on it.”

  “It’s important that I carry it. Didn’t Theodus say it was Karm’s will?”

  Honus gave Yim a dubious look, but he handed her the pack. Yim shouldered it, forcing herself not to wince as she did so.

  Honus watched her carefully. “Are you sure you can do this?”

  “Yes, if we walk slowly.”

  Honus assumed the customary position of a Sarf and began to walk up the street. Yim couldn’t see his face, but he moved with a lighthearted step. Her own feelings were more complicated; she was excited, nervous, curious, and fearful all at once. Coloring everything was her awe of the city. Because of the early hour, its lanes were largely deserted, which made them seem mysterious.

  Honus turned up a narrow street flanked by stone residences three or four stories high. At street level, there were only stout doors and blank walls; windows were reserved for the higher floors. From the onset, the road sloped upward. “Is this the temple’s hill?” asked Yim.

  “No, Temple Mount lies beyond this hill. How’s your back?”

  “It doesn’t hurt at all,” lied Yim.

  “Good,” said Honus in a tone reflecting skepticism.

  After walking awhile, they reached the crest of the hill. The road twisted, and as it began to descend, Yim caught a brief glimpse of Karm’s temple. It crowned the small mountain that dominated the skyline. The rising sun made the mountaintop glow. From her closer perspective, Yim could see that walls built by human hands blended with natural rock formations to enhance their beauty. Glorious in dawn’s light, the mountaintop seemed a fitting home for the goddess.

  When buildings hid the temple again, Yim turned her attention to the street, which was slowly filling with people who moved with the purposeful pace of persons on important business. As Yim observed the other pedestrians, she had the impression they were avoiding Honus. They attempted to do it casually by crossing to the other side of the street before he drew near or by subtly gazing elsewhere. Yet it soon became obvious that Honus’s approach cleared a pathway, and no one looked him in the eye.

  “Honus, do people here fear Sarfs?”

  “No, I’ve many friends in Bremven. At least, I did once.”

  “Then why do people seem uneasy?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you’ve noticed it, too?”

  “I have.” />
  After a while, the road sloped upward again, more steeply than before. As Yim climbed higher, the homes grew larger and grander. Except for ornate doors and doorways, the structures remained plain at street level, but the stonework of the windows and facades of the upper stories were elegantly crafted. Most homes featured walls enclosing trees with blooms that were visible from the road.

  “Rich merchants live here,” Honus said.

  “It must be pleasant to gaze upon such gardens.”

  “A friend of mine lives near the river in such a house. Indeed, the world looks comely from his windows.”

  The road grew steeper. Soon it hugged the mountain-side, and there were no buildings to obscure the view. Bremven stretched below, bathed in the soft light of dawn. The sounds of a waking city rose with a breeze that carried the smell of wood smoke, spice, and abundant humanity. By then Yim’s wound throbbed, and she feared that it might reopen. Still, she said nothing. Perhaps, bearing the pack is all that’s necessary, thought Yim, but she suspected the notion was wishful thinking.

  Honus was aware of Yim’s pain, and he walked slowly despite his impatience to reach the temple. He thought he understood her desire to bear the pack to the end of their journey, and he was sympathetic to it. It was the kind of thing he would do.

  The road switched back and forth to climb the hill. The cleft that held the great bronze doors was visible and soon the doors would be also. Honus recalled how they had fascinated him as a child. He could almost feel the intricate reliefs on their surfaces, the green giving way to gold where they had been polished by the touch of countless hands. For him, the doors reflected the enduring grace of the temple, and he was eager for Yim to see them.

  Finally, the road turned one last time and the entrance to Karm’s sanctuary lay in front of them. Honus froze, shocked into immobility by the sight before him. The doors lay shattered upon the ground. The instant passed. Honus drew his sword as he raced into the ravaged temple, leaving Yim alone and forgotten on the roadway.