[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers

by Morgan Howell

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  AT FIRST, Yim was too stunned and confounded to do anything but stay put. She knew only two things: A calamity had befallen the temple, and her life had taken another unexpected turn. She felt as she had on the night she was enslaved; in an instant, both her hopes and fears had been rendered irrelevant by a new and unknown destiny. Yim could see nothing encouraging about it. When Honus failed to return, her foreboding grew.

  Yim felt conspicuous on the empty road. With trepidation, she entered the cleft to rest and wait for Honus. She removed the pack and sat on one of the fallen doors. The pain from her wound added to her fatigue from climbing the steep road. As she rested, she looked about. The shattered doors were huge and made of oak sheathed in bronze. Evidently, great effort had been needed to destroy them. One had been reduced to little more than splintered wood and jagged metal. Yim sat on the more intact door of the pair. Its bronze decoration had been marred by many blows, but parts still retained their loveliness. Leaves and curling vines stood out in high relief. It was exquisite work, a flattering mirror to nature where every leaf and tendril was perfect. Yim discovered bronze butterflies and beetles in the foliage, each a miniature masterpiece.

  Beyond the doors lay the first courtyard of the temple. It was eerily silent. The only sign of its occupants was their dried blood. The outlines of broad, red-brown pools stained the stones. When Yim gazed upon them, echoes of atrocities arose in her mind. She looked away and recalled Karm weeping in Yorn’s courtyard.

  “So this is my journey’s end,” Yim said. Yet, even as she uttered those words, she knew it wasn’t so. The temple was no longer a meaningful destination. She was still a slave, a slave in a strange city. It was likely a hostile one, a place where her dark blue clothes would attract danger, not respect. Her future remained in Honus’s hands, and there was no sign of him.

  The silence of the temple and the stillness of the road made time drag. As Yim waited, her mood changed from anxious to impatient to irritated. Eventually, she decided to venture into the temple and find Honus. She removed the knife from the pack and put it in the waist pocket of her overshirt. Then Yim hid the pack and entered the courtyard.

  Her immediate impressions were contradictory. One was of peacefulness. There was a studied tranquillity to the temple. Nothing appeared grandiose in the irregularly curving courtyard, yet every stone seemed shaped and placed with care. The effect was simple, elegant, and beautiful. The idyllic setting strengthened the opposing impression of appalling violence. The stain of butchery was everywhere. It was plain that many had died on the perfectly laid pavement. The air smelled of blood, and swarms of flies darkened the discolored stones. A bloody trail marked where bodies had been dragged deeper into the temple. Yim followed that trail in hope that Honus had done the same.

  At the far end of the courtyard was a large, curved structure with an arched doorway. The trails led to it. Yim entered the building and found herself in a circular room that was sixty paces in diameter. It was made of irregular stones that had been fitted together with such precision they required no mortar. The walls rose to a domed ceiling that was open in the center. A thin stream of water arched from a spout at the opening’s edge to fall into a huge circular basin carved from a single block of black basalt. The stone vessel had been shattered and water spilled from it to form pools on the floor. These were tinted red. Yim didn’t know the purpose of the room, but she thought it might be a place for refreshment or cleansing.

  There were adjoining rooms, but the trail Yim followed didn’t lead to them. It traced a path through the room to a doorway opposite the one she had entered. Skirting the ruined basin and the bloody pools, Yim followed it to yet another courtyard. This one was deeper than the previous one, and in addition to paved portions, it contained natural features. A small waterfall fed a brook that meandered across the open space. Trees had flanked its course, but they had been chopped down. Except for the gruesome trail, there still was no sign of the temple’s occupants. The bloody trace was broader and clearer, having been fed by many tributaries. The gore sickened Yim, and she feared where it would lead. Nevertheless, she continued onward.

  There was no bridge across the brook that traversed the courtyard. Yim approached the waterway’s edge and saw its bed was cut into stone. It was impossible to tell whether this had been done naturally or artificially, but the shallow waterway was no obstacle. Yim removed her sandals and easily waded across. When she reached the other side, she paused to let her feet dry and to gather her resolve. Yim peered about and thought she discerned a pattern to the temple’s buildings and courtyards. The complex seemed to be laid out like growth rings of a tree, and the trail she followed seemed to be leading to its heart.

  Yim put on her sandals and entered the building at the far side of the courtyard. There was no doorway to this structure, just a broad colonnade. The huge stone columns were carved to resemble tree trunks, and like natural trees, they were irregularly spaced. The effect was similar to peering into a forest. Yim could see into the hall, but the columns prevented her from glimpsing its end. She couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. Her wonder and admiration increased when she entered the structure. It seemed endless and imbued with the same solemnity as its natural counterpart.

  The farther Yim walked into the hall, the more shadowy it became. A cold sweat moistened her body, and she felt the same dread she had experienced on the road to Karvakken Pass. There was a malevolent presence that either arose from the recent horrors or was drawn by them. It was attempting to discourage her from proceeding. Yim struggled against its influence, and owing to her strength—or its weakness—she succeeded. Yim picked up her pace and was deep in the hall when a faint sound startled her.

  It was tapping. Yim paused to listen. The sound seemed distant. Thinking it might be a signal from Honus or a survivor of the massacre, she strained to determine its origin. The irregularly placed columns played tricks with the acoustics, and for a while, Yim’s efforts were frustrated. She walked a few paces, listened, walked some more, and listened again. By slow degrees, she advanced so the sound became louder. It led her down the dim interior of the hall.

  Yim was beginning to think the structure was endless when its columns became thinner and more widely spaced. The light around her grew brighter, and she could discern a large arch in the distance. It was the source of the light. She had the sensation of approaching a sunlit glade after wandering in a forest. Not only did light come from the opening, but the tapping sound did also.

  Yim was advancing toward it when she noticed something on the floor. It looked like a lost glove, but it was a woman’s hand, severed at the wrist. The palm was upward and the delicate fingers were slightly curled in a final plea for mercy or perhaps in warning. Yim skirted the hand and proceeded more cautiously than before.

  The arch was the entrance to a large room where sunlight streamed through an open ceiling. A rock outcropping stood in its center like a miniature mountain. A huge mosaic depicting Karm standing on that rock covered the far wall. It reminded Yim of her childhood vision. The goddess was barefoot and wore a white, sleeveless robe that reached halfway down her shins. In one hand she held a balance, and she extended the other in a beckoning gesture. Her walnut-colored hair looked windblown and her dark eyes appeared serene. The look calmed Yim and gave her the courage to enter the room.

  The tapping came from behind the outcropping. Yim moved toward the sound, clutching the knife in her pocket. She peered around the rock. A ragged, elderly man was pounding a knife with a cobblestone to chisel tiles from the mosaic. When one popped loose, he followed its trajectory and caught sight of Yim. His face turned pale as he brandished his knife. “You a ghost?”

  “No,” replied Yim.

  The man’s expression became belligerent. “Then leave me be if you don’t want to become one.”

  Yim withdrew her hand from her pocket, leaving the knife inside it. “I’m no threat.”

  Keeping a suspiciou
s eye on Yim, the man bent over to retrieve the fallen tile. “Keep away! I found them first.”

  “I will.”

  “Good. The blue ones might fetch a few coppers. There’s no one here to miss them.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “I just arrived this morning.”

  “A mob, that’s what happened.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There’s nothing to understand. Five nights ago, they swarmed up here. The rest you’ve seen for yourself.”

  “Why did they do it?”

  “What’s reason to a mob? Those in the Black Temple stirred them up. Called it ‘righteous anger,’ but it seemed more like madness to me. Madness, pure and simple.”

  “Didn’t the emperor do anything to stop them?”

  “Oh, his men gathered some stragglers to hang from the poles, but they bided their time doing it.”

  “And the victims? What happened to them?”

  “Burnt. You could smell the stink for days. Some folk say that not all of them were dead when they went into the pyre.”

  Yim’s eyes widened. “Can that be true?”

  The man grinned at Yim’s shocked expression, then shrugged. “Who can tell? Not me. It’s not my business.”

  “But stealing is?”

  “This isn’t stealing. No one’s coming back. The place is cursed.”

  “So that’s why it’s empty.”

  “Aye. Folk are afraid of it.”

  “But not you?”

  “What’s the goddess to me?” replied the man with bravado. He gazed up at the mosaic image. “A mere barefoot girl.” He turned his gaze toward Yim. “For all her power, she could be you. You look enough alike.” The idea caught his fancy, and he bowed to Yim. “Goddess,” he said with mocking obsequiousness, “pray spare a poor man a few stones. It’s a small gift, considering you gave your servants to the mob.”

  Yim reddened. “Take them!” she shouted. Then, spinning on her heels, she ran from the room. The man’s laughter followed her.

  Yim ran until she encountered the broad smear of dried blood that had guided her into the hall. Then she let it guide her out. The light grew brighter, and soon she could see another open space with low buildings at its far side. This space was too broad to be a courtyard, and only the area closest to the hall was paved. The rest resembled a natural landscape, except the plants were trampled and all the trees had been cut down. They apparently had been burned, for the pavement contained the remnants of a great fire. The bloody trail ended there, and Yim knew she had found the pyre the man had described.

  The air of malice had grown more oppressive, and Yim feared the onset of some horrific vision. None came, nor was any necessary to reveal the magnitude of the slaughter. The sight before her was sufficient. A mound of charred bone rose waist-high and spread over forty paces. Winds had blown the ashes, which stained the surrounding ground. Even as Yim watched, a breeze raised a sooty cloud.

  Honus sat cross-legged and still before the mound, and Yim realized he was trancing. She had an inkling of how perilous it must be to seek the memories of those so recently and savagely slain. It seemed extremely foolhardy. Yim walked over to where Honus tranced to await his return to the living realm. She sat down and watched his ash-blown face for signs of revival. Tears flowed from his closed eyes and disturbing expressions crossed his face like shadows of clouds traversing a landscape. These were the only hints of the horrors he was experiencing.

  Yim and Honus remained motionless and silent for a long while. Then, without warning, Honus’s eyes flew open. They glared at Yim without recognizing her, and his expression was terrifying. The Seer’s tattoos only faintly foreshadowed the fury that dominated his features. Honus had become the embodiment of wrath. In a sudden, fluid motion, he leapt to his feet and drew his sword. He stared at Yim with a look of blind rage. She cowered, too terrified to speak. Honus raised his blade with the grim ceremony of an executioner, and Yim feared he would hack her to pieces in his madness. Then awareness came to his eyes. Alarm followed. Sheathing his sword, Honus dropped to his knees and embraced Yim. Holding her with fierce tightness, he uttered, “Oh Yim!”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  TERRIFIED, YIM submitted silently to Honus’s embrace. Passivity seemed the only prudent course. Honus trembled when he first held Yim, but gradually stopped. When Honus finally released her, his face was calm. Yim found that calmness unnerving. It seemed unnatural, and she was certain that his wrath was only hidden, not subdued. It made her wary, and she waited for him to speak first.

  “Come, Yim,” he said presently. “There’s nothing for us here.”

  Yim silently followed, her mind spinning. Honus didn’t speak again until they reached the shattered gates and Yim took the pack from its hiding place. “Put it back,” he said. “It can stay here awhile.” Yim complied, but looked puzzled. Honus responded to her confusion. “You’ve borne it to the temple. Your task is done.”

  “Then you intend to sell me?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s to become of me?”

  “Didn’t you say your father was a peddler?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m taking you to a friend who’s a merchant. He may be able to help you.”

  “How?”

  “That remains to be seen. Whatever happens, you’ll no longer be a slave.”

  “You’re setting me free?”

  “Yes.”

  Yim’s eyes welled with tears. “Thank you, Honus. I’ve yearned to be free again.”

  “Then I’m glad,” replied Honus, not looking glad at all.

  Honus led the way down into the city. The streets had grown crowded, but his grim face and aggressive carriage caused people to avoid him. The route he took soon confused Yim, though she had the impression they were returning to the riverfront. As she trailed behind Honus, her joy at her emancipation subsided when she realized that her fate still remained in Honus’s hands. She knew no one in the city and had no idea where she was headed.

  At last, Honus stopped in front of an impressively large stone building. A deep colonnaded arcade ran across its front, sheltering tables that displayed cloth samples. Shoppers and vendors were busily bargaining there. When an agreement was struck, the vendors dispatched a stock boy to procure the order. Honus took the same route as the stock boy and led Yim through a doorway in the center of the arcade. Once inside, they found themselves in a large storeroom, crowded with shelves stacked high with cloth and bustling with activity. The room grew quiet as soon as Honus entered. Speaking to no one in particular, he asked, “Is Commodus in residence?”

  A young man nervously approached and bowed. “He is, Karmamatus.”

  “Tell him Honus is here.”

  “I will at once.” The young man bowed again and sped away, clearly relieved to depart. The activity in the room slowly resumed. A short while later, the young man returned with an older one. By the deference shown to him, Yim guessed the second man was Commodus. He appeared to be in his fifties and his short, dark beard was streaked with gray. His large eyes and broad forehead gave him an intelligent look, while his red, fleshy nose and wide mouth befitted a common tradesman. Apparently aware of the latter impression, he was dressed in a manner to contradict it. He wore a colorful and elaborately pleated robe of gold-embroidered cloth.

  Commodus appeared glad to see Honus, but uncertain how to act. He took on the reserved manner of someone greeting a friend at a funeral. Commodus seemed puzzled by Yim, but it was to her that he bowed. “Welcome to my house, Karmamatus. May I offer you and your Sarf some refreshment?”

  Yim returned the bow, glad that she could fall back on formality. “Karm sees your generosity. We’d be grateful for some refreshment.”

  “Then I’ll show you the way,” replied Commodus. He led them through a doorway in the rear of the storeroom. Beyond it was a corridor that ended with stairs. Commodus led his guests
up them into the private apartments on the second floor. There, the utilitarian furnishings gave way to sumptuous ones. Evidently, Commodus was a successful merchant and an extremely wealthy one. He waved off everyone who approached and took Yim and Honus into a richly furnished room with a window overlooking the river. After closing the door, Commodus dropped his formality and embraced Honus. “I never thought I’d see you again, dear, dear friend. Such times! Such dreadful times!”

  “It’s good to see you once more,” said Honus, returning the hug.

  “Tell me of Theodus.”

  “I’ve sad tidings,” said Honus. “He was slain in Lurwic.”

  “Each day brings yet another blow! When I saw you had a new Bearer, I feared the worst.”

  “This is Yim, and though she’s dressed as a Bearer, she’s not one.”

  Commodus regarded Yim with undisguised curiosity.

  “It suited my needs to garb her so,” continued Honus. “She has served me faithfully and borne my pack through many perils. She’s the reason I’m here. I’ve come to ask a favor.”

  “Anything is yours,” replied Commodus.

  “Take Yim under your protection and teach her your trade. I’m certain she’ll prove an asset to your household, for she’s resourceful and has a fine character. Sheltering her would also honor Theodus, whose burden she carried.”

  As Commodus listened to Honus, he watched his eyes carefully, causing Yim to suspect that he had the skill to perceive much that was unsaid. When he regarded her again, it was with new appreciation. Then he smiled, and his shrewd eyes turned warm. “You must be worthy indeed, for Honus is never generous with praise. Have you no kin?”

  “I’m alone.”

  “Then, if it would please you, I’ll become your kin. It would honor me to be your guardian.”