Yim cried out. “This time, I’ll not succumb. You can’t surprise me twice.” From deep inside, she found a source of strength. Yim fought the presence that was trying to invade her mind. Though she stood perfectly still, it seemed to her that she wrestled with a huge, shadowy eel. It was slippery and kept twisting in unexpected ways. Yet she held it fast until the thing faded. As it did, Yim’s heart lightened and the gathering ghosts dissipated. Yim was able to move forward. The bloodstains were dry again.
Yim passed through the building with the shattered basin and crossed the second courtyard. When she approached the colonnaded building, she felt a sense of foreboding. Nevertheless, she entered it. It was dark inside the building, and as she moved among its columns, the darkness deepened. Soon it was pitch black, and she had to grope about to avoid walking into a column. Yim stepped into liquid. Then, with the suddenness of an unexpected blow, the malevolence returned even stronger than before.
Ear-piercing screams echoed throughout the hall, and there was the sound of running feet accompanied by the sickening noise of butchery. Yim felt the air move as blades passed close to her face in the dark. Warm, sticky liquid spattered her until she felt drenched. Then eerie light, like that of flickering flames, illuminated the horrors she was hearing. Slaughter was taking place all around her. Yim not only saw the victims die, she felt their terror and their pain. Yim fought against it, and was buffeted from every direction. Wrenched one way and then another, she felt like a hare seized by a pack of dogs. Her mind was being torn apart. In her agony and horror, Yim perceived that was her enemy’s intention.
Then Yim did the one thing her opponent could not expect. She embraced the suffering about her. As she had with Mirien and Hommy, but without any preparatory meditations, Yim embodied the anguished spirits about her. She became them all to share their burdens of terror and pain. She was a young woman with a severed hand, fleeing in panic as she bled to death. She was an elderly man, standing defiant and still while the mob approached. She felt the blows from their cudgels before she became a wailing infant being swung into a stone pillar.
Yim died countless times, experiencing each terrible moment. Yet because she was driven by love, each time she took on a spirit’s suffering she helped that soul transcend it. The encounters were overwhelming—sad, but so profoundly intense that they had a kind of beauty. Yim felt simultaneously drained and uplifted. The sounds in the hall diminished into silence and the light faded. When all was peaceful, Yim stood alone and shaking in the dark. For a long while, she was too spent to move. Then strength from the departed spirits flowed into her. Yim took a deep breath and resumed groping through the hall.
Soon the darkness was no longer absolute. Moonlight filtered between the columns ahead. Yim walked with more assurance. When the tread of her sandals upon the stone floor disturbed her, she removed them to advance barefoot. Eventually she emerged on the other side of the building. Before her was the dark stain of the pyre, and beyond that, the ravaged garden. In the distance, she spotted the glint of moonlight on water. She strained to see Honus, but couldn’t. Still, Yim headed toward the pond, skirting the circle of ashes in her way.
Focused on his meditations, Honus didn’t see Yim approach until she was quite close. The moon was at her back, so she was almost a silhouette. All he could make out was a dark-haired woman, barefoot and wearing a white robe. In one hand she appeared to be clutching a set of scales. Awe made his voice a whisper. “Karm?”
The advancing figure didn’t speak until she reached the pond. “Honus?”
“Yim?” said Honus with surprise. Then his voice turned harsh, almost angry. “What are you doing here?”
“I know what you intend to do.”
There was a tense silence before Honus spoke. “So Commodus betrayed me.”
“Don’t blame him,” said Yim. “I forced the truth from him. I have that power.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve caught you doing stranger things. But why are you here?”
“I’ve come to stop you.”
“Stop me?” said Honus incredulously. “Then you’ve wasted your time. Go back to Commodus. This matter doesn’t concern you.”
“It does,” said Yim.
“Tomorrow I must obey the goddess and fulfill my destiny.”
“Killing won’t please Karm. Blood defiles her! Theodus would’ve never allowed such madness.”
“Theodus is dead,” said Honus, his voice hardened by despair. “I must take my own counsel.”
“You’re only a Sarf.”
“And you were only a slave until this morning,” replied Honus. “Am I to regret giving you your freedom?”
“I was your Bearer.”
“Don’t profane Theodus with that lie! You bore my pack because I forced you!”
“No. I bore it because it was Karm’s will. Even you must understand that.”
Honus stared at Yim with growing agitation. “Cease tormenting me! You won’t sway me from the goddess’s path.”
“I’ll lead you to it instead.”
Honus laughed mirthlessly. “You’re deluded. What do you know?”
Yim hesitated before she answered. “Karm speaks to me. She came to me this morning. I’m doing what’s necessary.”
“You’re only saying that to save me. Why? You don’t love me.”
“I can’t. I can only love the goddess. My life is dedicated to her.”
“Nonsense!” said Honus. “What Seer chose you?”
“None. Karm did herself. I’m the Chosen.”
“People like you came to the temple all the time. Silly girls with grandiose delusions. The Seers read their thoughts and sent them packing.”
“I’ve the power to shield my thoughts from your eyes,” said Yim. “I’ll drop that guard and let you see the truth.”
Honus, torn by indecision, took a long moment before he sighed and said, “I’ll do so only if you agree to return to Commodus afterward.”
“I agree.”
Honus rose from the rock and leapt to the shore. “Turn to face the moonlight.” Yim obeyed, and Honus moved until he was a hand’s length from her. “You seem afraid of what I’ll see.”
“I am,” said Yim.
Honus stared into Yim’s eyes, using his fullest powers to probe the mind behind them. At first, he saw nothing more than a tired and sad expression. Then veils fell away and Yim’s pupils seemed like twin abysses. Honus’s being plunged into their depths. Then he saw light brighter than sunlight and sublimely beautiful. It illuminated and filled him as if he were made of glass. The experience was beyond comprehension, something so intense and holy as to be unbearable.
Honus shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was standing in the moonlight peering at Yim’s face. Amazement spread over his features. When he looked away, his eyes were filled with tears. Honus sank to the ground and began to sob at Yim’s feet. “Forgive me, Karmamatus,” he said. “Please forgive me.”
FORTY-ONE
YIM WATCHED with consternation as Honus wept. She had been free of him, but by doing what was necessary she had drawn him back. Yim hadn’t anticipated that consequence and feared it couldn’t be undone. For a while, she was unsure what to do. Then she followed her instincts and sought to comfort Honus. Kneeling down, Yim stroked his wet cheek. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she said. “Everything happened for a purpose.” Yim embraced Honus and held him. As she did, she felt some of the pieces of her life fall into place. The events of her journey had been more than trials; they had been opportunities to make choices. And those choices have brought me to this moment, she thought. She had survived the journey south and she was free again, but she felt another choice had yet to be made.
Yim held Honus until he grew peaceful. Then she released him and put on her sandals. “Let’s leave this place,” she said. “It’s no longer holy.”
“Yes, Karmamatus,” said Honus. He rose. “What’s our destination?”
Yim
had no idea. She considered the question while Honus passively waited. Her experience that night had shaken her. The menace lurking in the temple seemed formidable. Yim felt certain it would strike back, and Bremven was unsafe. She wondered if there was any refuge from such a foe. At last she said, “I don’t know where to go.”
“You might ponder that question in the house of Commodus.”
“I’m not sure he’ll want me back.”
“With your leave, I could explain what’s happened.”
“What has happened, Honus? What did you see?”
“What I should’ve seen before. That the goddess shines within you.”
“Is that all?” asked Yim, wondering if he was aware of her obligation to bear a child.
“You’re guided by Karm. That’s all I know. That’s all I need to know.”
“I’m not sure ‘guided’ is the proper word. I know what I must do, but the path’s unclear.”
“Whatever path you take would be easier with a Sarf,” said Honus. “If you choose me, I pledge my protection and my obedience. Will you, Karmamatus?”
For the first time, Yim thought she understood Karm’s instruction to “follow Theodus’s footsteps.” It seemed that she had been destined to take his place. Resuming Theodus’s quest gave her a destination of sorts, and upon that journey she might find the man who would father her child. Moreover, she’d be in charge. Already, Honus saw her as his Bearer; all that was needed was her assent to make it so.
Yim gazed into Honus’s pleading eyes and knew his devotion was absolute. He was hers to command, whether she wished it or not. She could keep him or order him away, and he would obey without question. Though Yim considered sending Honus away, she knew she couldn’t. She needed him as much as he needed her. He would not make an easy companion, but he would do his utmost to serve her. A pensive smile came to Yim’s face. “Yes, you may be my Sarf.”
Honus bowed deeply. “Thank you, Karmamatus.”
“Oh, Honus, you’ll tire my ears if you keep calling me that.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“That’s even worse!”
A hint of a smile crossed Honus’s lips. “Yes, Yim.”
The two passed through the dark temple, with Honus leading the way. He was oblivious of the evil presence, but Yim could detect it. She had thwarted its hunger; no blood would flow tomorrow morning. Frustration had heightened its malice, and Yim knew that malice was directed at her. Thus she was relieved when they finally reached the temple’s entrance. Honus removed his chain-mail shirt and placed it in the pack. When that was done, Yim shouldered the burden and told Honus to lead the way to Commodus’s. Once they were on the road, the oppression Yim felt faded until it was a mere echo of an echo, but it never wholly disappeared.
The woman in Yaun’s tent began to scream, waking the Most Holy One. Gorm encouraged the count’s perversions, but he was annoyed when their commotion interrupted his sleep. Nevertheless, Gorm was loath to interrupt Yaun’s sport. Instead, he rose and threw on a cloak to take a walk. If the count stayed true to form, the screaming would persist awhile.
Exiting his tent into the moonlit night, Gorm gazed about the army’s encampment. It occupied a broad field. Already thousands of booted feet had reduced it to hard-packed dirt, and more were arriving every day. Everywhere about him were makeshift tents or men sleeping on the ground, sheltered only by their cloaks. The soldiers were raw recruits, but their numbers were impressive. Count Yaun’s domain was poor but populous, and he was emptying it of males—from boys to graybeards—to meet Lord Bahl’s demands. Gorm had watched them drill. Conscripted by force, they trained halfheartedly. That didn’t concern Gorm. Neither did the fact that the soldiers drilled with sticks, not swords. It was necessary only for them to learn the killing strokes. After Lord Bahl armed them and goaded them to hatred, they would become invincible.
The massacre at Karm’s temple had heightened Bahl’s ability to inflame minds, and the forthcoming slaughters would increase that power. Gorm had learned from his previous mistakes, and this Lord Bahl would succeed where his predecessors had failed. The source of Bahl’s power was growing ever stronger. Soon, it would overwhelm him and assume his flesh. Then Gorm’s god would walk among the living and rule them, bestowing authority and eternal life upon his most faithful servant.
When the screams issuing from Count Yaun’s tent suddenly ceased, the Most Holy One returned to his own pavilion. Its shadowy interior was deathly cold, alerting Gorm to his unearthly master’s presence. Within the dark, a deeper blackness moved, and Gorm felt emotions other than his own. He experienced unbridled malice, gnawing hunger, and something new. His master was disturbed.
Since the Devourer lacked a voice, Gorm would have to perform sorcery to learn what unsettled it. He left his tent to obtain a necessary item. Glancing about the training field, he spotted the form of a sleeping boy. He strode over to wake the lad with a kick. “Get up,” he said. “I have a job for you.”
The boy sat up and began to put on his boots.
“Don’t bother with those. Just come.”
Clutching his cloak about him, the boy obeyed. He was glad for the cloak when he entered the Most Holy One’s pavilion, for its interior was icy. Inside the enclosure was a second tent made of heavy black cloth. Gorm entered it and lit an oil lamp that gave forth a pungent scent. Then he bade the boy enter. The lad complied and discovered the black tent’s interior was colder yet.
Gorm closed the flap. “Kneel,” he said. When the boy did so, the high priest set a large iron bowl before the lad’s knees. Then with practiced quickness, he grabbed the boy’s hair and slit his throat. His victim stared at him in shocked surprise, mouthed some soundless words, and died. Still holding the boy’s hair, Gorm bent him over to fill the bowl with blood. It steamed in the icy tent. With that accomplished, Gorm pushed the corpse aside, took up a brush, and carefully painted a wide circle on the tent’s dirt floor. He had performed this ritual for centuries, but knowing the consequences of carelessness, he took pains to insure the circle had not even the slightest gap.
When Gorm was satisfied with his handiwork, he took a black bag from a chest and stepped into the circle. The bag’s surface was stitched with spells written in a language even more ancient than the bag itself. Without ceremony, Gorm spilled its contents outside the circle. They were human bones. Gorm had boiled the flesh from them over two centuries ago. Yellowed by age and handling, each was carved with runes.
Gorm studied the positions of the bones and their shadows to augur what disturbed his master. As always, the signs were vague. Only in special places, such as Karvakken Pass, was the Devourer’s will easy to perceive. Nevertheless, long practice had made Gorm skilled at reading subtle signs. He discovered several: Mountain. Temple. Foe. Weakness. The shadows of “weakness” and “foe” touched, indicating that the foe was weak. Gorm assumed that the foe had triumphed, thus infuriating his master. Gorm found no further signs, for the Devourer still perceived the living world imperfectly. The foe might be a man or a woman, an individual or a group. Until the Rising, Gorm must strive to serve as the Devourer’s eyes, ears, and tongue. That, and do its bidding. Gorm was certain what his master wanted. The foe must die. And die soon.
Gorm blew out the lamp and waited for the darkness to warm before venturing from the circle’s protection. As he sat, he thought. There was only one temple on a mount and that was Karm’s temple in Bremven. That puzzled Gorm, for six nights ago the bones had told him that it had been destroyed. Yet something’s happened there to upset my master. He couldn’t imagine what. The impending campaign needed Gorm’s full attention, but the matter in Bremven required action also. I must send someone clever and ruthless, a man who’ll command the Black Temple’s obedience. A name quickly came to mind.
A slave bearing a lantern woke Commodus. “Sire, the Sarf has returned with your ward. Shall the guard admit them?”
“At once,” said Commodus as he rubbed his eyes. “I’ll see t
hem in the little hall.”
Soon afterward, Commodus entered the room where Yim and Honus waited. “I see you brought her back,” he said to Honus.
“It was I,” said Yim, “who brought Honus back.”
“It’s true, old friend,” said Honus in response to Commodus’s quizzical look. “Yim has saved me once again. This time, from profaning the goddess. I’m guided by Yim’s wisdom now.”
“What do you mean?” asked Commodus.
“Yim’s my Bearer.”
“Your Bearer! How can that be? She’s an untrained girl, your former slave.”
“That’s all true,” said Honus. “Yet it doesn’t alter Karm’s will. A holy one graces your home.” He bowed low to Yim.
Commodus glanced back and forth from Honus’s tranquil but radiant face to Yim’s tired and solemn one. He sensed that Yim’s power—the power he had experienced in his bedroom—was hidden again. Yet he saw it reflected in Honus’s eyes, and it filled him with awe and joy. Commodus felt certain that he was in the presence of someone extraordinary. He bowed to Yim. “I’m only a cloth merchant, and such matters are beyond my ken. I’ll help any way I can. What may I do?”
“Shelter us,” said Yim, “until I’m fully healed and ready to travel.”
“Travel? You’ve just arrived! Where will you go?”
“Evil now haunts Temple Mount. I’ve encountered it before. Like Theodus, I’ll seek its source.”
“Where?”
“I’m not yet sure,” said Yim. “Averen, I think.”
“Averen?” said Commodus. “I’ve been there. It’s a fair place. What dark thing do you expect to find?”
“Lord Bahl,” said Yim.
“Bahl? The very man who caused Theodus’s death? Why seek him out?”
“To resume Theodus’s quest. I must follow his footsteps.”
“Even if they lead to the Dark Path?”
“All journeys eventually end there,” replied Yim. “Why should mine be any different?” Then she smiled at Commodus, and his heart lightened. “Yet that’s no reason to forsake hope. So far, Karm has guided me through peril and given me a devoted servant. These seem signs that I may yet fulfill my destiny.”
[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers Page 31