[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm

by Morgan Howell

  Pausing to catch her breath, Yim listened for the swordsman she had seen only twice. Five men had attacked them on the road, and Honus had taken on all five while she darted for safety. The man pursuing her had been lying in wait. If Yim had run to the opposite side of the lane, she would have fallen into his trap. Instead, he had been forced to reveal himself and chase after her. That was the only reason she still lived.

  As Yim listened for sounds of pursuit, she noted her surroundings for the first time and saw that she had entered a valley. Its sides weren’t enclosed by sloping ridges, but by low walls of vertical stone. They weren’t near, but Yim could see that they drew closer upstream. I’m in a funnel , she thought. Yim was considering pushing her way through the dead brush and attempting to scale those walls when she heard her pursuer slogging through the water. Yim panicked and resumed sprinting along the stream bank. Before long, the walls closed in, and she was running inside a ravine with no choice but to continue deeper into it. Either by chance or design, she had become game herded into a trap. Nevertheless, flight seemed her only hope.

  The surrounding walls were vertical and composed of thin layers of brittle slate, piled horizontally like knife blades. Yim looked for a place to climb, but saw none. The farther she ran, the higher the walls rose until they towered high above her head. Soon the darkening sky was only a ribbon hemmed by stone. There was no vegetation, only mud and rock. In some places, the stream flowed in a thin sheet over a nearly level slate floor. Elsewhere, jumbled slabs of fallen rock littered the way. Nowhere was there a place to hide. A layer of damp silt coated everything, making the footing treacherous and leaving clear impressions of Yim’s footprints.

  The ravine followed a twisting course, and every turn seemed to present a new obstacle. After clambering over a pile of loose slate, Yim rounded a corner to find a small waterfall barring her way. Water cascaded over a steep slope that was twice Yim’s height. She waded through shallow water to climb it. Close to the ravine wall, the pool was only ankle-deep and no water spilled down the barrier. Yim gripped the knife with her teeth to free both hands to climb the damp slate. She made slow progress, for the holds were precarious and the rock was slippery.

  Yim had nearly reached the top when she slipped and bounced against rock all the way down. The blows knocked the breath from her, and the knife tumbled into the silty pool below. Yim was cut and scraped by her fall, but she landed on her feet. Ignoring her injuries, she dropped to her hands and knees to grope for the knife in the cloudy water. Yim was still in that position when she heard a sword being drawn from its sheath.

  Turning around, Yim spied a man advancing up the ravine. He was only twenty paces away. Flight was impossible. Yim sat down in the shallow pool as her pursuer approached. Supported by her arms, she inclined her torso as if shrinking from her nemesis. He was a young man with a hefty, work-hardened body. Garbed like a farmer, he wielded his stubby sword more like a pruning hook than a weapon. Yim tried to catch his eye, but he carefully avoided her gaze. “Why are you hunting me?” she called out. “I’ve done nothing to you.”

  “We know of yer sorcerous ways,” the man said as he advanced. “Ye’ll not steal our children.”

  “I serve the Goddess of Compassion,” said Yim. “I’d never harm a child. Look me in the eye and see truth.”

  The man resolutely stared toward Yim’s feet. “I’ve heard of that trick. Ye cannot bewitch me.”

  Yim’s eyes fixed on the advancing blade, which seemed a rusty heirloom. It shook in the man’s trembling grasp. Her pursuer halted just a step away, and Yim’s gaze shifted to his face. His eyes avoided hers, but she could tell that he was nearly as frightened as she was. “You don’t have to kill me.”

  “I must. There’s no other way.”

  Yim began to sniffle softly, then lifted her left hand from the muddy water. She moved it slowly, so as not to alarm the man, and began to unbutton her shirt. Yim couldn’t tell whether her tears or her undressing perplexed her attacker more, but in either case he was transfixed. She opened her shirt to expose her breasts. The young man’s gaze went to them. “If you’re resolved to slay me, pierce me through the heart,” said Yim, her voice vulnerable and frightened. “I’ll show you where to strike.”

  Yim delicately grasped the sword’s tip and guided it between her breasts, pulling the swordsman toward her. The blade was such a short one, he was drawn quite close. All this happened with such dreamlike slowness that it had an air of unreality. Then Yim suddenly pushed the blade aside and leaned forward as her right hand flashed upward from the muddy water.

  Yim guided the knife as Honus had taught her—under the breastbone and into the heart. Yim’s attacker jerked from the blow and his sword swung upward to cut her chin. Then the weapon splashed into the pool. Yim felt the man’s heart pulsing at the end of her blade. Hot blood spurted over her hand. Yim’s assailant met her gaze only as he died. As their eyes locked for an instant, the man’s expression became astonished. Then he collapsed.

  Yim lay in the silty water immobilized by shock and the weight of the man atop her. He did not yet seem a corpse. His body was warm and smelled of sweat and hay. Yim wondered who had poisoned his mind and if the children that he feared would be stolen were his. She felt like a murderer, not a victor, and it was awhile before she pushed the inert body off hers. Her knife was still lodged in the man’s chest. When Yim bent over to extract the blade, she looked at her assailant’s young, still face. She found no malice frozen on its features, only awe.

  As Yim closed the dead man’s eyelids, her hand began to tremble. Whatever relief she felt at her escape was overwhelmed by trauma. She began to sob. Weeping, Yim washed the blood from her shirt, dragged the body from the pool, and made the Sign of the Balance over it. Then she slumped to the ravine’s damp floor and continued sobbing until it grew dark.

  When Yim finally departed, the way back seemed longer than she remembered. It was too dark to search for the pack and her sandals by the time she emerged from the ravine. It would be hard even to find the road. As Yim made her way in the gloom, the face of the man she had killed lingered in her thoughts. His final moment haunted her. What did he see? Over and over, she wondered if his death could have been avoided.

  Yim nearly screamed when a dark figure stepped from the shadows, but she didn’t draw her knife.

  “Yim,” said Honus, “are you all right? Someone was following you.”

  “He’s dead,” replied Yim, struggling not to sob again. “I killed him.”

  Honus rushed to her. Yim knew his impulse was to embrace her, just as she knew he would stifle it. Instead, he touched her bloody chin. “You’ve been wounded. I should tend it.”

  “You can’t. I left the pack behind, and I don’t know where it is.”

  “I do,” replied Honus. “I found it and your sandals, too. I’m sorry I failed you.”

  “How did you fail me?”

  “I didn’t see your attacker.”

  “You were fighting five at once!”

  “If you were slain, what good would it have done to fight the five? I’m your Sarf, and I didn’t protect you.”

  “Enough, Honus. I’m alive. And the five you fought?”

  “All dead.”

  “So much killing,” said Yim in a mournful tone. “Two attacks in two days.”

  “The black priests have been busy. Folk are stirred against us.”

  “The man I ” Yim paused to regain her composure. “He said something about stealing children. How could anyone believe such lies?” Yim let out a long sigh that sounded like breathy sobbing. “Five days on the road, and I’m already at my limit!”

  “A Bearer’s path is often hard,” said Honus, his tone tender and concerned.

  “But it’s supposed to be a holy one,” replied Yim. “Honus, I just killed a man. What’s holy about that? I tricked him, and I’m ashamed to say how.”

  “Karmamatus ”

  “Don’t call me that!” said Yim, her voice
shrill. “I’m unworthy of the name.”

  Honus seemed about to disagree, but he bowed his head instead. The two walked silently awhile before Yim spoke. “I’m sorry, Honus. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

  “After what you’ve been through, it’s natural to be on edge,” said Honus. “The pack’s close by. Soon you’ll have dry clothes, and I’ll find a campsite when the moon rises. You’ll feel better after some food and rest.”

  “I doubt it. I can’t forget that man’s face. When I stabbed him ” Yim’s voice trailed off and she shuddered.

  “Time will ease the memory.”

  “You say that because you’re a Sarf.”

  “And used to killing?” replied Honus. “How could it be otherwise? Yet I still remember the first man I slew.”

  Yim fell silent again as she followed Honus back to the pack. Yim opened it and removed some dry clothes. After she changed, she sat beside Honus on a rock and waited for the moon to rise.

  “Honus, did Theodus ever kill anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Then I want no more lessons with the knife. I should trust Karm to protect me.”

  “Karm didn’t protect Theodus.”

  “Would a knife have saved him?”

  “A knife saved you.”

  “All the same, I won’t kill again.”

  “Yim, you must protect yourself. Things were different when Theodus was my Bearer.”

  “That was less than three moons ago,” retorted Yim.

  “The last time Theodus and I were in Vinden, we were welcome everywhere. But that was three winters ago.”

  “Then things have certainly changed,” said Yim. “Still, it seems wrong for a Bearer to kill.”

  “The goddess metes out death. As do I in your service.”

  “So, why should I shrink from doing my part?”

  “I didn’t say that,” replied Honus.

  “Tonight, my presence drew six men from their homes. Now they’re dead and their blood’s on my hands, whether I wielded a blade or not.”

  “Don’t be hard on yourself,” said Honus. “I know you wish harm to no one. All I hope is that you’ll do what’s necessary.”

  Honus’s choice of words startled Yim, for Karm had told her to do “what’s necessary” in her last vision. It had been ambiguous guidance then, and it remained so. Did it mean I should kill? wondered Yim. Her thoughts were interrupted when Honus gently grasped her hand, “Please, Yim,” he whispered. “Protect yourself. Don’t lose your life to spare a foe.”

  “Is that Karm’s will or yours?”

  “I see no conflict. One need not die because they’re not good.”

  “There may come a time when that won’t be true,” said Yim. “If so, will you be guided by the goddess or your feelings?”

  “Though I love you ”

  “You promised not to speak of that.”

  “You asked about my feelings,” said Honus, as he meekly released her hand.

  Yim sighed. “Oh Honus, how can this work? I can’t return your love. I feel I’m tormenting you.”

  “If I can serve and protect you, I’m content.”

  “Still ”

  “My fate’s Karm’s doing, not yours.”

  When the moon rose and there was light to find the way, Honus led Yim away from the stream and into a nearby forest. There, he selected a campsite that was both hidden from the road and easy to defend. While Yim hung out her wet clothes, he gathered firewood.

  As Yim waited for Honus to return, she was discouraged. The sense of purpose that she had felt upon leaving Bremven had been quickly worn down by hardships on the road, and she was uncertain whether she was following the goddess’s path. The incident in the ravine seemed confirmation that she wasn’t. The dead man’s face continued to haunt her, causing her to question her judgment.

  Last winter, when Yim had departed her distant highland home, her goal had seemed simple: She was to have a child, and by doing so, help overcome evil. She had been groomed for that task ever since early childhood when Karm had appeared to her and said that she was “the Chosen.” The Wise Woman who became her guardian stated Karm would guide Yim to the father. Instead, she had been ambushed, enslaved, and sold to Honus. Everything that happened afterward, from gaining her freedom to becoming Honus’s master, seemed as much happenstance as the goddess’s doing.

  I felt differently on the night I became Honus’s Bearer , thought Yim. Then she had felt cupped in Karm’s hands. By assuming the role of Honus’s late Bearer, Yim believed that she had finally determined the proper course of action. Resuming Theodus’s search for the source of evil gave Yim a destination, and upon her journey, she might find the man who was to father her child. After all, Karm had told her to follow Theodus’s footsteps. However, recent events made that decision seem imprudent, and Yim wondered if even becoming a Bearer had been a mistake.

  Sitting alone in the dark forest, Yim felt abandoned by Karm. Throughout Yim’s life, the goddess seemed the mother she had never known and provided love when her guardian offered none. Yet ever since Yim had left the highlands, she felt that the goddess had grown remote, appearing rarely and behaving cryptically.

  The more Yim thought, the more her misgivings grew. The vision directing her to follow the footsteps of Honus’s late Bearer could be interpreted in more than one way. Perhaps I’m supposed to retrace his journey, not resume his quest . Like most of her visions, its guidance was ambiguous. Others made even less sense. Twice Karm had appeared to Yim covered in blood. Those apparitions were as ominous as they were puzzling. Yim tried to imagine what Honus would think of such bizarre visions.If he knew what I saw, would he think I was holy or crazy?

  Though Honus seemed unshaken by Yim’s uncertainty, she often felt like a charlatan. He knows I’m the Chosen, but I’ve never told him what that means. Instead, I play his Bearer because I need him . Until Karm revealed who would father Yim’s child, Honus’s protection seemed essential. And what does he get in return? Nothing, not even the truth .

  Honus returned with a load of wood. Even in the dim light, he moved noiselessly through the undergrowth. Soon he had lit a fire. Its small circle of light made the surrounding forest seem all the darker. Honus took out his healing kit, and set a pot of water to boil. “When the water’s ready,” he said, “I’ll tend your wound.”

  Yim touched the cut on her chin. “Is it bad?”

  Honus peered at it in the firelight. “No, but you’ll have a scar.”

  Yim smiled wryly. “I’m catching up with your collection.”

  “I’m keeping apace with you,” replied Honus.

  For the first time, Yim noticed that Honus’s shirtsleeve was torn and blood-soaked. She gasped. “Honus! Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

  “I didn’t wish to trouble you. Besides, it’s not deep.” He rolled up his right sleeve to reveal a bloody gash on his forearm.

  When the water boiled, Honus poured some into a wooden bowl and added powder from a vial in his healing kit. After cleaning the blood from Yim’s face, he wetted a cloth with the solution in the bowl. “This will sting,” he said.

  “I remember,” replied Yim. She winced as the solution foamed inside her cut. Glimpsing the concern in Honus’s eyes, she tried to hide her pain. She took a deep breath and said, “I’m glad that’s over.”

  Honus cleaned the gash on his arm with the same solution, then asked, “Would you stitch my wound closed? I’d rather not do it left-handed.”

  “I’ll try,” said Yim, “but I’ve never done the like before.”

  “It’s not hard, and I’m certain your dainty fingers will do finer work than Theodus’s thick ones ever managed.”

  “Before you malign his stitching, you should compare it to mine,” said Yim. “As a girl, I was more adept with goats than needlework.”

  “Then pretend I’m a goat.”

  Honus took out a curved needle and a strand of gut from his kit and dipped them in the cleansin
g solution. He declined Yim’s suggestion to prepare a brew for his pain, stating he wanted to stay alert. When Yim nervously sewed his wound, he was absolutely stoic. He guided her stitching calmly, tensing only slightly each time the needle pierced his flesh. The only evidence of his pain was the deep breath he took when Yim was done. Honus gazed at his stitches and smiled. “You underestimate your skill.”

  “I’m glad you’re so easily pleased,” Yim replied. “The woman who raised me would’ve made me tear out the seam and restitch it.”

  Honus winced. “Let’s talk of food, instead,” he said quickly. “Perhaps this would be a good night to have that cheese we were saving.”

  “To celebrate our new scars?’

  “To celebrate we’re both alive.”

  FIVE

  FAR NORTH of Yim and Honus, Hendric stood in a long line for his ration of porridge. The army had halted its advance only when night fell, and he was hungry, footsore, and distraught. The peasant soldier had been on the march for five days, and each step had taken him farther from his pregnant wife and young family. Hendric had joined the army to prevent their slaughter, but that would neither plant the crop nor harvest it, and he feared that those he loved would starve in his absence.

  Hendric’s newly issued sword hung by his side. He hated it. It felt ponderous dangling from his hip, and every time it knocked against his legs it reminded him of his forced servitude. He hated everyone who had taken him from home and family, starting with Count Yaun, who made a treaty with Lord Bahl and emptied his realm of men to fulfill it. Hendric despised the black-robed priests who stirred up men to fight against folk they had never seen. It had been Hendric’s neighbors who enforced the count’s decree by threatening anyone who refused to go. Hendric could no longer stand the sight of them, so he ate with strangers.

  Hendric was able to move freely within the mass of men because it was more of a mob than an army. It had no units or officers. The only real soldiers were Lord Bahl’s troops, the Iron Guard. They were the armored men who kept order through ruthless brutality. The peasants quickly learned that disobeying their commands or lagging behind could have deadly consequences and safety lay solely in obedience.