[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm

by Morgan Howell

  When the sun rose, Yim and Honus moved onward without pausing to eat. Throughout the morning they continued wading in the brook, which gradually widened and deepened until the water often reached Yim’s calves. As the brook increased in size, the mountain to the north that formed one of the valley’s walls diminished in height until it was no more that a chain of low hills. Around noon, the hills ended at the conjunction of the brook and a river. “Is that the river from the first valley?” asked Yim.

  “Yes,” said Honus, “and beyond this point it heads for the Yorvern. We’ll leave it to turn west and slightly northward.” He gave Yim a concerned look. “The way will be rugged.”

  “That’s not a problem,” replied Yim. “My feet are better.”

  The land between the two waterways ended in a narrow point that appeared to have been scoured by recent floods. Most of its vegetation had been swept away and only a few scruffy bushes remained. Those grew amid piles of boulders and tangled driftwood. As Yim and Honus neared the point, a blue-faced man rose from the debris. Honus whipped out his sword. “Run, Yim!”

  “Where?”

  “Back to the campsite. I’ll fight him off and join you there.”

  “Honus ”

  “Run! Run now!”

  Yim saw Gatt splashing through the shallow water and felt a wave of panic. She dashed off. By the time she reached the bank, she heard the clang of swords and turned to see the two Sarfs fighting in knee-deep water. It seemed to her that both fought with less grace and more ferocity than before. Honus gripped his sword hilt with both hands and hewed at Gatt as if he were trying to fell a tree. Gatt attacked with equal energy. The savage desperation of the struggle made it unbearable to watch. Yim turned her eyes from the sight and fled along the bank, heedless of the trail she made. All our care was pointless , she thought, wondering how Gatt had found them. She considered abandoning the pack, but it contained all their food, clothes, and essential gear. Speed won’t save me. Only Honus’s sword will do that .

  When Yim realized the futility of flight, she slowed to a walk. She didn’t even know if she could find the campsite again or where to go if Honus didn’t join her. Nevertheless, she continued walking, for she was too anxious to remain still. Yim was considering returning to see how the fight had turned out when she heard the sound of someone running through the woods. Yim halted and waited to learn her fate. It felt like she waited for a long time. At last, someone came into view. It was Honus. As he rushed toward her, Yim noticed that his left hand was bloody.

  “You’re wounded!”

  “Just a nick,” said Honus. He reached Yim but didn’t halt or even slow his pace. “Follow me. Hurry!”

  Yim sped after him. Though she feared that she already knew the answer, she asked anyway. “What of Gatt?”

  “He retreated.”

  So it’s not over , thought Yim. Honus’s reckless pace and brusque manner were out of character, and it worried her. Moreover, he exercised none of his customary care as he moved among the trees and climbed a rise close to the brook. When he reached a clearing, he halted. “Take off the pack.”

  Yim slipped it off, and Honus opened it to rummage through its contents. He removed his chain-mail shirt and set it on the ground. At first, Yim thought that he planned to don it in preparation for another battle, but then Honus also removed all his clothing from the pack.

  “Honus, what are you doing?”

  “Making the pack lighter.” Honus grabbed a small stick and squatted over a bare patch of ground. “Come. I must show you this.”

  As Yim watched, Honus sketched shapes in the dirt. It took a moment for her to realize that the shapes were mountains and he was drawing a map. She was about to ask him why when she glanced at his left hand again. It hung limply and had taken on a grayish hue. Yim peered into Honus’s eyes. “You’re dying.” There was no uncertainty in her voice, only grief and fear.

  “My wound is poisoned,” replied Honus. “I have but little time.”

  “So that’s why Gatt retreated,” said Yim. “To wait for you to die.”

  “I don’t think he’ll come after you until he’s certain I’m dead. That delay and this map will be my last services to you. I pray to Karm they’ll provide you safety.”

  “Honus, I can’t ”

  “You must try, Karmamatus! Please , you must!”

  Yim gazed into Honus’s moist eyes and saw that he didn’t fear his death, only hers. “Of course I will,” she said for Honus’s benefit. “Tell me what to do.”

  Using his crude map, Honus showed Yim a route to Cara’s. It involved backtracking to deceive Gatt. “Proceed slowly, so you leave no trail,” Honus said. “Stealth may save you, but not speed. You can’t outrun a Sarf any more than you can outfight him.” He grasped Yim’s hand with his right one. Its grip was weak and the fingers were cold. “Fly, Karmamatus. I’ll die in peace if I know you’re heading for safety.”

  Yim softly stroked Honus’s cheek. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she kissed him. Yim had never kissed anyone before, and when her lips pressed Honus’s, she felt uncertain what to do next. For a long, awkward moment, she remained virtually still. Then she pulled back. Honus gazed at her sadly, as if he were already missing her. Yim’s vision blurred with tears. “Thank you, Honus.”

  “Go. Don’t waste time.”

  Yim shouldered the pack. It was much lighter. Before she headed off, she turned to bid farewell. Honus was shuffling his feet to rub away the map. She wanted to say something that would put his soul at ease but realized words were incapable of such a feat. In the end, all she uttered was “Goodbye.”

  Yim made her way to the brook with meticulous care in order to leave no sign of her passage. When she reached the water, she waded into it and began to dash upstream. Counting on the current to wash away her tracks, she ran as fast as possible. Honus had advised her to stay in the water only a brief while, since it was an obvious way to avoid making a trail. “The trick,” he had said, “is not to let him know where you left the water. Then climb the southern mountain. Leave no trace for Gatt to follow. When you reach the next valley, head east, not west.”

  Recalling Honus’s instructions made Yim think of him dying alone. The image tore at her heart. I can’t go back to him , she thought. He wants me safe . Yim tried to remember the route that she must take to Cara’s. Yet when she attempted to envision Honus’s map, her memory of it was confused. She remembered shapes scribed in the dirt, but already she couldn’t recall their number or exact position. Her most distinct recollection was that of Honus’s hand trembling as he drew the shapes. He was dying, and all he thought about was me .

  Yim started when she heard a twig snap. She peered anxiously about, expecting Gatt to appear. Then she looked down and realized that she had snapped the twig. You’re not paying attention! Yim looked behind her and saw the impressions of her bare feet on the damp ground, clear evidence that her mind had been wandering. She wondered how many other traces had she left. Did I always run where the current will wash away my prints? Was my choice of route too obvious? Can I really outwit Gatt? Honus didn’t .

  Yim decided that flight was pointless. Gatt would find her; it was only a matter of time. Having reached that conclusion, Yim pondered what to do with what time remained. I should be with Honus, not running away . She resolved to return to Honus’s side. Somehow, it didn’t feel like giving up. It’s my fate to be with him. Wasn’t my name tattooed on his back?

  Yim reversed her course. It was a relief to walk without worrying where she stepped and to be concerned only with moving quickly. Yim had but one goal—to reach Honus before he died. She knew that he’d be distraught when she returned, but she’d say that it was Karm’s will that they die together. If need be, she would lie and tell him that his runes had foretold it.

  TWELVE

  GETTING BACK to Honus took longer than Yim expected. When she did, she found him lying on a mossy patch of ground, his hands clasped and resting on his chest. H
e was gazing at the sky, and his face was gray beneath its tattoos.

  “Honus?” Even as Yim spoke, she knew he wouldn’t answer. Yim had envisioned holding Honus as he passed from life, but she had arrived too late. Nevertheless, she rushed over to cradle his body, sobbing as she did. She wept for Honus. She wept for herself. Yim cried until she was drained of tears, but not of sorrow.

  Yim’s sole consolation was that Honus had died still hoping that she would live. “That hope died with you,” Yim said as she closed Honus’s eyes. It seemed a cruel trick that even in death he didn’t look peaceful. The marks needled on his face prevented that impression. “Where’s the implacable wrath that the Seer foresaw? You were so seldom angry.” Yim smiled sadly. “Even though I vexed you often enough.”

  Yim studied Honus’s lifeless face. “The rage I see is merely artistry, a trick of line and shadow.” She wished she could wash the expression away, as she had the dark man’s magic runes. Yim recalled that night in the sorcerer’s castle. On that occasion, Honus had been equally still, for his spirit had left his body. But that was due to magic, not death .

  Death was an entirely different matter, the ultimate separation. Sitting alone with Honus’s corpse, Yim felt torn from much of her life and was surprised to realize how thoroughly Honus had become part of her existence. She had known him for only a few moons and had disliked him in the beginning. Yet she found herself incapable of imagining a future without him. Then she reminded herself that she had no future without Honus; Gatt would see to that.

  At that moment, Yim had an idea born from extremity. It came in the form of a question: Could I recall Honus’s spirit and restore it to his body? The question was absurd, and the answer was surely no. Though she had brought forth Mirien’s and Hommy’s spirits from the Dark Path, their visits had been only temporary. Resurrecting the dead was far different; Yim had never heard of anyone doing such a thing. Certainly, the Wise Woman had never taught her the skill or even spoken of it. Yet once Yim had the notion, it gripped her imagination. Though snatching a man from death seemed impossible, desperation drove Yim to try.

  Yim sat on her heels before Honus’s body and began the meditations for summoning a spirit. She was only partway through them when she realized that they would be insufficient. The souls she had recalled from the Dark Path always returned to it.Hommy wasn’t restored to life after I called her forth , thought Yim. Something more than summoning must be necessary .

  Yim ceased meditating and pondered what that something might be. She hadn’t a clue. The more she considered the question, the more she suspected that the answer wouldn’t be found in the living world. Yim knew that the dead slowly forgot their lives. That’s why Honus tranced, to experience their discarded memories . Yim wondered if those lost memories bound spirits to the Sunless Way. But why would missing memories do that? Yim would have to visit the Dark Path in hope of finding out. To do that, she needed to trance.

  Although Yim had witnessed Honus trancing countless times, she had never done it herself. It wasn’t a skill that the Wise Woman had taught her, and she had no idea how to go about it. It can’t be too hard , she thought, Honus learned it as a child . Yet Yim knew that arts like trancing involved more than techniques that could be learned. At their core, they were gifts bestowed by Karm. Regardless, Yim imitated Honus and assumed a cross-legged position. Then she closed her eyes and searched for the Dark Path.

  Nothing happened, for the living world distracted Yim. She smelled the mossy earth, heard the rustle of leaves, and felt the breeze that moved them. When she tried to make her mind blank, thoughts of Gatt intruded. Concentration became impossible. Yim saw her failure as evidence that her goal was presumption at best and more likely an affront to the goddess. Karm has always cupped me in her hands. I should submit to her will . Yim resolved to accept her fate and stopped trying to trance.

  Resigned to die, Yim remained motionless in the clearing, with her eyes closed. The world grew quiet. Then, with the suddenness of a fall, it transformed. Yim saw the change through closed eyes. The landscape about her was silent and bereft of life, its empty hills stripped of vegetation and even soil. All that remained was the earth’s rocky skeleton. The stone landscape was wrapped in twilight and fog, although there was no sun to set and the frigid air was bone dry. The only thing that moved was mist. Wisps of it slowly flowed over the rocks, alternately hiding and revealing them. Despite the swirling fog, Yim felt no wind. In fact, she felt nothing other than numbing cold.

  Without moving her head, Yim gazed down at her body. She was nude and slightly transparent. Her bones were visible as faint shadows beneath her pale skin. She glimpsed her organs also and noted that her heart wasn’t beating. For a panicked moment, she thought that she was dead, perhaps decapitated by Gatt in a sudden attack. Then she became aware that her body was sitting upright in the clearing, alive but disconnected from her.

  In the dimly lit mist, Honus was hard to spot. When Yim finally saw him, his nude form seemed composed of fog. He stood alone and motionless on a barren hillside. Yim cried Honus’s name, but it was only a soundless thought. Honus looked in her direction, but didn’t seem to see her. Nevertheless, she suddenly felt his longing.

  Yim also sensed Honus right before her. It wasn’t his entire being, only a part of it. A memory , she thought, one he’s already discarded . Yim didn’t move, but she felt that she was reaching toward the memory. In the realm of the dead, the thought of movement was its equivalent. Yim touched the memory, and it became hers. It was the pulse of a heart. Yim touched another and possessed it. It was the urge to breathe. Could the first things a soul forgets concern how to live? With the certainty of insight, Yim knew it was true. Then she proceeded carefully, aware that every memory was vital to Honus. She found the pangs of hunger. The scent of grass. The warmth of sunlight. The tickle of an impending sneeze.

  As Yim followed the trail of memories, the closer she drew to Honus, the more complex and vivid they became. Honus seemed oblivious of her, while he became her entire focus. Their spirits touched, and in that instant, Yim was tugged into Honus by the pull of his remembrances. The distinction between them dissolved, so that Yim was both herself and Honus, and she relived his life. She was in Karm’s temple, a lonely little boy who was yearning for his mother. He gazed up at the mosaic depicting the goddess, which seemed immense to his young eyes. My mommy’s gone , he thought. Only you love me now .

  Memory followed memory, each as real as the actual moment until Yim gazed at herself through Honus’s eyes. She was sitting outside Hamin’s wagon, warming herself by a campfire as she brushed dried mud from her feet. Then she was seized by an emotion that she had never experienced before—a feeling beyond her imagination. It felt like joy, but it was far more than that. Its power and depth were overwhelming. It was tender yet forceful, sublime yet primal, reverent yet giddy all at once. Until that instant, love had only been a word. Suddenly it was a reality, and Yim experienced its fullness.

  The whole of Honus’s being washed over and through Yim as she learned his deepest secrets. She felt his longing, his doubt, his pain, and his loneliness as if they were her own. She held his wife as she died in his arms. She endured the horror of battle. She yearned for Honus’s absent parents. She adored Theodus and mourned him. She raged. She wept. She made love. She slew.

  The final memory was the most powerful. Honus was in the moonlit garden of the ruined temple. Yim viewed her face as Honus had seen it when she let down her guard and unveiled her inner self to him. As Honus probed her, he was torn between longing for her and his duty to the goddess. Then gazing into her eyes, the two reconciled, and he felt washed in holiness. That moment defined Honus. And permeating it, like the clear note of a distant song, was love. Love for her.

  Then, embracing the entirety of Honus’s soul, Yim returned to the living world. It nearly spent all her strength just to open her eyelids. She stared with astonishment at the clearing, for it seemed too bright and green. Then she fo
rced herself to breathe. The air, rich with the scent of life, felt like thick broth and was as difficult to inhale. Yim smelled dirt, herbs, sweat, and myriad other essences, some fragrant, some pungent.

  Then Yim regarded Honus. He remained gray and still, but intuition told her what to do. She pressed her lips against Honus’s cold mouth and breathed out. As Yim exhaled, she felt warmth return to him as it departed from her. Life drained from her body, until every part was icy cold. Yim didn’t care, even as the world turned black before her open eyes.

  Gatt was unsure how long the poison on his blade would take to kill a man. All he knew was that it took a while and he had no wish to fight Honus again. On their first combat, he had possessed the advantage, for Honus had seen the venom painted on Gatt’s blade. That caused him to adopt conservative tactics. Nevertheless, Honus had successfully shielded Yim, and she had escaped Karm’s justice.

  On their second encounter, Honus had fought more aggressively, and Gatt had received several wounds. Although he was loath to admit it even to himself, only Rangar’s poison had saved him. Honus knew he was doomed when I cut his hand , thought Gatt. That’s why he broke off the fight—to run to his whore . Gatt shook his head sadly. Even as he was dying, he remained Yim’s slave . It seemed an ignoble end for a once-worthy man.

  Gatt genuinely regretted slaying Honus. Yim would be another matter. As Gatt dressed his wounds, he blamed Yim for them, not Honus. None of his hurts were mortal, though the gash on his left shoulder required stitches, which Gatt sewed stoically. The cut on his nose was the most minor, but also the most irritating, for it wouldn’t stop bleeding. As Gatt continued to wipe blood away, he imagined hacking off Yim’s nose. That led to thoughts of inflicting slow death by many small slices. She deserves nothing less . But after Gatt meditated, he was calm and decided it was Karm’s role to punish Yim. He was merely a Sarf. His sole duty was to send Yim to judgment. He resolved to do it mercifully and soon.