Eventually, the forest thinned and frequently gave way to fields that had either been burned or abandoned with their crops unharvested. She foraged through one of the latter and found the remnants of last year’s plantings spoiled and inedible. Later, Yim ventured into an abandoned farmhouse to look for anything useful, but it had been thoroughly pillaged, and she left as empty-handed as when she entered.
Toward late afternoon, Yim spied a man tilling a small plot outside a hut. He was the first person she had seen. Yim considered approaching him, but she worried that there might be a price on her head. Thinking how readily desperate people betrayed strangers, she decided to endure her hunger and pass the hut unseen. Before the sun set, she encountered three more inhabited huts among the many ruined ones. Yim avoided them all, suspicious of people who had survived when all their neighbors had not.
As night fell, Yim found a large patch of musk cabbage. The thick, ribbed leaves were newly unfurled and an enticing shade of glossy green. The plant was named for its odor, which was reminiscent of skunk. Yim held her nose and gorged herself, then suffered from cramps and belching for most of the night. It was a cold one, which the chill from her womb made even worse. When she rose at dawn, Yim was bleary-eyed and nauseous. Nevertheless, she stumbled northward.
Yim made poor progress on her second full day of travel. Several times, she had to make wide detours around a settled place. Her nausea eventually cleared, but the hunger pangs that replaced it were scarcely better. They stabbed her as they sapped her energy. On all her travels, she never felt so tired, not even in Luvein. Yim stopped early to gouge a rotted log with a stout stick in an effort to find wood grubs. Instead, she fell asleep, stick in hand, and awoke shivering in the middle of the night.
Yim began her third day of travel with a growing sense of desperation. She had come to realize that her long hibernation and her growing child had depleted her body’s reserves. Moreover, pregnancy placed increased demands on her, and the foremost among them was the need for nourishment. Early spring’s always a time of want , she thought, and I’ll need more than greens and mushrooms to survive . Seeking charity seemed her only option.
Thus as Yim continued north, keeping a sharp lookout for anything edible, she also looked for a refuge. Fearing betrayal, she cautiously observed any habitation she encountered. They were scarce in the war-ravaged region, and her instincts warned her away from every place she came across. Each time it was only a vague feeling—the way a man walked or how he held his hoe like a weapon—but Yim heeded the slightest twinge of unease. So much was at stake. Yet hunger fought with caution, and each time it was harder to walk away.
The sun was low in the sky when Yim spied the modest hut. Nestled in the folds of a low rise, it seemed off the beaten track. As before, Yim hid and observed the dwelling from a distance. For a long time, the only sign of habitation was smoke rising from the hut’s chimney. Then two barefoot girls scampered out. Neither seemed over six winters of age. They went over to a large mound of earth that was covered with overlapping boards that formed a kind of crude roof. The girls lifted several of the boards, and began to dig in the uncovered mound with their hands. Its earth was obviously loose, for the girls scooped it up easily.
Yim had seen such mounds before; peasants used then to store roots. After the girls had gathered a small pile of them and were putting the boards back in place, a woman emerged from the hut bearing a crockery bowl. Yim watched as the woman examined the roots the girls had gathered. She liked the way the woman pretended to be astonished, as if the children had discovered fabulous treasures. The girls’ laughter floated across the field, a heartwarming and inviting sound. Yim made up her mind. She rose to place her fate in a stranger’s hands.
FORTY-TWO
IT WAS only forty paces to where the woman and the children stood, but it seemed a much greater distance to Yim. She traversed the empty field silently and slowly, feeling slightly dizzy as she walked. Once the strangers saw her, they stared. Yim felt their eyes, but she was too exhausted to read them. Besides, she had surrendered to passivity and felt incapable of evading whatever the woman chose to do.
“Kuvri! Wreni! In the house!” said the woman.
“Mama,” said a tiny voice, “what’s wrong with her?”
“She’s seen troubles. Now go!”
As her daughters ran into the hut, the woman turned to watch Yim’s approach. When Yim was a few paces away, the woman spoke. “Why are ye here? What do ye seek?”
“Kindness.”
“‘tis a rare thing these days. Why leave home to seek it?”
“I have no home.”
The woman glanced at Yim’s bulging belly. “Well, ye had a man. Where’s he?”
“Slain in the feuding.”
“The feuding’s been over since fall.”
“Tell that to those who killed my husband and burned our home.”
“And how long have ye been wandering?”
“I’ve lost count of the days. It seems forever. Do do you wish me to leave?”
The woman regarded Yim silently awhile before answering. “Nay. ‘twill na please my husband, but come inside. By the circle, ye’re a sight.”
Yim felt a chill when the Devourer’s token was invoked, but it was too late to do anything except hide her unease and hope that the woman’s faith was as mild as that of Devren’s household. Indeed, the woman seemed kindly. When Yim started to waver on her feet, the woman steadied her, and that simple caring act caused tears of gratitude to flow down Yim’s filthy cheeks. The woman noticed and spoke softly. “I’m Taren, dear. What’s yer name?”
“Mirien.”
“Ye do na speak like folk from here.”
“I’m from the north, but my husband was from Averen.”
“Was he a Falken man?”
Yim assumed that Taren was referring to a clan. Considering the recent feuding, the question seemed a loaded one. “I don’t know,” replied Yim. “We never talked about it.”
Taren’s look reflected disbelief, but she didn’t question Yim’s reply. “And when did ye last eat?”
“I found some mushrooms this morning.”
“I mean a proper meal.”
“There was a dead hare. I ate it raw,” said Yim. “That was three days ago.”
“Oh, poor dear.”
Kuvri and Wreni were excitedly waiting in the hut, and both began talking at once. “Mama! Mama! Who is she?”
“Is she dying?”
“Is she having a babe?”
“Is she a beggar?”
“A bandit?”
“Will Da be mad?”
“Girl, girls, give me some rest!” said Taren. “This is Mirien, and she’s na going to die or rob us. Na will she have her babe for at least a moon. And asking for kindness is na the same as begging.”
“And Da?” asked the elder girl.
“We’ll find out when he comes home.” Then Taren led Yim to the only mattress in the one-room hut. It was made from coils of straw bound with cord. A tattered blanket lay atop it. “Rest, Mirien. I’ll warm some porridge.”
“Thank you, Taren. Kar uh Bless you.”
Taren didn’t reply. Instead, she poured some water into a pot that apparently contained some cold porridge, stirred the mixture a bit, and set the pot on the fire. By the time it was ready, she had to wake Yim. Taren guided her guest to a bench at a rude table, placed a wooden bowl before her, and ladled some porridge from the pot. The porridge was lumpy and watery, but Yim savored it. The two little girls, apparently unaccustomed to strangers, watched her with wide-eyed fascination. Yim tried to eat daintily, but because she had no spoon, she was forced to lift the bowl and sip. When the bowl was virtually empty, Yim succumbed to her hunger and scooped the last bits up with her fingers, much to the younger girl’s delight.
Yim hoped that Taren would refill the bowl, but she took it away. “Best na eat too much at once,” she said. “And there’ll be evening sup when my husband comes.”
“Is he planting?” asked Yim.
“Nay, he’s found other work. Why na rest some more?”
Yim gazed into Taren’s eyes to perceive her thoughts. She found no deceit there, but she detected apprehension. Her husband worries her , Yim thought. Should I be worried, too? Yim realized that, whatever the answer, she was in no position to leave. Besides, it was nearly dusk. She lay down on the straw mattress, where despite her anxiety, she drifted off to sleep. Yim didn’t wake until she heard Kuvri and Wreni outside the hut. “Da! Da!” one cried. “There’s a raggedy lady inside!”
“She’s going to have a babe, Da,” said the other in an almost pleading tone.
“Taren!” shouted a man’s voice. “What’s this the girls tell me?”
Taren rushed out of the hut. Then Yim heard Taren’s low, tense voice mingled with a louder, harsher one. She rose quickly to brush her ragged clothes with her hands and arrange them so they weren’t revealing. Yim had just finished when she heard heavy and rapid footsteps. There was no question whose steps they were.
A red-faced man stormed through the open door and glared at Yim. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Instead, the man simply stared as his expression underwent a transformation. Surprise briefly flashed across his face to be replaced by excitement that he attempted to hide. “Welcome, lass. Welcome to my home. My woman says ye’ve traveled hard.”
“I have, Father.”
“Nay, nay. Call me Kamish. And bide with us till your strength returns.”
Just then, Taren entered the hut, her face pale and taut. Kamish beamed at her. “My dear, ye were right. ‘Twould be cruel to turn the lass out. Cruel indeed, and I’ll na do it.”
Relief and surprise lit Taren’s features. “I’m glad, husband. I truly am.”
“Good,” said Kamish. “Then ‘tis settled.”
When the evening sup was served, Kamish was in a cheerful mood. He wasn’t a talkative man, but his good spirits put his family at ease. As the meal was being cooked, he had sent his daughters to get more roots for it and had insisted that his wife shave some smoked meat into the simmering pot. Surmising from Taren’s reaction, the latter was a rare treat. If the meal was supposed to be festive, dread spoiled its savor for Yim. Unlike the good-hearted Taren and her innocent children, she wasn’t fooled. A single glance into Kamish’s eyes had confirmed her fears: Tomorrow, he’d betray her.
Yim tried to sleep wedged between her two hosts on the family bed. Kamish had insisted on the arrangement, though it meant his children were banished to the hut’s dirt floor. They weren’t happy about it, but they were too frightened of their father to complain. Yim was frightened also. What will Kamish do to me? March me off to Lord Bahl? Tie me up? Her only hope lay in convincing him that she was unaware of her peril. She had done her best during the meal and its aftermath to appear thankful and relaxed. Was he fooled? It seemed that she’d have to wait until morning to find out.
Yim’s first hint that she had succeeded came when Kamish woke before dawn. Although Yim had been long awake, she pretended to be asleep as she listened to him quietly dress. When he left the house, she dashed to the board where Taren prepared food and grabbed the knife that lay upon it. Then Yim returned to the mattress and feigned sleep. Taren woke soon afterward and rose to place her sleeping daughters on the bed. Yim continued to listen for signs of Kamish’s return as Taren moved about the hut.
Time dragged on until Yim finally decided that it was safe to rise. Taren smiled when she saw that Yim was awake. “Good morn, Mirien.”
“What work does your husband do?” asked Yim.
Taren seemed puzzled by the sharpness in Yim’s tone. “What?”
“You said he doesn’t plant. So what does he do?”
“He guides soldiers. They pay him in grain.”
Yim revealed the knife she had hidden and brandished it. “I’m sorry, Taren. I truly am. But I need food.”
Taren stared at the blade, confused and terrified. “Mirien, what ”
Yim waved the knife menacingly, though she felt terrible doing so. “I mean it, Taren! Give me grain and roots, and do it now!”
“Why?”
“Your husband will betray me, so I must flee south. I’ll need food for that. And a flint and iron. I don’t want to hurt you or your children, but I’m desperate.”
Taren started to tremble. “I’ll have to dig the roots from the mound.”
“Then just the grain. All you have.”
“Please,” said Taren. “My children.”
“Then keep some, but hurry!”
As the panicked woman rushed to comply, Yim felt relieved that Taren’s children still slept and wouldn’t witness how their mother’s kindness was being repaid. While Yim watched Taren, she struggled with her own rising panic. She had no idea of where to go or how she could evade capture. Her only strategy was to appear to head south and then turn north as soon as she was out of Taren’s sight.
Taren took a sack of grain and poured some into an empty kettle. Then she held up the sack. “Is this enough?”
“Fine, fine,” said Yim. “Now the flint and iron.”
Taren got those items, put them in the sack, and advanced toward Yim. “Please, ‘tis my only knife.”
“I’m sorry, but I need it more.”
Taren held out the sack, and as Yim reached for it, Taren lunged for the knife. Yim slashed wildly and sliced Taren’s bare arm. The woman shrieked from pain, waking her daughters. The girls began to cry in terror at the sight of their mother gripping her gashed arm. Blood was already flowing between her fingers.
Yim was sickened by what she had done. But what disturbed her even more was that she had felt a sudden thrill when the blade struck flesh. Feeling pleasure at another’s pain ran counter to her entire being, and yet she had. Yim felt far guiltier than when she had drunk the hare’s blood and far more tainted.
“Go!” shouted Taren. “Go! Whatever ye did must be vile and wicked!”
Then Yim fled the hut, her deed, and the children who wailed for their wounded mother.
The true path is neither wide nor straight, and on either side lies the abyss.
— The Scroll of Karm
FORTY-THREE
YIM RAN as fast as her condition allowed, which wasn’t very fast. After she entered the woods and was screened from view, she turned eastward. A rise lay due north. Its heights seemed a logical place to flee, but Yim didn’t feel up to climbing. She was already tired and hungry, and the day had just begun. Moreover, she was so heartsick and discouraged that every effort seemed daunting. Thus she plodded east, attempting to hide her trail, but too listless to do a good job.
By midmorning, Yim rounded the eastern end of the rise, and was able to head north. She traveled only a short distance before the woods ended. Yim stood at their edge and gazed at the open country beyond. It had been farmland until the recent invasion, a place principally marked by low stone boundary walls. None of the huts or other buildings stood intact, and most had been reduced to little more than blackened rubble. The fields and meadows were reverting to weeds, but the process had begun only recently, so they offered little cover. There were a few places for concealment—orchards, woodlots, and ruins—but Yim would have to cross open ground to reach them.
Yim saw that the route ahead would involve alternating safety with exposure. It’ll be a journey best made by night , she surmised. The sack of grain meant she could forgo searching for food during the day, at least for a while. Escape seemed feasible, and that gave Yim a measure of confidence. All I need now is a place to hide and rest until tonight . Yim supposed that she could hide in the woods, but they were open and the undergrowth was still thin and new. It looked too scant to offer real concealment. Yim scanned the landscape ahead and spied a blackened hut with a collapsed roof. She had escaped detection before in just such a place. It wasn’t close, but she could hurry. Yim decided that she would, and rushed into the weedy field before her.
As
Yim ran, she felt the exhilaration that comes from action. She was speeding toward safety, albeit more clumsily and slowly than she would have liked. Still, as she neared her goal, it felt like the completion of a significant first step. The burnt hut was near when the soft slap of her feet upon the ground was accompanied by another sound. Hoofbeats! Yim turned, and her exhilaration became despair. Armed men, accompanied by Kamish, were emerging from the woods. Among their number was an armored horseman who was galloping toward her. He was already far ahead of the advancing foot soldiers.
Yim stopped running. The hut was no longer a meaningful goal. She dropped the sack of grain. It would not sustain her. Only the knife was of use. She had no hope of overcoming an armored and experienced opponent, but she could use the blade on herself. Turning to face the oncoming rider, she parted her cloak. Her rags barely covered her, and a rounded expanse of flesh was visible beneath the holes. Grabbing the hilt of Taren’s kitchen knife with both hands, she pointed its blade toward Lord Bahl’s son and herself.
It seemed such a quick way to end it. A single stab would seal her fate and end Bahl’s line. Yim pressed the blade’s point against her skin with trembling hands. The spot began to bleed. Just one thrust , she told herself. One easy motion . But it wasn’t as easy as she thought. Yim struggled to summon her will to do it.
Unnoticed, the horseman dismounted. “My lady!” he called in an urgent voice. “I beg you, please forbear!”
Startled, Yim glanced at the man. Both of his hands were raised and empty, as if he were surrendering. “Please, my gracious lady, don’t harm yourself! Your sufferings are ended. We’re here only to protect and aid you.”
“I’m no silly thing to be so easily snared!” said Yim, raising the blade to plunge it in.
“You’re the honored mother of my future lord,” replied the man, his face earnest. “I’d sooner die than harm you.”
“You won’t harm me,” said Yim, raising the knife even higher. “I can do that myself.” She drove the blade downward.
Yim expected searing pain. What she experienced was a flash of steel, a ringing sound, and a jolt as the knife flew from her hand. She saw it spinning off into the field as the soldier sheathed his sword almost as quickly as he had drawn it. Yim was stunned by the swiftness of it all. He’s as fast as Honus! Then the soldier seized her.
[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm Page 31