[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm Page 11

  “Let’s see how we’ll be greeted,” said Yim. The two climbed the slope until they reached the house. It was made of stone where it touched the ground, and timber above that. The logs that formed its walls had been squared before they were fitted together, and the spaces between them were chinked with moss. The roof was made of broad wooden shakes, weighted with stones. At the rear of the house, the roof merged with the mountain’s slope. The smoke hole was there, surrounded by wide slabs of stone. The only windows were on the structure’s front. They were small and their shutters were flung open, as was the dwelling’s door. Yim approached the house without seeing anyone and peered inside.

  The sunny day made the single room beyond the doorway seem all the darker. Yim saw a dirt floor, a table, benches, a loom, and lines that were strung between the walls. Various shades of twisted wool dangled from the lines. Some of the wool steamed and dripped from recent dyeing. At the far end of the room, Yim spied a fire and a large kettle. A small figure stirred the kettle. It took a moment for Yim’s eyes to adjust and discern that the figure was that of a girl, perhaps eleven winters old. Plaid homespun was wrapped about her thin waist to form a skirt that reached midcalf. A second length of plaid was tucked into the top of her skirt. It passed across her chest, over her left shoulder, and down her back to tuck into the skirt’s rear. These two items comprised her garments, for she wore no shirt and her feet were bare. Her long, light brown hair was tied back, exposing a face whose sootiness made the girl’s wide-eyed stare all the more conspicuous. Concerned that Honus’s face might have frightened the child, Yim bowed low and said, “Greetings, dear. We’re servants of Karm.”

  The girl said nothing, but she dropped the wooden stirring paddle and slowly edged toward the table. Yim noted there was a knife upon it. “My companion’s face looks grim, but his heart is kind. You need not fear him or me. We bring Karm’s blessing.”

  “Karm’s dead,” said the girl, laying her hand on the knife hilt, but not grasping it.

  Yim smiled and spoke in a light, almost amused tone. “How can a goddess die?”

  “Da said she did,” stated the girl, as if that assertion explained everything.

  “Then I bring good news. Karm still watches over you.”

  The girl simply stared at Yim with doubt and more than a hint of suspicion. Yim, sensing the futility of speaking further, motioned for Honus to back away. She bowed again and said, “Tell your da that we bestowed our blessing.” Then she turned and departed.

  Trudging down the slope, Yim observed the girl dash from the house and disappear into the trees that surrounded the field. She wondered what the girl would tell her father and if they should fear another attack. After no one appeared, either friendly or hostile, Yim’s thoughts turned to the girl’s assertion that Karm was dead. She tried to dismiss it as foolishness, something an ignorant girl repeated without understanding. It might be a lie from a black priest or a mere misunderstanding. Nonetheless, the idea worked on Yim’s imagination. It matched her foreboding that something terrible loomed ahead. It also recalled her disturbing visions. The last two times Karm had appeared to her, the goddess had been covered with blood. She had seemed battered, not powerful. And Karm’s last visitation had been followed by a disturbing absence that intensified Yim’s feelings of abandonment.

  Honus walked in front, so he was unaware of Yim’s musings. They returned to the trail, which gradually broadened into a narrow dirt road as it snaked through a high valley. There, the southward slopes were cleared wherever the stony ground was level enough to till or use for pasturage. Among the clearings, Yim spotted dwellings, but her encounter with the girl had made her reluctant to approach them. Occasionally, they met people on the road. Both the men and women wore costumes similar to the young girl’s, but their attire usually included long-sleeved shirts and boots or sandals. Since everyone greeted her politely—albeit tersely—as they passed, Yim began to think her first encounter was a fluke. Eventually, she decided that it was, and when dusk approached she sought hospitality.

  Yim spotted a homestead built of timber and stone and told Honus to head for it. Like the first dwelling they visited, it was partly buried into the mountain’s slope. It was more expansive, however, appearing to have been enlarged by several additions. Yim noticed adults and children toiling in a nearby field. About the house, more children were driving sheep into a pen or doing other chores while two boys in their late teens sparred vigorously using wooden swords. Red welts upon their arms and chests proved the earnestness of their practice.

  A woman, her blond hair streaked with gray, emerged from the house when Yim and Honus reached it. She was barefoot and her plaids and woolen blouse were soiled and threadbare, but she bore herself with dignity. Yim bowed to her. “Mother, we seek food and shelter in respect for the goddess.”

  “My husband is lord here,” replied the woman. “‘tis his place to say aye or nay.” She pointed to the field. “He’s guiding the plow.”

  Yim bowed to the woman and walked over to the field. There, a gray-haired man was plowing under the stubble of winter grain. A young couple pulled the plow, the woman round with child. Ragged, barefoot children walked behind to scatter grain in the freshly turned furrows. The plowman halted when he saw Yim approach. She bowed to him and repeated her request. The man regarded her with interest. “At first I thought I was seeing spirits,” he said without returning Yim’s bow, “but you seem solid enough. Aye, you can sup and sleep with us.”

  Yim bowed. “Karm sees your generosity.”

  The man smiled. “Does she now? Well, na matter either way; we’ll be glad for talk. I’m Devren, lord of this holding.” He gestured to the couple pulling the plow. “This is my heir, Folden, and his bride, Kaarkan. We’ll join you when ‘tis too dark to plow.”

  As Yim headed back to the house, she turned to Honus and said in a low voice, “So many children!”

  “Averen families run large, and children of unmarried daughters are counted as the patriarch’s offspring.”

  “Would there be many of those?”

  “Usually quite a few. There’s a saying here: ‘A man needs land to have a wife, but na a child.’ Did you see those lads with wooden swords? Landless sons usually go off soldiering.”

  “And forsake the mothers of their children?”

  “The lucky ones return.”

  “And what if his love has found another?”

  “That’s the theme of many Averen ballads.”

  When Yim and Honus reached the dwelling, Devren’s wife introduced herself as Fremma. After Yim slipped the pack from her shoulders, Fremma bade Yim and Honus sit at a bench by the table while she brewed them a hot drink. She did that at a fire pit near the room’s far wall. A young woman, barefoot and as ragged as her mother, stood there adding herbs to a bubbling kettle. An infant nestled within her plaid chest wrap, nursing at her breast. A naked toddler played about a loom, where a girl of perhaps nine winters worked the shuttle. The light was so dim, she seemed to be guiding it by feel.

  Fremma brought out wooden bowls of herbal tea, served Yim and Honus, then left the room. As Yim sipped her drink, she gazed about. The long table at which she and Honus sat occupied much of the central room. Two looms took up most of the remaining floor space. Skeins of wool, plants for making dye, lengths of plaid cloth, and all manner of implements dangled from the rafters. On either sidewall was an entrance to an adjoining chamber. One chamber seemed for sleeping. The other seemed a storeroom.

  While Yim gazed about the central room, it slowly filled with children who curiously regarded her and Honus. Although they whispered among themselves, none spoke to Yim or answered her greetings. They kept their distance until Devren arrived to formally welcome his guests. After Yim gave her and Honus’s names, the children crowded around her, although they gave wide berth to Honus. The youngsters remained too shy to speak, but they seemed fascinated by Yim’s clothes and foreignness.

  There was but a single chair at the
long table. It was placed at its head, and Devren took it. Then he invited Yim to sit at the end of the bench closest to his right, apparently the place of honor. Honus was offered the seat on the bench to his left. Once Devren and his guests were seated, the male members of his family took their places at the long benches lining the table, the eldest sons sitting closest to their father. Then Fremma, Kaarkan, and Devren’s elder daughters served them food and drink. There was coarse brown bread, ale, and porridge that contained a few roots and even fewer bits of mutton. Only after the men were served did the women serve themselves and the children. They sat crowded at the far ends of the benches.

  Herbs made the porridge flavorful, and Yim enjoyed both it and the bread. The dark ale was strong, and she took only small sips from her bowl. Yim suspected that it was brought out in her honor. Only she and the men drank it. All the men, except for Honus, drank deeply. Devren was cordial to her during the meal, as were his sons, but no one was reverent. When tongues loosened as the ale took hold, Yim attempted to steer the talk toward what concerned her most. “Sir, you seemed surprised to see me. Why was that?”

  “I’d heard all Karm’s folk were slain,” replied Devren.

  “Who told you that?”

  “The new priests.”

  “So they’ve come spreading lies.”

  “I do na agree,” replied Devren. “What they say makes sense.”

  “Like what?”

  “That our clan has too long endured wrongs against us. Because our neighbors crowd us, my sons can na take wives.”

  “Da speaks true,” said one of Devren’s sons. “Why soldier for other men when a sword can win you a homestead?”

  “By that, you mean another man’s homestead,” said Yim.

  “Strength is the sign of grace,” said Devren.

  “Not Karm’s grace,” replied Yim.

  “That’s why your kind’s gone,” said Devren. “Meekness may have its place, but ‘tis a hard world. ‘tis only common sense to turn to a hard god.”

  Yim felt a chill pass through her. “So you worship the Devourer?”

  Devren smiled and patted Yim’s hand. “If you’re surprised, then you’re unworldly.”

  “So unlike the priests!” said one of the boys who had been sword fighting. Yim glanced at him and was startled by the intensity of his gaze. “They know how things go. How Clan Mucdoi slew our folk and stole our land.”

  “Aye,” said a brother. “‘twas fine land, too, na all hills and rocks like here.”

  Honus spoke for the first time the entire evening. “Those battles you speak of took place centuries ago, and tales differ as to who was in the wrong.”

  “Then hear the true tale,” said the boy who had praised the priests. “We were foully betrayed and foully slaughtered. Even now, our dead cry for vengeance.”

  “The departed forget their lives,” replied Yim.

  “‘tis na so!” exclaimed the lad. “The priest called forth their voices. I heard their cries with mine own ears and was sorely grieved.” He gazed around the firelit room, red-faced and with his fists clenched. “I hear them still!”

  “Do others feel like you?” asked Yim.

  “Enough,” replied the boy.

  Yim glanced about and suspected most of the family agreed with him. It made her wonder what tales the black priests were telling the Mucdoi Clan.

  “So, lass,” said one of the brothers, “why do you travel?”

  “To visit a lady friend,” replied Yim.

  “Where?” said the red-faced boy, his voice laced with suspicion.

  “In the hall of Clan Urkzimdi.”

  “Ha! That’s an unnatural lot!” exclaimed one of the brothers. “A woman for a chieftain. What nonsense!”

  “‘tis because their land lies nigh to Faerie,” said another. “Small wonder they’re all strange.”

  Before Yim could react to that remark, the red-faced boy spoke. “To reach Urkzimdi, you must pass through Mucdoi territory.”

  “Yes,” replied Yim, keeping her voice even.

  “‘Twould na be wise to go that way,” the boy said, fixing his gaze on Yim so she might see his menace. “You’ve heard too much tonight.”

  “A Bearer listens to all, but repeats little,” replied Yim. “I’ll not recite your speeches. As to what path to take, I’ll keep my own counsel.”

  “Since you’re offering advice,” said Honus to the boy, “I’ll give you some of mine: It’s unwise to see a threat where there is none, and safety lies in wisdom.”

  The room hushed as the boy glared at Honus and the Sarf looked back calmly. Then Devren spoke in a mild tone. “Son, speak more amiably to our guest. She’s harmless enough.”

  “Go where you will,” said the boy in a subdued tone. Then he looked away, and the tension dissipated.

  By then, the fire was dying down, and children were wandering off to sleep. After clearing the dishes, their mothers joined them, leaving the men to linger about the ale jug. Yim stayed with them, though she was uncomfortable as their talk turned bellicose. Atrocities were recounted as if they had occurred yesterday, though generations had passed since the purported deeds. Mingled with grievances were tales of loss. Lands the men had never seen grew more fair and bountiful as they spoke of them, making their home seem insignificant in comparison. As the ale jug passed back and forth among them, the drinkers’ voices became louder and more animated until Yim feared they might seize arms and storm out of the house.

  That didn’t happen, and eventually the ale made the men sleepy. Then they joined the women and children in the adjacent chamber. Yim and Honus followed them. Straw mattresses covered most of the floor, and sleeping women and children covered most of those. The mattresses of Devren and his heir had curtains hung about them, so they might bed their wives in privacy. The rest of the family slept crowded together and Yim and Honus were given a mattress to share with two toddlers, a boy and a girl.

  Yim didn’t mind the arrangement, and she liked it when the boy nestled against her. Honus drifted off to sleep, but Yim lay awake in the dark room that was filled with the sounds of slumber. The entire family was united by sleep and by common bonds of blood, hardship, and poverty. The tiny boy against Yim’s chest seemed an extension of the whole. Through him, the family touched Yim and roused her compassion. She thought how those about her struggled on the hard edge of want and yet shared what they had with strangers. She loved them all, even the angry lad who spoke of vengeance.

  Yim’s compassion made the priests seem all the more vile to her. They were poisoning this family to turn it against other families. Yim had sensed a grim future during the drunken talk of retribution. Hate was a burning brand tossed into a dry field. Fanned by want and lies, it was spreading. It had consumed the lad and it was overcoming the others. She feared talk would become action, and each cruel deed would inspire more.

  These troubled thoughts kept Yim awake, so she was only drowsing when she heard a noise in the outer room. It was the sound of something striking and splintering wood. Yim raised her head to see if anyone else had heard it. When she did, she saw the light of flames coming from the central room. Before Yim could shout an alarm, men with torches burst in on the sleeping family. They carried farm tools that could serve as weapons. Then they attacked the sleepers.

  All was fire, blood, and chaos. The bed-curtains went up in sheets of flame. Devren and Folden were both alight when they staggered through them to be hacked down. Then men pushed the burning curtains aside and made quick work of the screaming women behind them. Meanwhile, other men advanced upon the family that had awakened to a nightmare. The killers, their eyes turned red by reflected firelight, seemed inhuman. They slaughtered their helpless victims without pity as though they were scything grain or threshing it. Women and children received no more mercy than the men.

  Yim was immobilized by horror, unable even to cry out. All she could do was grip the boy who had been sleeping next to her and shield his eyes from the sight o
f butchery. Yim was still clutching the child when a man advanced toward them. The mattock in his hand was dripping with gore. As Yim wondered where Honus was, the man tore the boy from her arms and threw him hard upon the floor. The child lay stunned, able only to whimper as his assailant raised the mattock high to plunge it into his chest. Yim reacted instinctively. As the mattock descended, she threw her body atop the boy’s to take the blow. Heavy iron plunged into her, splintering Yim’s ribs as it dug toward her heart.

  With a cry of pain, Yim’s eyes flew open. The room was dark and quiet. Then Honus stirred and touched her wrist. When his hand felt hot against her icy skin, Yim knew that Karm had sent her another vision.

  SIXTEEN

  YIM’S CRY had awakened the boy who nestled against her. The frightened child pulled away, then quickly fell asleep again. Yim did not. She was thoroughly chilled and her ribs and chest ached terribly. Her only comfort was that Honus wrapped an arm about her. She was glad that he didn’t speak, but seemed to know what she had endured without asking. Yim gratefully snuggled against him.

  As warmth passed from Honus into her, Yim pondered the meaning of her vision. She wondered if it foretold what was to come, or only warned her of what might be. I was slain , she thought, still feeling the blow from the mattock. Is that to be my fate?She hoped that the mattock was symbolic. Of what? She had no idea, but feared it was something horrific.

  The vision had so thoroughly drained Yim that sleep stole upon her despite her apprehensions. She slipped into dreamless slumber and didn’t wake until Devren’s family rose. They were unchanged, but Yim saw them differently. Everyone seemed endangered, with a hold on life so precarious that Yim had to struggle against showing tears. The family went to work without a morning meal, with only the very youngest having no chore to do. Yim and Honus left early in the morning, pausing at the field where Devren plowed to thank him for his hospitality.

  Honus didn’t speak until they had walked some distance down the road. “You cried out last night. Did something pain you?”

  “Karm bestowed another gift.”