[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers Page 5

  Yim heard Honus’s voice. “The girl’s mine.”

  The man pivoted, keeping his foot on the sword. “What use has a holy man for a woman?”

  “You need only know that she’s mine.”

  The man with the mace forced a smile on his face. “Of course,” he said. “It’s not my business.” Then, he turned toward his companion and winked.

  A sword flashed, reflecting the last of the sky’s light. It passed through where Honus had stood an instant before. The Sarf rolled on the ground and sprang up so that he and the swordsman were chest-to-chest. At such close quarters, the sword was useless. Honus jabbed with his fist. There was the crunch of gristle, and the swordsman fell backward. Honus caught his opponent’s sword before it hit the ground. Then he whirled, and the mace dropped with a hand still grasping it. A wail arose. It was cut short as Honus whirled again. The second man dropped to the road in two pieces. Honus turned and plunged the sword into the other man gurgling on the ground. There was a grunt, and the gurgling stopped. Honus withdrew the sword and stepped on its blade to snap it. Afterward, he hurled it and the mace into the bushes flanking the road. Then he picked up and sheathed his weapon.

  Yim had stood paralyzed throughout the encounter. As she stared at the two dead men, she felt sickened by their violent end. Her stomach churned, and if it weren’t empty, she would have thrown up. For a long while, she trembled as horror fought with relief. Then she subdued her emotions and asked Honus in a shaky voice, “Are we safe now?”

  A grim smile came to Honus’s fierce face. “Safe?” He glanced down at the pair of corpses. “These were but fleas. There are wolves abroad. Didn’t you know?”

  “No. My home’s far away and isolated.”

  “Then you were ill-advised to leave it.” Honus dragged the bodies from the road. “Don’t worry, we’ll be safe enough tonight. Come. We’ll walk until the moon rises. Then you’ll find firewood more easily.”

  By the time Yim returned to camp with a second load of wood, Honus had a fire blazing and porridge cooked. He tasted it before passing the pot to Yim. The porridge was burnt, but she ate ravenously. “Don’t eat so quickly,” Honus warned her. “You’ll get sick.” Yim slowed her pace, but she still cleaned the pot with her fingers, licking them noisily. Honus’s teeth showed in the moonlight. “Such royal manners.”

  Withdrawn and tense, Yim didn’t react to the jest. After eating, she sat near the dying fire, wrapped in her bloodstained cloak and shivering, though the night was not yet cold.

  Honus spread his cloak over leaves and removed his sandals and outer pants. Yim looked away as he began to remove his leggings. “Take off that damp tunic,” she heard him say, “and come to me.”

  Yim remained put, but turned to look at Honus. He was reclining on his cloak, his manhood covered by his long shirt. In a voice that trembled slightly, Yim responded. “You’re a Sarf, a holy man.”

  “A Sarf is but a holy man’s servant. I’m no purer than other men, probably less.”

  “If you had purchased the blond slave, would you have wished to tup him also?”

  “No,” said Honus, his voice betraying irritation.

  “Then why must I do what he need not?”

  “Come. There’s pleasure in this.”

  “I’ve already suffered as a bound captive, so don’t speak of pleasure. What pleases the man degrades the woman.”

  “This is my right,” replied Honus. “I own you.”

  “You own your sword. Would you use it to hew rocks?”

  “Stop speaking riddles.”

  “Only a fool destroys his possessions.”

  Honus sat up and glared at Yim. “Are you calling me a fool?”

  “No, Master.” Yim recalled the night with the scar-faced man in the wagon, and when she spoke again there was resolve in her voice. “You can have me by force, but you cannot force me to live. If you tup me, I’ll kill myself. Then, the only burdens I’ll bear will be memories upon the Dark Path.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Look me in the eye and see truth. I’ve experienced degradation once. I’d rather walk the Dark Path than endure it again.”

  Honus stared at Yim for a long time, and she sensed it was no ordinary gaze but one that saw beneath appearances. Yim met his eyes forthrightly and loosened her guard. Thus, though she couldn’t fathom his tattooed face in the moonlight, she felt that she had communicated her determination. Finally, Honus looked away and pulled on his pants. “I’ll not force you,” he said. “I so swear.” Honus made the Sign of the Balance. Then he took off his shirt and tossed it toward Yim. “Replace that damp tunic with this and lie beside me. We’ll share warmth, nothing more.”

  Yim felt a wave of relief. She let out a long, shuddering sigh as Honus lay down and rolled on his side to face away from her. After she had put on the shirt and hung her tunic to dry, she noticed Honus’s back was covered with little marks. She hesitantly crept over to his cloak, carrying hers to cover them both. Closer up, Yim saw that the marks were tattooed runes. The writing began at Honus’s shoulders and extended to the small of his back, forming an extensive text. Some of the marks roused Yim’s curiosity. She reached out and lightly touched them. “Your runes are old-fashioned,” she whispered, “but I can make some words out.”

  “Don’t!” cried Honus.

  Yim jerked her hand away.

  “Those runes concern deep matters, portents that only a Sarf’s master should read,” said Honus. “A Sarf may not know them. That’s why they’re needled on his back.”

  “Pardon me, Master. I didn’t know.” Yim drew up her cloak. As she pulled it over Honus, she thought of the runes and wondered why some spelled her name.

  SEVEN

  HONUS LAY awake, looking toward the stars and listening to Yim’s breathing. Asleep, she didn’t shrink from him. Instead, she lay curled on her side, her back and feet pressed against him for warmth. When was I last this close to a woman? It felt like ages. Yet Yim’s closeness only heightened his loneliness. How pathetic, to turn to a slave for…what? Pleasure from a frightened girl? What a shallow, futile thing. Honus felt ashamed of his weakness.

  He also reproached himself for letting Yim glimpse his back. If he had known she could read, he would have never removed his shirt. Honus wondered what signs she had discerned. It probably doesn’t matter. She wouldn’t understand their import. Still, he couldn’t forget how Yim had softly brushed his tattoos with her fingers. Honus’s wise and gentle master had touched the runes similarly when he puzzled over them. Honus reflected on the irony that Yim had deciphered words that he, who had borne them since childhood, had seldom seen and never read. All he knew of them was that the inscription was extensive. Occasionally, his master had teased Honus about it, telling of a Sarf whose back bore but a single word. He never revealed what it was.

  Honus had often speculated on what his master learned from his back. When he was young, he believed his entire life was inscribed there, exposed to anyone who could make out the letters. Later, he learned that the Seer who tattooed them wrote riddles and hints. “Their meaning is revealed through time,” Honus’s master had said. “Life provides the missing puzzle pieces.” Honus wondered if Yaun or even the slave beside him were pieces to that puzzle, and who would fit those pieces now that the one he revered was dead.

  Honus’s master had last touched the runes on the eve before the battle. If he foresaw his death, he didn’t reveal it to Honus. He had only enjoined Honus to never carry his own burden, saying, “The will of Karm is strong in this.” Honus had obeyed that command, and everything that followed had been a consequence.

  Honus had no idea why he mustn’t bear his pack. Perhaps my master knew. But he was gone, slain by forces that seemed as unstoppable as nightfall. How can I oppose them, if even he had no answer? Seeking it doomed him. Honus gazed toward the stars, but saw only the darkness between them.

  Yim dreamed she was a girl again and relived the dreariness of her childhood
. She was seated on the dirt floor of her guardian’s hut. It was night and a small fire cast the only light. The warm air smelled of wood smoke and herbs. Yim hugged her legs close to her chest and peered over her knees at the Wise Woman. Her guardian stared back sternly. “Are you afraid?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Yim.

  “You should be,” the woman replied. “This knowledge is perilous, even for you. You must never speak of it. Never! Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Wise One.”

  “Then watch and learn.” The woman sat on her heels, folded her hands in her lap, and became absolutely still. Yim scrutinized her guardian’s face in the dim firelight. She appeared to be watching something in the dark, something Yim couldn’t see. The air turned cold, and Yim was astonished to see frost forming on the floor. The white crystals advanced toward Yim’s bare feet. Her toes began to sting.

  The dream faded, but the cold remained. Yim awoke alone beneath the cloak in the dim blue light of predawn. The damp air was chilly and Yim drew her legs tighter to her body. They felt stiff; indeed, her whole body ached. Another day of drudgery loomed ahead, and she wasn’t anxious for it to start. The hardships of travel, daunting as they were, seemed less oppressive than the prospect of serving a strange and unpredictable man. My master, Yim thought. The very word galled her. She remembered that his former companion had called him “Honus” and resolved to think of him by that name. It would help distance her from the demeaning idea that she was his property.

  Nevertheless, Yim was already adjusting to that concept. She lay still to avoid being given a command, even after she began to feel restless. Passivity was an age-old slave’s strategy, and Yim took to it instinctively. She knew retaining her inner freedom would require all her will. She viewed the previous day as a lopsided struggle between her and Honus where she suffered one rout after another. Yet, last night, she had won a major victory. Yim was still amazed by her success. When it happened, she had been steeling herself for suicide. Through that victory, she sensed that Honus needed her. Yim wasn’t sure why, but it seemed to go beyond wanting a woman to lie with. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made that oath. Something else is at work here. She hoped to discover what it was and use that knowledge to her advantage.

  Birds commenced their morning songs, but Yim remained beneath the cloak. She assumed that Honus was close by, despite hearing no indication of his presence. Is he toying with me? Yim grew restless and her thoughts turned toward a fire and hot food. Finally, Yim’s hunger and chill drove her to pull off the cloak.

  Yim looked about. Honus sat only a pace away. His perfect stillness and the markings on his face gave him the aspect of a malevolent statue. Yim jerked back with a small, startled cry. Honus, his eyes closed, didn’t react. Regaining her composure, Yim regarded her master. He was dressed in his leggings and pants and wore her tunic like a cloak to cover the runes on his back. She would have requested its return, but he seemed beyond reach. His stillness reminded Yim of yesterday, when they rested by the tree. Then, he had seemed oblivious of everything. Fearful to disturb him and chilled by the raw morning air, Yim wandered off to look for firewood.

  She returned as dawn tinted the clouds, carrying an armload of twigs and branches and a handful of herbs. Honus remained in the same position she had left him. He can’t object to a fire, Yim thought. She arranged the twigs and branches over the ashes of last night’s campfire, then opened the pack to search for a flint and iron. She found them and also a sheath knife. She removed the knife, intending to use it to shave tinder from a branch, for the grass was wet with dew. Testing the knife’s keen blade, Yim thought how easily she might slit Honus’s throat. She moved closer to him, knife in hand, and weighed her chances for success. He seems in another world. He hasn’t noticed me at all. Yim studied his face for signs of awareness and noticed subtle, fleeting changes, like those of a sleeper caught in a dream, a dream from which Honus might never waken if she were quick.

  And where would that leave me? So far, her quest had been a journey without a destination. When capture and slavery interrupted it, Yim had been expecting further guidance. Until it came, safety must be her primary concern. If she killed her master, she’d be alone where a woman without kin had no security. With no father, brother, or uncle to protect her and no husband to claim her, she was as vulnerable as a coin lying in the street. Anyone could take her, and anyone might. Am I any safer with Honus? Yim didn’t know him well enough to answer. For the time being, it seemed wisest to remain his property and hope that he believed that only a fool destroyed his own possessions.

  Yim made some shavings, placed them next to the twigs, and hit the flint with the iron. When sparks landed in the tinder, she blew on it until a flame appeared. Further blowing spread the flame to the twigs, then the branches. Soon she had a fire blazing. Yim was warming herself before it when Honus opened his eyes. “A princess who can make a fire?” he said with mock surprise. “Your kingdom must be a land of marvels.”

  “Would you like me to prepare some food?” asked Yim, adding “Master” as an afterthought.

  “Why? Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Then I’m most eager to view this second wonder, royalty that can cook.”

  Yim ignored his waggery. She took the brass pot from the pack, measured in grain and water, and shredded the herbs that she had collected, sprinkling them over the mixture. Honus watched what she did with interest. “What were those plants you added?”

  “Lemon balm and faerie heart for savor. Bee’s cup and springfoot for health. These are good things, Master. I swear.”

  “Since you declined to slit my throat, I doubt you’d poison me.”

  Yim looked up quickly and saw Honus watching her intently. “When I trance,” he said, “I still see with an inner eye.”

  Yim paled. “I thought you were asleep or something like it.”

  “I was roaming the Dark Path.”

  Yim’s eyes widened. “You were dead?”

  Honus’s blue lips bowed upward. “No. One need not die to go there. I was merely visiting, a skill that can be learned if you have the gift.”

  “Gift? Who’d want such a gift?”

  “It’s not altogether as you think,” replied Honus. “The dead carry much to the Sunless Way. Though sorrow and worse are there, treasures can be found also. I look for those.”

  “You make it sound like robbing a graveyard.”

  “I take only memories,” replied Honus.

  “Only memories?” said Yim. “Except for the present, all of life is memory.”

  “You talk like my Bearer.”

  “I am your bearer.”

  Honus frowned. “You mistake the word,” he said. “You bear my pack. In the Karmish Order, a Bearer is a holy person. My Bearer was my master.”

  “So, you’ve replaced your master with a slave?”

  Honus flushed beneath his tattoos. “I won’t tolerate blasphemy!”

  “Pardon me, Master,” said Yim. “I meant none. I’m ignorant of your ways.”

  “Bearers carry their Sarf’s pack to practice humility and to insure their servant is ever ready to do their bidding. You’re merely my porter. You haven’t replaced my Bearer. You could never replace Theodus.”

  Yim started at the word. “Theodus?”

  “Yes, that was my master’s name. Why do you look so strangely?”

  Yim glanced away, hiding her eyes from Honus. “Only because…because it’s an unusual name.”

  “Like Yim?”

  “Yes. Like Yim.”

  Yim busied herself with preparing breakfast. She stirred the pot to mix in the herbs and set it among the embers. “So you have no master now,” she said. “Does that mean you’re free?”

  “Free?” said Honus. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Then you should ask me,” said Yim. “No one sold you for ten coppers.”

  “We’re all the goddess’s slaves. She’s the mistress who r
ules our fate. When Karm’s Seers chose me as an infant for a life of service, my parents were paid in honors, not coppers. But what difference did that make?”

  “They forced you to become a Sarf?”

  “Oh, I wanted it badly enough. The temple was all I knew, so I labored long and hard to earn this face. Yet, I ask you—how can I be free if Karm wrote my fate upon my back?”

  “Fate’s but a word,” replied Yim, “that we drape on mysteries beyond our understanding.”

  “And freedom’s a word for something that doesn’t exist.”

  “I was free once,” said Yim. “It felt different from this.”

  “Then I’ve freed you from delusion.”

  Yim fell silent and turned her attention to the pot. She stirred the porridge with a stick to keep it from burning and tasted it occasionally to see if it was done. After a while, she said, “It’s ready, Master.” Using the stick, she removed the pot from the fire and placed it before Honus.

  “Get me my spoon,” said Honus. Yim found a wooden spoon in the pack and handed it to him. “I’d also like my shirt back.”

  Yim stiffened. “Will you look away while I remove it?”

  “Yes,” said Honus, handing Yim her tunic. “I’ll close my eyes and not see you naked.”

  Yim relaxed and animation returned to her face. “Not even with your inner eye?”

  Honus responded to her light answer in kind. “All are naked to my inner eye.”

  When Honus shut his eyes to let Yim dress, he realized how close his quip came to the truth. Those who could trance had a bit of the Seer in them. Honus found most people easy to lay bare. He knew he would find coins in Yaun’s boot and that Peshnell would protect the miller by selling Yim. Yet some, like his late Bearer, were impenetrable. This girl’s like Theodus, he thought, a misty landscape where only the nearest things are clear. It seemed strange that Yim should baffle his powers. Honus reflected on this until he heard her say, “I’m clothed, Master.”