[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers (28 page)

As the day wore on, Yim began to encounter hostility. No one dared abuse Honus; all the ill will was directed toward her. Sometimes it was only a baleful glance. Once, she was forced from the road when a cart suddenly swerved. She heard muttered curses, but not all the curses were muttered. After passing a particularly foul-tongued man, Honus turned and caught Yim’s shaken expression. “I’m sorry, Yim. I hadn’t foreseen this.”

“Aren’t Bearers supposed to forgive abuse?”

“You’re not a Bearer.”

Yim held her head up. “I can act like one.”

Later, they came upon a burnt cottage. About the blackened structure were signs its destruction had not been accidental. Fences had been knocked down. A pair of dogs had been hacked apart and bits of them were strewn about. Graffiti was painted on the smoke-stained walls. The derelict house looked so out of place in the peaceful countryside that Honus left the road to investigate it. Yim followed him, but he stopped her at the doorway. A sweet, sickening smell issued from the interior. “There’s no need to look inside.”

“What happened here?” asked Yim.

Honus didn’t immediately reply, but moved a short way from the cottage and sat down to trance. Soon he opened his eyes. “This farmer’s grandfather came from Averen. That was enough to condemn him in his neighbors’ eyes.”

“They killed him for that?”

“Him and his family. Cara’s and Cronin’s tales were true. Vinden has changed since I was here last.”

“Why?”

“The answer is hidden from me. One thing is plain, though: The Devourer’s followers did this.”

Yim looked about and saw the land in a different light. “Was Luvein once as fair as Vinden?”

“Tales say it was even fairer,” replied Honus.

By late afternoon, the small cottages had given way to large estates. Broad fields and orchards surrounded the manor houses and their outbuildings. When evening approached, they spied such a house. It lay far from the road at the end of a lane flanked by newly plowed fields. The house was built of stone, and except for some of the ruins in Luvein, it was the largest Yim had ever seen. Honus said, “It’s time to ask for food and lodging.”

Yim’s experiences in the afternoon heightened her trepidation as she approached the manor and knocked on its door. A man dressed in a long gray robe opened it shortly afterward. An elaborate brass medallion hung from a chain about his neck, and his face bore a haughty look. He fixed his eyes on Yim.

Yim bowed her head. “Father, we’re servants of Karm. We request shelter and food in respect for the goddess.”

The man didn’t return Yim’s bow. Instead, he replied, “My master decides who receives hospitality. I’ll speak with him.” Then, he closed the door.

Honus said nothing, but Yim thought he looked surprised. It seemed a long time before the servant emerged from the house and shut the door behind him. “Follow me,” he said. Then he led Yim and Honus around the manor house to a long, low hut in its rear. Built of wood and constructed like a shack, it provided seasonal housing for the field-workers. Since it was early spring, its single, narrow room was mostly empty. “Find a bed to your liking,” said the man as he pointed to the row of straw-covered wooden pallets. “Then, I’ll show you to dinner.”

Yim laid the pack on an empty pallet and looked around for a place to wash. There was a basin near the door. She washed her face and hands in it, though the cloudy water obviously hadn’t been changed recently. When Honus had done the same, the gray-robed man led them to the rear of the manor. A door there opened on a room with a long table where three dozen servants and field hands were eating their evening meal. A rotund woman with a good-natured face rose when Honus and Yim entered. Their escort addressed her. “Our master bids these two be fed.” Then he left.

“Karmamatus,” said the woman to Yim, “I am Emjah, the cook and mistress of this meal. I’d be honored if you and your Sarf sat by me.”

Yim bowed her head. “The honor is ours.”

Some of the diners slid down the bench to make a place for Yim and Honus. A little girl brought out bowls of thick porridge, wooden spoons, and empty ale bowls for the new arrivals. Upon the table were loaves of coarse, brown bread, ale flagons, a large chunk of cheese, and a crock of shredded cabbage preserved in brine. These were passed toward Yim and Honus when they sat down. According to custom, Yim served her Sarf before helping herself.

Emjah appeared eager to talk, but she first let Yim take the edge off her hunger. When Yim finished her porridge, Emjah smiled and said, “Would you like some more, Karmamatus?”

“No, thank you, Mother,” replied Yim as she broke off another piece of cheese.

“Please call me Emjah, Karmamatus.”

“Then you must call me Yim.”

Emjah smiled at Yim in a maternal way. “Yim, you look so young to be a Bearer.”

“All must be young once.”

“And where have you been traveling?”

“In Luvein.”

“Luvein!” said Emjah with amazement. “Such a fell place! Your tender looks are deceiving; you must be made of stern stuff.”

A man laughed harshly. “Our old hen has found a new chick.”

Yim looked at the man who had laughed. He was burly and coarse-looking, with a bushy beard and a dark tangle of greasy hair. There was dirt beneath the nails of his large hands, and his rough clothes were thoroughly soiled. Two similar men flanked him. He stared contemptuously at Yim. “So, girly,” he said. “Me and my mates plowed from sunrise. What did you do to deserve supper?”

The room hushed. Honus remained silent, but Yim saw from the corner of her eye that he flushed red beneath his tattoos.

“Who can tell what a person deserves?” replied Yim evenly.

“So you’re fond of riddles,” said the plowman. He leaned across the table to snatch the cheese in front of Yim. “Well, I’ll answer yours. A man deserves what he has strength to take.”

“So you follow the path of the Devourer?”

The plowman tugged at a cord around his neck to produce a circular pendant. “Times are changing, girly. When the Devourer’s priests visit, they dine with the master.”

“Those black crows!” said Emjah. “They’re honored only out of fear.”

“You should learn our master’s lesson,” said the plowman. “The world honors power. ’Tis the sign of the Devourer’s grace. Is that not so, girly? You’ve traveled. In every land, isn’t the strong man respected? Dare you deny that he deserves whatever his might wins him?”

Everyone’s eyes were on Yim, and she knew that she must respond. “I’ve heard that speech before,” she said. “It reminds me of a certain village north of Luvein built on the shore of a large lake. The market town lies on the opposite shore and the route around the lake is a hard one. To make matters worse, a nobleman exacts a toll on all who pass that way. Some years ago, an enterprising fellow built a boat to ferry the villagers to market. The trip was easy and short. The fare was less than the nobleman’s toll.”

“Speak to the point!” said the plowman.

“I am,” replied Yim. “The nobleman sent men abroad who spoke very much like you. They would go into the taverns and say, ‘How can you abide that boatman? When the wind blows, one side of the boat gets wet with spray. Yet that overbearing lout makes everyone stay in place. Why must a strong man tolerate such treatment? He should do what’s best for him and sit away from the wind. If someone is in that place, then let them move aside.” Yim looked at the plowman. “Isn’t that your message?”

“’Tis.”

“In time, many on the ferry came to agree with you,” said Yim. “One day, a hard wind blew up. The largest men aboard the boat, thinking only for their own comfort, crowded to the drier side. And who could stop them? They were strong.” Yim addressed the plowman. “Wasn’t it their right?”

“Aye,” said the man. “By the Devourer, ’twas.”

“Thus the boat was unbalanced,” said Yim. “It tipped over. All aboard were drowned. And the nobleman? He increased his toll.”

The plowman scowled and looked away.

Emjah laughed. “Yim’s got you there!” The cook glanced around the table and saw she expressed the general opinion.

“It seems to me,” said an elderly man, “that Karmamatus deserves more respect than
some
would give her.” He gazed balefully at the plowman. “Perhaps if her Sarf lopped off a head or two, she’d get it.”

“You mistake the working of the Balance,” said Yim, “if you think chopping heads would be a remedy. Karm’s scales don’t favor such deeds. Only goodness counter-weights evil.”

“I can see why you’re a Bearer,” said the elderly man. He turned to the plowman. “You should be thankful Karm chose so wisely.”

The plowman’s face darkened. He and his fellows quickly downed their ale and left the room. Yim concentrated on the last of her meal, modestly avoiding the glances of her audience. She didn’t notice how Honus regarded her, nor did the other diners, who avoided the eyes of the fierce-faced man. Thus, none noted his wonderment. When Yim eventually looked his way, his expression was bland again. Seeing that he had finished his meal, Yim spoke. “Emjah, my Sarf and I have journeyed far and must rest.” With that, she rose and bowed her head. “Karm sees your master’s hospitality and your graciousness as well.”

Honus led the way back to the workers’ hut. There was no lamp or fire in the long, tunnel-like room. The only illumination was the twilight entering through unglazed windows. Within the dim room, Yim could see the plowman and his two comrades seated on a pallet. Somehow, they had obtained a large jug of ale and were passing it back and forth. When they noted Honus’s aggressive carriage, they moved to the far end of the building.

“Will we be sleeping with them?” Yim whispered.

Honus nodded. “It wasn’t my place to speak at dinner,” he whispered, “but as your Sarf, I’ll protect you. Sleep untroubled.”

Yim removed her sandals and sank down into the straw. She quickly sat upright. “Phew! This bedding stinks! I’d almost rather sleep outside.”

“You’ll get used to it. Be glad it’s spring. The winter has killed the lice.”

Yim leaned toward Honus and whispered, “I thought a Bearer’s life would be less trying.”

“It’s seldom easy.”

“I learned that at dinner,” replied Yim.

“That plowman gave you a hard time, but you acquitted yourself well.”

“Now I understand why Bearers have Sarfs. I would have feared to speak without you by my side.”

“That parable you told…I’ve never heard it.”

“I made it up. Was that wrong?”

“No. It was a tale worthy of Theodus. More importantly, it spoke wisdom. Now get some sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

Yim lay down and tried to ignore the smell of old straw, dirt, and stale sweat. Her exhaustion aided the effort. As she drifted off to sleep, she saw Honus sitting upright, keeping watch in the darkening room.

THIRTY

Y
IM WOKE
to the sound of the plowman and his comrades, the worse for their night of drinking, moaning and cursing the dawn. She glanced toward Honus and found him in the same position as when she fell asleep. Yim wondered if he had slept at all. “Is it already time for breakfast?” she asked sleepily.

“Most estates don’t feed the servants until midmorning,” replied Honus. “We should be gone by then.”

Yim stretched and put on her sandals. “Then let’s leave now.”

Honus readied himself while Yim washed her face. They were heading for the road when Emjah emerged from the manor house. “Yim! Wait!” She hurried over and handed Yim a loaf of bread. “For your journey, Karmamatus. Have your Sarf keep a keen eye. These are dark times.” Emjah bowed and dashed back into the house before Yim could thank her.

Yim broke off a piece of the still-warm loaf and handed it to Honus. Then she took a piece for herself. The bread was white and flavored with honey and dried fruit. Its rich flavor contrasted with the coarse brown bread they had eaten at dinner.

“I think this was baked for the master’s table,” said Yim.

“It’s not servants’ fare,” agreed Honus.

Yim and Honus walked as they dined, for the morning was still too cold to sit comfortably. When the sun rose higher, the air warmed. Soon the road began to fill with traffic. Those travelers who worshipped Karm were courteous. The Devourer’s followers were rude. Others averted their eyes, seemingly afraid to reveal their convictions. Thus, by the way she was greeted on the road, Yim could discern the beliefs of the surrounding countryside. As the day advanced, hostility predominated.

In the afternoon, a young man spit on Yim as he passed. Honus whirled at the sound, his hand upon his sword hilt. He found Yim calmly using her sleeve to wipe the spittle from her cheek. Her placidity set the example, and Honus released his sword. Only when he faced forward did Yim permit herself a shudder. She didn’t want to arouse Honus’s concern, for she wished to continue acting as his Bearer. Yim found the hate of Karm’s enemies easier to endure when she recalled her former status. As a slave, her feelings were irrelevant. At the inn, men had been bold with their glances and free with their hands whenever Honus was absent. Even Cara had made demeaning assumptions. Spit was less painful than such treatment and easier to wipe away.

When dusk approached, Yim and Honus were traveling a stretch of road that was thick with the adherents of the Devourer. Thus Yim was uneasy as she approached a manor house to ask for food and lodging. Its construction was typical of the region. The outer walls of the house and the farm buildings were linked together to form a single compound.

As they walked up to the building, Honus commented, “They’re behind in their plowing.”

Like its fields, the manor house looked neglected. Though a light shone in an upper-story window, the first-story ones were boarded up. “It seems this estate has fallen on hard times,” Yim said. “Perhaps we should ask elsewhere for charity.”

“It grows late,” replied Honus, “and we’ve already traveled far. Our modest needs should be no burden.”

When they reached the manor’s entrance, the door opened before Yim could knock. A woman who was younger than Yim stood in the doorway. “Come in quickly, Karmamatus.” The urgency in her voice made Yim and Honus hurry inside. The woman anxiously scanned the darkening countryside before shutting and bolting the door. Only then did she bow toward Yim. “Welcome, servants of Karm.”