[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers (31 page)

Hommy came out of the wagon to augment the stew simmering in a kettle on the campfire. Then she set a small pot of water in the flames. “Karmat…er…Yim, is mint tea all right?”

“It’d be wonderful,” said Yim, smiling at Hommy. “We’ve had a trying day. Your kindness is our single joy.”

“Have you traveled far?” asked Hommy.

“We’ve journeyed through Luvein,” replied Yim.

“Luvein!” said Hommy. “Is it haunted as they say?”

Yim thought of the ghostly battle at Karvakken Pass. “Yes,” she replied quietly. “I’d rather not speak of it.” Then, in a heartier voice, she said, “So this is your wedding journey.”

Hommy beamed. “Aye,” she said. “Hamin and I have been married but eight moons.” She proudly patted her rounded belly. “This will be our first child. Will you bless it?”

Yim placed her hands on Hommy’s womb. “May Karm bless your daughter and guide her steps.”

“’Tis a girl?” asked Hommy.

Honus glanced at Yim, but said nothing.

Yim caught Honus’s look and regretted her slip. “Yes,” she replied. “You’ll have a daughter.”

“How can you tell?” asked Hommy.

“Such skill is not uncommon at the temple,” injected Honus, as he gave Yim a knowing look. “A Seer I knew was famous for it.”

“A girl!” said Hommy happily. “Hamin, we’re going to have a girl!”

“There’s a saying in Averen,” said Hamin to Yim, “that a firstborn girl brings Karm’s blessing.”

“And now that she has yours, Karmamatus,” said Hommy, “she’ll be doubly blessed.”

Yim smiled at Hommy’s remark, but her thoughts were still on Honus’s knowing look. It was not the first time he appeared to have seen through her. She wondered how much he had surmised.
Quite a lot,
she decided. That led to the next question.
Does it matter?
She concluded that it wouldn’t once they reached the temple. There, Karm’s Seers would readily discern that she was the Chosen.
Then all this secrecy will be unnecessary.
Yim took comfort in the idea that she would soon unburden herself and gain guidance from wiser heads.

While Yim thought, the tea water began to boil. Hommy poked a stick through the pot’s handle to lift it from the flames, produced some leaves from her apron pocket, mixed them in the hot water, and went to the wagon for some cups. When the tea was brewed, Hommy grasped the hot, sooty pot with her apron to fill the cups, burning a finger in the process.

Hamin watched his wife and shook his head. “I meant to stay in inns along the way. Hommy deserves better than to cook on campfires.”

“It’s fine, pet,” replied his bride. “The people were so horrid, I’d rather camp.”

“I’ll tell you plain,” said Hamin to Yim. “I was overjoyed to see your Sarf. I’m hoping you’ll ride with us to Bremven.”

“That’s very kind, but…”

“Please, Karmamatus,” said Hamin. “It would ease Hommy’s mind to have a Sarf with us.”

Hommy looked at Yim with hopeful eyes that also betrayed fear. “The wagon’s big,” she said. “You’ve never slept on anything as soft as a pile of wool.”

Yim knew the decision would be hers. Yim bowed her head toward Hamin. “You honor Karm and us with your kindness.”

Hamin grinned. “No, the honor’s ours.”

As soon as Yim accepted Hamin’s offer, she was glad that she did. Traveling with the wagon would simplify her dealings with Honus, for she was certain that Hamin’s and Hommy’s presence would subdue his feelings, or at least cause him to hide them.

After dinner, Hamin and Hommy bedded in the wagon and Yim joined them. Honus lingered by the fire awhile, giving Yim the hope that he’d keep watch outside. But eventually, he climbed into the wagon. It seemed crowded with four inside, but Hommy was right about sleeping on wool. It was as soft as a feather bed. For Yim, it had the added benefit of smelling like sheep. The Wise Woman occasionally received lambs for her services, and as a child, Yim had cuddled with them, seeking the affection her guardian withheld. The smell evoked pacifying memories that lulled her to sleep.

The following morning, the travelers headed out. Honus rode next to Hamin at the front of the wagon. Yim stayed in the rear with Hommy, who lazed quietly upon the soft cargo. Hommy’s silence suited Yim, for there was little she could speak about truthfully, and she would rather not lie. When Yim grew restless, she left to stroll behind the wagon.

Though walking without the pack felt leisurely and the weather was pleasant, Yim’s stroll wasn’t entirely peaceful. When she passed others on the road, she often encountered hostility. The unpleasantry waxed and waned. There were stretches of road where it was absent.

On one such stretch, Hommy left the wagon to join Yim. “It’s nice to have protection,” said Hommy. “You must feel safe traveling with a Sarf.”

“I do,” replied Yim.

“And he’s so fond of you.”

Yim blushed. “What makes you say that?”

“Any woman could tell,” said Hommy. “It’s the way he looks at you.”

Is it so obvious?
Yim wondered, disappointed to have her conclusion confirmed. Again, she felt foolish for not seeing it earlier.

“Mayhap,” said Hommy, giving Yim an earthy look, “you’d like the wagon to yourselves tonight.”

“No,” said Yim a little too quickly. “I wouldn’t dream of inconveniencing you.”

“’Tis na problem. Really.”

“No,” said Yim in a tone she hoped conveyed finality. “I wouldn’t think of it. You’re with child, and you’ve been kind enough already.”

“You can always change your mind.”

“Will this be your first trip to Bremven?” asked Yim, eager to change the subject.

“Aye. I can hardly wait to see it.”

“I, too,” said Yim. “I’m eager to visit the temple.”

“What’s it like?”

“Peaceful,” replied Yim. “There’s a garden in its center with a pond and a rock near the shore. That rock’s my favorite place. It’s very calming there.” Yim acted wistful, as if Honus’s memory were her own.

“Tell me more about Bremven.”

“I won’t spoil its surprises,” said Yim. “It’s more fun to discover them yourself.”

“Hamin says we’ll be there in two days,” said Hommy excitedly. “There’s a whole quarter filled with Averen folk, with a large, fine inn where we’ll be welcome. Hamin says they’ll treat me like a princess.”

“You certainly deserve it.”

Hommy beamed. “That’s what Hamin says, too.”

The two women continued to walk behind the wagon while Yim plied Hommy with questions about Averen. Her curiosity was genuine, and the subject was a safe one. From Hommy’s answers, Yim began to envision a rugged highland not unlike her own homeland, folded by many low mountains and populated by hardy, independent folk. Hommy spoke of lakes hidden within steep-sided valleys; of fierce, snowy winters and brief summers painted with wildflowers; of snug huts tucked among the trees of isolated hollows. Yim perceived Averen’s mark on Hommy and Hamin, as she had on Cara and Cronin—a reserve of inner warmth to counter the harshness of the land.

Hommy and Yim talked pleasantly until they approached a small village. There, the enmity that Yim had sensed earlier returned with renewed force. Hostile stares and scornful words soon drove them to the refuge of the wagon. Hommy sat stiffly on the wool, her face anxious and troubled. Yim hugged her and felt her tremble. “It’s all right,” she cooed. “You’re safe. My Sarf is here.”

Sitting with Hamin at the front of the wagon, Honus noted the villagers’ hostility. He turned to his host and said in a low voice, “When we camp tonight, it should be far from here.” Hamin nodded in agreement.

The wagon rolled on through the village. Once Yim and Hommy were hidden from view, the onlookers became silent. None had the courage to harangue a Sarf. Instead, they stared balefully. At the far edge of the settlement stood a tavern. Three rough-looking men sat outside, taking their ale in the afternoon sun. They followed the wagon with hard eyes, and as it passed, they muttered angrily among themselves. They continued their discussion until the travelers were out of sight. Then they gathered their weapons and trailed the wagon.

THIRTY-THREE

H
AMIN DROVE
his horses for as long as he could, but was forced to stop when evening approached. It would be a dark night. Thick clouds filled the sky, and he knew his team could not find their way on a moonless road. While light still remained, he guided them into a small wood between two large estates. There, he set up camp.

Honus helped tend the horses while Yim and Hommy prepared dinner. Though Hommy wanted Yim to behave as a guest, Yim wouldn’t hear of it. After a brief battle of wills, Hommy relented and admitted she was glad for the help. Yim gathered firewood and wild herbs. Afterward, the two women cooked while discussing the merits of various plants for flavoring. Hamin smiled as he watched them. “Somehow,” he said to Honus, “I expected a holy person to be different. More distant, perhaps a little cold.”

Honus gazed at Yim and smiled also. “A caring heart best serves the goddess.”

“I see that now,” replied Hamin.

The men joined the women at the campfire. A stew was simmering in the kettle while Hommy stirred it. Yim placed another branch in the fire, then rose. “I think I’ll get more wood while there’s still light.”

The clearing where the wagon stood was surrounded by trees that further dimmed the twilight. As Yim tramped through the undergrowth, she found it increasingly hard to see. Then she heard a furtive noise. Yim stopped and listened. The darkening woods were silent.
Just a squirrel,
she thought. She waited a long moment, but the sound didn’t return. Yim hurriedly collected a few more branches and headed for the fire, for the sun had long set and the woods had grown gloomy.

Returning to the circle of light, she found Hamin telling Hommy about the marvels of Bremven. “…and wine,” he said. “You’ve never tasted such wine.”

“I’ve never tasted
any
wine,” said Hommy.

“Well, soon you will,” replied Hamin lovingly. “There is a special kind with bubbles in it. We’ll get some at the inn.”

“Bubbles in wine!” said Hommy. “Is it sorcery?”

“I do na know,” replied Hamin. “Perhaps. If so, it’s pleasant magic.”

Honus turned to his host. “When you go to Bremven, perhaps you might deal with Commodus on the Street of Looms. He’s an old friend of mine.”

“I know of him,” said Hamin. “He has a name for honest dealing, but he buys cloth, na raw wool.”

“Well, that shows how much a Sarf knows about trade,” said Honus. “Commodus is a good man. I thought he might help you.”

“He may yet,” said Hamin. “Hommy is gifted at the loom. Perhaps, next year, I’ll have cloth to sell.” He beamed at his wife. “A few bolts of her plaids would be worth more than a wagonload of wool—and far easier to carry.”

“You’ll have me work my fingers numb,” teased Hommy.

Hamin seized her hand and kissed her fingertips with clumsy earnestness. “Never, Dearest. You’re my true treasure. Besides,” he said with a gleam in his eye, “our daughter will help you soon enough.”

Yim watched Hommy basking in Hamin’s love and envied her uncomplicated life.
Soon she’ll be drinking wine with bubbles, while I…
An inexplicable chill came over Yim. She fought to dispel it, concentrating on the present. The warmth of the fire, the aroma of the stew, and her hosts’ good natures gradually calmed her. Yim’s fears for the future faded, leaving only an echo of unease.

Dinner was festive and relaxed. Honus and Hamin regaled Hommy with tales of Bremven’s wonders until the young woman’s eyes shone with excitement and expectation. Yim listened with equal wonder, though she tried to hide it. Eventually, the fire burned to embers and the soft wool beckoned. Everyone entered the wagon and dropped off to sleep.

Something struck the wagon’s wooden side, disturbing Yim’s sleep, but it was Honus’s reaction that waked her. He leapt from the wagon, drew his sword, and disappeared into the night. Yim sat up and peered about. A pale, flickering light illuminated the campsite for a moment, then suddenly went out. She heard movement through the undergrowth around the camp. Yim cautiously poked her head out the back of the wagon to peer into the darkness. She could see nothing. Behind her, she heard Hommy and Hamin stirring.

A flame arched out of the woods like a tiny comet. It struck the side of the wagon and remained there. Yim saw it was an arrow with its shaft wrapped in a burning rag. “Someone’s trying to set us on fire!” she exclaimed. “Quick! Hand me the water skin!” Yim felt the water skin being thrust into her hands. She grabbed it and descended to the ground.

The arrow was too high to reach. Yim thought she might climb to the wagon’s roof and douse the flames from above. As she looked for a means to ascend, she heard other arrows—unlit and invisible—strike the ground and wagon. Then someone crashed into her, sent her sprawling, and landed atop her back. Yim was knocked breathless, and as she gasped for air, the person seized her and rolled until they both lay beneath the wagon. Then Yim heard Honus’s urgent whisper, “Stay in the shadow. Don’t move! The flaming arrows are for lighting targets.” Before Yim could respond, Honus rolled from safety and sprang to his feet.

Honus severed the burning arrow’s shaft with his sword, caught it midair, and threw it into the dark. The flame died out, but not before it illuminated the figure of a man among the horses. Honus sped in his direction. He crouched low as he advanced, for it was so dark that only things silhouetted against the night sky were visible. There was the sound of stamping hooves and the uneasy neighing of the skittish steeds. Honus advanced toward the sound. He saw the dark shapes of the two horses and also a smaller shape in front of them. He stabbed at it and felt the resistance of flesh. Someone moaned and struggled at the end of his blade. The struggling ceased, and what had been a man became only a dead weight. Honus pulled his sword free. There was a soft thud. Honus groped for the body in the darkness. He touched a leg and quickly felt his way up to the neck. He hacked it, just to be sure.

As quickly as that was done, he scanned about for the flame that had lit the arrow. He knew a covered lantern hid the fire. Such lanterns were not entirely invisible; they required air holes to feed the flame. Honus saw a row of faint red points in the darkness. They weren’t close. Cautiously, he advanced toward the tiny lights. Both he and the archer—or archers—were blind in the dark. That meant the people around the wagon were safe. Honus listened. He could hear no sounds of retreat. That foretold another attack.