[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm (12 page)

For a long moment, all Yim could do was stare at Honus as she relived his passion and devotion. At last, she understood his love and it sparked the same feeling in her. All her discoveries served as kindling for the flame. With the suddenness of a lightning strike, love blossomed and consumed her. Then the mere sight of Honus evoked a surge of joy. He seemed transformed, but Yim knew he hadn’t changed. She had. Yim reached up with both hands to touch his face, and the feel of him made her heady with excitement. Stroking Honus’s face only heightened Yim’s desire, and she pulled him toward her until their lips met.

This time, Yim knew exactly what to do. Instructed by Honus’s memories, she pushed her tongue past his parted lips to explore his mouth and relish the warm, wet intimacy of kissing. For an instant, Honus seemed totally surprised, but he quickly responded. Then it felt to Yim that they were two waves colliding, such was the force in their meeting. It shook her like a thunderclap. They embraced, clutching each other as if they could somehow merge into one. Yim’s whole existence became Honus. He intoxicated her. He was both lovable and loving. She savored the sight of him, his touch,
 his smell, his taste, and his every sound from his breathing to the pulse of his pounding heart.
 
So this is love 
, Yim thought. She was certain that it was Karm’s gift.

In her weakened state, Yim’s passion quickly spent her. Kissing and embracing left her in a state of exhausted bliss. Soon all she desired was to sleep with Honus’s arms wrapped around her. Honus seemed to understand, for he pulled his cloak over both of them and held her. Yim sighed like a weary child, murmured “Honus,” and closed her eyes. Her last sensation was of Honus nuzzling his face into her hair as he repeated her name. His voice was so soft and tender it sounded as if he were praying. It sent shivers down her spine.

Daijen had maintained his guise as Rangar, but after Gatt had departed from Bremven, he lived luxuriously. He moved to the Palace District, where he rented a suite of rooms close to the Black Temple. As the More Holy One, he commanded the obedience of the temple’s priests, who provided him with gold for his purse and virgins for his bed. Daijen had visited the temple only once after his first night in the city. That was to sacrifice a child so he could safely commune with his god. From the session he had learned that events were progressing well. On that particular night, Gatt was within a day’s ride of reaching Yim and Honus. Daijen had also learned that Lord Bahl’s army was in the Western Reach and marching south toward Averen. Already, priests were sowing discord throughout the mountainous province. Soon Lord Bahl would arrive and reap its harvest.

Daijen expected the matter with Yim to soon be concluded.
 
Probably this evening 
, he thought. Although he was enjoying his stay in the capital, Daijen was eager to rejoin Lord Bahl. An air of expectation had preceded the current year’s invasions. The End Times were drawing near, and all the Black Temple was abuzz with talk of the Rising. Better than any priest, Daijen knew the rumors were more than
 idle hope. A tide of blood would soon wash away the old world. Then the Devourer would burst from its mortal vessel and stride among the living to rule and raise the faithful to glory. Daijen counted himself high among the faithful, and he wanted to be present on that momentous day. If the slaughter in Averen progressed as hoped, it could happen there.

That stirring prospect had lent savor to the evening’s sumptuous repast, as did the beauty of his young companion. After Daijen had entered his second century, his taste had turned to ever younger girls. The current night’s morsel had barely entered womanhood. Throughout dinner, the More Holy One had thoroughly enjoyed her growing apprehension as the evening’s consummation drew near. The little darling had barely touched her food, though she downed three goblets of wine while Daijen stuffed himself. Thus she staggered as she reluctantly followed him into his bedroom.

Daijen lit several candles, closed the door, then sat on the bed. The girl remained standing, her eyes averted. “Look at me!” barked Daijen. The girl obeyed. Daijen gazed into her dark eyes and was excited by her look of fear. He found terror an excellent aphrodisiac.

“Undress for me,” he commanded.

The girl’s face reddened, but she remained as motionless as a fawn before a tiger.

“Now!”

The girl bent down to take off her sandals, which she did as slowly as possible.

When she was barefoot, Daijen smiled and said, “Now remove your dress.”

The dress had a bodice with a long row of buttons in the front. The girl’s hand rose to the topmost one, then froze as she began to whimper.

“You heard me,” said Daijen in a low, menacing tone. “You know what happens if I’m displeased.”

The girl’s hand began to tremble, but she started unfastening the buttons. She worked at them slowly. Daijen didn’t mind, for it drew out her humiliation. She had undone seven buttons when a gust of cold wind sprang up within the closed room and extinguished all the candles. Before Daijen could react, an icy wave slapped his body and passed through it. The force of its blow knocked his breath away and left him in excruciating pain. He gasped for air as he collapsed to the floor. Every part of him ached. His skin stung, all his muscles cramped at once, and every joint throbbed. As Daijen lay feebly writhing on the floor, the door opened, and light from the outer room spilled over him. The girl stood doorknob in hand, staring at him with terror and disbelief.

“Come here,” said Daijen. His voice sounded unnatural to his ears. The girl hesitated for only a moment before she bolted, leaving her sandals behind as she fled. For a while, Daijen lay crumpled on the floor as his pain subsided to a deep ache. He became aware that not only had his voice changed; his hands were altered also. The veins stood out, the knuckles were enlarged, and the skin was no longer tight and smooth. The mere sight of them sent a chill to the pit of his stomach.

Daijen rose slowly, for his joints were stiff and painful. There were no mirrors in his rented rooms, but there was one in the inn’s hallway. He headed for it, filled with trepidation. As he approached the sheet of polished bronze, he didn’t recognize the reflection at first. For over eighty years, Daijen had appeared as a man in his twenties. Thus the face in the mirror looked ancient to him, though it was that of a man in late middle age. Daijen regarded every wrinkle with horror. He had jowls beneath his chin and bags under his eyes. His hair had thinned and receded, and white strands mingled with the tan ones. An objective observer would have called the mirrored face “hard,” yet not unhandsome. But Daijen was accustomed to fresh-faced youth. He was sickened and humiliated by the sight.

With that glance, Daijen knew that his scheme with the Sarf had failed.
 
This is my punishment 
, he thought. Henceforth his flesh would bear the mark of his master’s displeasure. It would serve as a reminder and a warning.
 
I must never fail again 
. He had been clever, but cleverness and overconfidence had undone him. Since mercy was alien to the Devourer, the fact that Daijen still lived was proof that he remained charged to kill Yim. Daijen turned all his thought and energy toward that task. His ruthless god demanded nothing less.

Yim woke with a start and sat upright. “Gatt!” She peered wildly about the clearing. In the predawn light, every shadow appeared menacing.

“Rest easy,” said Honus, his voice still soft with sleep. “He’s slain.”

Yim calmed and lay down again, but she was wide awake. The events of yesterday seemed like a vivid dream and possessed a dream’s air of unreality.
 
Did I really kiss Honus?
 
It seemed a brazen act, but Yim felt certain that she had done it, for she wanted to do it again. As Honus pulled his cloak back over her, she turned so she was face-to-face with him. Honus’s closeness was both thrilling and distracting, but Yim felt that she should first learn if he recalled her actions. “Yesterday’s all confused,” she said in a tone that she hoped conveyed puzzlement. “What happened?”

“Your confusion can’t be greater than mine. I recall dying, and …” Honus shook his head. “That makes no sense. But then I was alive, and you were beside me, so pale and cold I feared you’d traded your life for mine.”

“Don’t be silly. How could I do such a thing?”

“But I died. I’m certain of it. And …” Honus’s voice took on a tone of awe. “I remember now. I felt a presence and… Did you…”

“What? Snatch you from the Dark Path?” Yim forced herself to laugh. “You only dreamt that. When I returned, you were out of your head.”

“I don’t recall you coming back. Only my death.”

“You would have died for real if I hadn’t sucked that poison from your wound.”

“But why did you return? You promised you’d flee.”

“Since when do Bearers obey their Sarfs? Lucky for you I came to my senses. But that poison sickened me and I swooned.”

“And then I awoke. That is, if I indeed dreamt my death.”

“Of course you did. Now tell me about Gatt.”

“Gatt arrived just after sunset.” Honus smiled grimly. “He was surprised to see me.”

“So you fought him yet again?”

“I’d hardly call it a fight. I was a man possessed, and it was over with one blow. Then I made a fire. Afterward, you revived.”

“I recall what happened next.” Yim grinned. “You must have thought I was out of my head. Well, I wasn’t.” Then she gave Honus a lingering kiss.

Sunrise found Yim and Honus still locked in an embrace. For Yim, her feelings had the wonder of being new and unexpected. As her memories from the Dark Path began to fade, she grew less certain how to behave. She looked to Honus for guidance, and he responded with the patience of a man realizing his greatest hope and savoring each moment. They kissed and touched, nothing more. Yim so thoroughly enjoyed herself that only the pangs of an empty stomach caused her to leave Honus’s arms. He went to gather firewood while she searched for herbs to lend flavor to their first meal since the evening before last. As Yim was returning to the clearing, she found Gatt’s body in the thicket where Honus had dragged it. The Sarf had been pierced in the heart.

Either due to haste or anger, Honus hadn’t closed Gatt’s eyes. Thus Yim’s nemesis stared at her as might a spirit on the Dark Path. If she ignored its tattoos, the face before her
 bore the same expression as the man she had killed—a look of astonishment. It caused Yim to wonder if the similarity was more than coincidence, and she was tempted to trance to find out.

Yim yielded to the temptation. Having successfully tranced the previous day, Yim thought she could easily repeat the feat. She sat cross-legged on the ground close to Gatt’s corpse, closed her eyes, and meditated to clear her mind. Without the fear of an imminent attack, the feat was quickly accomplished. However, unlike before, nothing happened. Yim remained in the living world. After a while, she gave up and returned to the clearing. There, Honus had a fire going.

Yim mixed grain and water in the small brass pot, added the herbs she had gathered, and set the pot on the fire. While she stirred the porridge, she kept thinking of the dead Sarf in the thicket. “Honus,” she said at last. “If we were to give Gatt honorable rites, what needs be done?”

“His body would be burnt at sundown. It would have to be cleansed first. His runes remain holy secrets, so only a Bearer can do it. After the fire is lit, I would break his sword and place it with him. Then you would beg Karm to judge him mercifully.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do, for I don’t believe he was truly wicked.”

“I’m not fit to judge such matters, Karmamatus.”

“Yet you don’t agree.”

“The matter lies too close to my heart, and I lack your goodness. I’m only your Sarf.”

“You’re more than that,” replied Yim in a voice that was low and shy. “You’re my beloved, Honus.”

“I’ve longed to hear those words.”

“How could I not love you? You saved my life.”

Honus reached out and grasped her hand. He seemed about to say something, but he smiled instead and kissed her cheek.

*   *   *

Gazing at Yim, Honus knew she had spoken sincerely about her love. He was overjoyed, but also puzzled. He had saved Yim before, and she had failed to become enamored.
 
Why was yesterday different?
 
Honus had no clear idea. He was disinclined to ponder the matter, especially since the puzzle paled compared with a far deeper mystery.

Honus had experience with poisoned wounds, for the enemy often used venomed blades. He’d seen many men die from them. There was no cure; sucking the wound did nothing. Moreover, Honus clearly remembered dying. It had taken long enough. The slowly spreading paralysis accompanied by a bone-deep chill left a vivid impression. He recalled staring skyward, unable to blink, and then suddenly being on the Dark Path. Having tranced countless times, he found the place quite familiar.

What happened afterward was less distinct. He recalled a presence that seemed to unite with him.
 
Could it have been Yim?
 
He had no way of telling, but Yim had saved him before and denied it. Then he was back in his body, with the chill and paralysis gone.
 
And Yim was slumped beside me, cold and pale as a corpse 
. The memory of that moment tugged at his heart, and he glanced at Yim to reassure himself. She was crouching by the fire and stirring the porridge. Yim was dirty and unkempt, with a large lock of her hair cropped short, but she looked beautiful to him. He was reminded of the mosaic in the temple sanctuary; its image of Karm was no lovelier. Moreover, Yim filled him with the same awe that the mosaic did. And despite Yim’s words to the contrary, he felt certain that she had delivered him from death.