[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm (7 page)

A moon ago he was my master 
, mused Yim.
 
Now I’m his 
. Yet as Honus’s slave, Yim had never served him willingly, whereas ever since the night in the ruined temple, Honus served her utterly. His devotion went beyond the reverence and duty that a Sarf owed his Bearer; Honus was bound to Yim by something that baffled her. It was love. Yim found Honus’s feelings perplexing and inexplicable. She couldn’t understand why they had arisen. Having never experienced desire, Yim found its passion a mystery.

Yim suspected that the Wise Woman had reared her to be incapable of the emotion. As the Chosen, Yim was to bear the child of whatever man the goddess decreed. Since love might impede that duty, it was a weakness to be avoided. Yim wondered if Honus’s love might prove a weakness. It worried her, for she feared that the time was approaching when she would need all his strength.

After Yim had attempted to read Honus’s runes, she resumed her journey. Throughout the remainder of the day the landscape continued to change. The hills rose higher and pressed ever closer to the riverbank until there were no places to farm. By late afternoon, the only dwellings they
 spied hugged the Yorvern’s banks. Honus said they were the homes of river folk who made their living by fishing and plying the waterway with cargoes. The houses were so close to the road that Yim couldn’t avoid their occupants. To her relief, everyone she encountered was respectful.

After passing a hut where the family paused in its activity to bow, Yim said, “I think the black priests haven’t come this way.”

“Or perhaps none here have believed their lies,” replied Honus. “The river is a chancy road and it teaches folk to heed their instincts.”

When sunset neared, Yim decided to seek hospitality for the first time since departing Bremven. Spying a wooden hut perched on the riverbank, she approached it. Like all river dwellings, it sat atop stone pilings to keep it dry during spring floods. A series of large rocks led from the road to the elevated doorway. They rested on dry ground, but Yim saw how they would serve as stepping-stones in wetter times.

Outside the hut, a middle-aged woman was gathering small fish that had been strung on lines above a smoky fire. When she saw Yim leave the road, she stopped what she was doing and bowed. Yim returned her bow and spoke. “Greetings, Mother. We request food and shelter in respect for the goddess.”

The woman bowed again. “Ye would honor our house, Karmamatus.”

“Please call me Yim, Mother. My Sarf is Honus.”

Honus bowed politely.

“Then ye should call me Maryen,” said the woman, her suncreased face emphasizing her smile. “We get few visitors. ‘twill be a treat to hear news.”

“Little I could say would be called a treat,” replied Yim. “Troubles are abroad. You should be glad they’re distant.”

“Do you have the means to repair leather?” asked Honus. “My mistress’s sandals want a strap.”

Maryen looked down at Yim’s dusty bare feet. “Gracious! Ye must be footsore. Come in and rest yerself.”

“First let me help you finish your task,” replied Yim, stepping up to the fire. The fish, which were no longer than Yim’s forefinger, had been gutted and strung on cords that threaded through a gill and out the mouth. She imitated Maryen, who slid the smoked fish down their cords until they dropped into a basket. When all the fish were gathered in the basket, the two women went to the river to wash the blackened fish oil from their hands before entering the hut. Honus followed them inside.

The hut’s interior consisted of a single room with a ladder leading to a loft above. Its wooden walls were darkened by age and smoke from the hearth. They were mostly covered by clothes, dried herbs, and boating gear that hung from pegs, giving the walls a cluttered look that extended to the rest of the room. It was filled with all sorts of items. There were baskets containing roots, smoked fish, grain, and other edibles lining one wall. A sizable stack of firewood was piled against another. Beside it was a cupboard crammed with crocks, kettles, and wooden plates and bowls. A jumbled pile of bedding and laundry lay close to the ladder. Oars leaned against the walls, and other boating gear was scattered about the floor where it mingled with a collection of stools of varying sizes. A large oaken table covered with a fishing net dominated the room’s center.

A young, sandy-haired boy sat at the table mending the net. He looked up when Yim entered, bowed his head, and made an inarticulate noise.

“That’s my youngest, Foel,” said Maryen. “He hears fine, but he has na spoken since he was six winters. Foel, dear, this lady’s sandal wants mending. Go get yer tools.”

When the boy scampered up the ladder leading to the loft, Yim turned to his mother. “Did he suffer some mishap?”

“Aye,” said Maryen, confirming Yim’s intuition. “A wreck upon the river with his father and sister. Only Foel
 was saved, and he’s never been the same. Yet he’s a good lad and my comfort when his brothers are away.”

When Foel returned, Yim took her sandal from the pack and handed it to him. He set to work while Maryen brewed herb tea. Before she could serve it, her son had repaired the sandal and handed it to Yim. Yim smiled and bowed. She ran her finger along the mended strap. Foel had tapered the splice so that it would feel smooth against her foot.

“This is skillful work, Foel,” said Yim. “Each step I take will be easier because of you.”

Foel smiled shyly and made a pleasant noise in his throat.

Maryen handed wooden bowls of the herbal brew to Yim and Honus. When Honus received his, he took care to smile, for he had noticed that Foel regarded him fearfully. Yim noticed also. “Those marks on my Sarf’s face make him look fierce,” she said to the boy. “But if you’re clever, you’ll look beneath them and see a gentle man.”

Foel peered at Honus and relaxed. Then he glanced at Yim. When their eyes met, Yim said, “No, they don’t wash off,” as if replying to a spoken question.

Dinner was a stew of smoked fish and roots accompanied by more tea. Yim ate with relish and complimented Maryen on her cooking. Afterward, she gave a brief description of the temple’s destruction.

Maryen shook her head. “I heard that news, but did na believe it. Too many wild tales fly about seeking fools’ ears.”

“I wish it were only a tale,” said Yim, “but I saw it with my own eyes.”

“What will ye do now?” asked Maryen.

“I’m still seeking Karm’s guidance,” replied Yim. “At the present, we’re headed for Averen. There we’ll visit General Cronin. He’s a good man, and his sister’s a friend of mine.”

“I’m glad ye have a place among friends,” said Maryen.

“As we have tonight,” said Yim with a smile. She turned her gaze to Foel, who had been listening to her account. In
 a gentle voice she said, “The river must look lovely by moonlight. Will you show it to me?”

Maryen started to speak, but she was cut short by a grunt from Foel, who nodded yes to Yim.

“Will you hold my hand?” asked Yim. “I don’t know the way.”

Foel rose and led Yim from the hut. Maryen turned to Honus in amazement. “He’s afraid of the river! He will na go near it!”

Yim held Foel’s hand even after they sat down on the riverbank. The moonlight sparkled on the Yorvern like cold fire. “It’s pretty,” Yim said. Then she shifted her gaze from the river to Foel. The boy briefly fidgeted under her scrutiny, for he was unable to look away. Then he calmed.

“Your house lies between two roads,” Yim said in a soothing voice. “One is dry and the other is wet, yet both are the same—on neither road can you know what lies ahead. Karm speaks to me, yet I can’t foresee the future. So how could a little boy?” Yim paused, and when she spoke again, it was with the gravity of perfect certainty. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Foel’s eyes welled with tears and his mouth began to quiver. “But… But I saw it,” he said in a rusty whisper. “I saw the snag and could na speak.”

Yim embraced Foel as he began to weep. “Your father saw it, too, and couldn’t avoid it. Don’t blame yourself.”

Yim held Foel until his tears were dry. Then she returned with him to the hut. Honus and Maryen were still sitting at the table. Maryen grew concerned when she saw that her son had been weeping, but Foel ran to embrace her. Then in a voice faint from disuse, he cried out, “Momma!”

EIGHT

ON THE
morning that Yim and Honus bid farewell to Maryen and Foel, Gatt departed from Bremven astride Daijen’s huge black horse. Despite his bravery, he felt uneasy. Gatt was unfamiliar with horses, and he sensed that he wasn’t entirely in control. The steed was powerful and sometimes ignored Gatt’s handling of its reins. Bounced about by his mount’s jarring gallop, the Sarf was soon saddle sore. Despite his discomfort, Gatt never considered riding at a slower pace. He accepted his unease and pain as the price of swiftness. If he had any hope of catching Yim, speed was essential.

Gatt was far from Bremven when dusk forced him to look for shelter. He passed several modest cottages before stopping at a prosperous-looking farm. Dismounting his lathered horse, he led it up the path to the residence. A man who appeared to be the farm’s owner stepped out from a doorway to watch his approach. After traveling on his own for over three moons, Gatt had developed a knack for discerning which households still adhered to the goddess. Nevertheless, he adopted a demeanor that combined both humility and intimidation when he asked for charity. Placing his hand on his sword hilt, he bowed toward the man. “I serve Karm, Father. Do you honor her?”

The man returned Gatt’s bow. “How may I help you, Karmamatus?”

“I require food and shelter for myself and my horse.”

“I’d be honored to provide both.”

“Karm sees your generosity.”

“Tarvus,” the man shouted, “come and take the Sarf’s horse to the stables.”

A boy about twelve winters old emerged from the house and regarded Gatt with undisguised excitement. He bowed very low. “Karmamatus, this is an honor,” he said before taking the horse’s reins. Gatt smiled slightly and inclined his head.

“Rub him down good,” said the man to Tarvus, “he’s been ridden hard.”

“Yes, Father,” said Tarvus. “I’ll move Tammor from his stall and stable Karmamatus’s horse there.”

“That’s fine, son,” said the man. He watched Tarvus lead the horse away before turning to Gatt. “Sarfs are my boy’s heroes,” he said, “so this is quite a thrill for him. I hope you’ll explain your lot’s not all adventure and fighting.”

“The path of righteousness demands sacrifice and suffering,” said Gatt. “Few are fit for such a life.”

“That’s what I tell him,” said the farmer. “I say he should be thankful that the Seers bypassed our farm.”

“You’re correct to say so,” said Gatt. “A childhood in the temple is no easy one.”

“Boys! Full of dreams,” said the man, shaking his head. “My name is Garvus, Karmamatus. Would you join me in some ale while we wait for dinner?”

“I don’t drink ale,” replied Gatt, “but I’d be glad for some tea.”

Garvus led Gatt inside, where he introduced his wife, who brewed the Sarf some tea. Gatt drank it standing, for he ached from the day’s riding. When Garvus finished his ale, he felt less intimidated by Gatt and ventured to question him. “Your horse is a fine animal, yet you pushed him hard.”

“I had need to do so. My task is urgent.”

“Urgent enough to risk a valuable steed? If you don’t ease up, he could go lame.”

“Is a horse worth more than a man?” replied Gatt.

“I don’t understand.”

“I am trying to save one being led to his doom. I must catch up with him before he’s destroyed.”

“With all respect, Karmamatus, you won’t do that on a lame horse. Is the man a captive?”

“No,” replied Gatt. “Just beguiled by a woman.”

Garvus grinned, and was about to jest before he caught the Sarf’s hard gaze and thought better of it. “Are they traveling afoot?”

“Yes. And the woman’s burdened also. They left eight days ago for Averen.”

“Do they know of your pursuit?”

“No.”

“Then you can ease up on your horse and still catch them easily,” said Garvus. “A steady pace and a long day’s ride will eat up the distance.”

“I pray you’re right. It’s my holy task to free this man.”

“Then how can you fail?” said Garvus. “Karm will aid you.”

Garvus refilled Gatt’s tea bowl and poured some more ale for himself. After Tarvus returned from the stables accompanied by three farm servants, Garvus’s wife brought out the evening meal. All sat down for dinner with the Sarf at the place of honor. While they ate, Gatt spoke of his travels. Mindful of Garvus’s request, he emphasized the hardness of his life. The stories didn’t affect Tarvus as his father had hoped, for the boy’s admiration of the Sarf seemed to grow with each new tale of tribulation. Gatt found himself enjoying the boy’s adulation. After dinner, when the Sarf excused himself to look at his horse, he was not displeased when Tarvus followed him.

Although Gatt knew little about grooming horses, he sensed the animal had been well tended. He turned toward Tarvus and smiled. “Karm sees the care you have shown my steed,” he said. “When I ride forth tomorrow, take pride that you’ve aided my quest.”

Tarvus beamed at Gatt’s words. “Zounds! A quest?”