[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm (16 page)

When Yim glanced at Honus again, he was watching her thoughtfully. “Karmamatus,” he said, “remember that evening after your vision at the pass? You would’ve given yourself to me if had I pressed you. The next morning, did you regret that I hadn’t?”

The insight of Honus’s question so surprised Yim that she was unable to reply. She simply stared at him in astonishment. Honus smiled ruefully, then lightly kissed her cheek. “I thought not.”

In her heart, Yim knew that Honus was right. She would regret such weakness. Already, she felt guilty for having considered it. Yim sighed, and without another word, commenced walking down the road. Ironically, though Honus’s remark made her check her impulse, it also made that impulse even stronger. She marveled at Honus’s understanding. He seemed to know what she was thinking without a word on her part. Moreover, he hadn’t thought of his desire, but lent her strength so she might deny him what he wanted most. She found his self-sacrifice utterly endearing, and once again, desire became exquisite torment.

Honus took his customary position in front until Yim asked him to walk beside her. Then he obeyed and matched his stride to Yim’s. He said nothing until Yim asked him about his impressions of Devren’s family.

“I’d say they’re typical of this region,” he replied. “The land’s poor, and with so many mouths to feed, its folk are likewise.”

“Was their warlike talk also typical?”

“No. That struck me as new. Folk who must pull their own plows are usually too worn down to seek a fight.”

“So the priests have stirred them up. How?”

“I suspect by means more powerful than words,” replied Honus.

“Sorcery?”

“Perhaps. Theodus and I encountered something similar before.”

“Where?”

“In Lurwic.”

“The place where Theodus fell?”

“Yes.”

Yim felt the blood drain from her face as dread seized her. The idea that she had glimpsed her death suddenly didn’t seem far-fetched at all. She caught Honus’s alarmed expression and knew she couldn’t keep silent about her vision. “Last night I saw all of Devren’s family slaughtered,” she said. “I died with them.”

“I’m only a Sarf. Visions are matters for Bearers and Seers.”

“They possess the learning to understand such things,” said Yim. “I don’t. Karm’s supposed to tell me what man to bed so I might bear his child. What did my vision have to do with that? Why must I see my death?”

“Theodus said that Karm never reveals one’s fate, so I don’t believe you glimpsed your end.”

“It seemed so real. I felt the blow. I feel it still.”

“At Karvakken Pass, you thought you drowned in blood.”

“So this vision of my death was equally unreal?”

“I hope so,” said Honus.

“Then what did it mean?”

“I’m not fit to answer that.”

“Then what would Theodus say? You spent years with him. Surely you must have some idea.”

“I suppose he would have told you to ponder why you died in your vision,” replied Honus. “Perhaps some answer lies there.”

I died to save a child 
, thought Yim. As soon as she had
 that thought, she felt a chill deep within. Her response had nothing to do with reason; it arose from a subtler form of understanding. Then she knew that no mattock would kill her. She would bear a child, and that child would seal her fate.

Honus had been trained to walk in front of his Bearer, performing the function of a human shield. Thus walking beside Yim on the road made him uneasy, and he made sure to walk on her right so that his sword arm was always free. Despite his unease, he liked walking beside Yim, for it allowed him to gaze at her. What he saw made him heartsore.

Honus recalled an impression of Yim that he had on their second day together. As they were trekking through Luvein, he momentarily thought he saw someone struggling under a terrible burden. After all that had happened, he was convinced that impression had been accurate. The only difference was that he had gained some idea of the nature of the burden and the woman who bore it. With that in mind, Honus marveled at Yim’s humility, for he was certain that she was both holy and powerful. It perplexed him that Yim didn’t seem to view herself as either. Rather, she sometimes acted as if she were still a slave. Certainly not his slave.
 
Karm’s slave 
, he thought.

Honus’s musings made him love Yim all the more. He swore to himself that he would help Yim bear her burden, though it meant denying himself the intimacy he craved.
 
That must take another form 
, he told himself. He had no delusions that it would be easy. It hadn’t been so far. But he was a Sarf and trained for privation. He felt he would be able to restrain himself, though the thought of that restraint made him melancholy. It seemed his love would never be simple or painless.

Honus smiled at Yim in what he hoped would be a reassuring way, but she seemed preoccupied. They walked quietly for a long while before Yim spoke. “This is a fair, though a harsh place,” she said. “Yet I fear I’ve glimpsed a
 menace that threatens all its folk. I grieve for them, but what can I do?”

“Only what you’re able,” replied Honus.

“But what’s that?” Yim sighed. “I wish I knew.”

The dirt road wound through a mountain valley, passing numerous poor farms along the way. Toward noon, the way began to slope downward. Ahead lay another range of peaks, their steep sides covered with trees. “Do those mountains belong to Clan Mucdoi?” asked Yim.

“No,” said Honus, “but the lands beyond them do.”

“Are they as bountiful as Devren’s family believes?”

“Hardly. Winters are severe there and the ground is even stonier than here.”

The valley twisted, and the road that Yim and Honus followed twisted along with it to reveal a meadow that contained a large, solitary tree. Under its shade, a group of men and boys had gathered. A man in a black robe was speaking to them. “Come,” said Yim. “I wish to hear what he has to say.”

Honus had become wary as soon as he spotted the priest. Yim’s command heightened that wariness, but it never occurred to him to question it. He merely accompanied Yim, alert for any threat and prepared to respond to it. As they neared the group, none within it paid them the slightest attention; everyone seemed focused entirely on the speaker. The dark priest seemed equally focused on his audience, so that Yim and Honus’s approach was unnoticed. They halted only when the priest’s words were audible.

“… real good dirt. Just throw seeds on it and up come crops. It oughta be yers. Aye, they stole it, them thievin’ Clan Mucdoi.”

“He’s not very eloquent,” whispered Yim.

Honus agreed, but the priest’s audience appeared enthralled by what he said. Every man and boy stared at the
 black-robed one with rapt attention. Many seemed roused by him, for they were red-faced with their hands clinched into fists.

“So what ye’re gonna do?” asked the priest. “Be like women? Let Mucdoi get away with it?”

“He inflames them with his eyes,” whispered Yim. “He’s good, too.”

After Yim’s remark, Honus observed how the priest gazed at his audience, staring at a man or boy awhile, then shifting his gaze to another. Although the priest had not glanced in his direction, Honus caught some of the intensity of the man’s gaze and sensed its power. The priest continued goading the assembly, and as he did, his eyes lingered longer on those who were the most agitated. Finally he cried out, “What do them Mucdoi deserve? What?”

“Death!” yelled a barefoot, shirtless man in tattered plaids.

“Kill them!” cried a boy.

Then Yim surprised Honus by striding toward the crowd, forcing him to keep apace with her. “Stop speaking lies!” she shouted.

The crowd turned to look in Yim’s direction, and Honus heard angry muttering among them. The priest also gazed at Yim and locked his baleful eyes on her. Yim stared back, and Honus had the impression that the two were engaged in a silent struggle. Then the black-robed man’s expression slackened, though he seemed unable to glance away. Yim spoke to him in a normal voice. “Have you ever visited the lands you speak of?”

“Aye,” replied the priest in a low, meek voice.

“Describe them,” said Yim. “Speak loud enough for all to hear.”

“‘tis poor land,” shouted the priest. “Stony and cold.”

“Then why send these folk to take it?”

“So they might slay and be slain.”

“What does your master truly want?” asked Yim.

“Death,” replied the priest in a quiet voice.

“Louder. All must hear.”

“Death!” shouted the priest.

“Whose?”

“Anyone’s. Dolbane. Mucdoi. It matters not.”

Yim looked away, releasing the priest. He continued to gaze at her in astonishment as Yim walked closer to the men and boys. Their expressions resembled those of folk awakening from evil dreams. Gradually, wonder settled on their faces as they regarded Yim. “The priest spoke truly,” she said. “This war is a fool’s quest where death’s the prize. Choose peace instead and go home.”

The crowd began to quietly disperse, but a few men lingered. They were those who had been most firmly in the priest’s power. One advanced toward him and raised a heavy stick. “This dog would have tricked me to my death.”

“Spare him,” said Yim. “He deluded you, but he was also deluded.”

The man lowered his stick and left with the others. Then Yim regarded the priest. “I’ve faced your master before,” she said. “The Devourer is as eager for your death as those you were swaying. Look me in the eye and see truth.”

To Honus’s amazement, the priest meekly obeyed. Soon tears welled in his eyes. “Forgive me.” He began to sob. “I only wanted… wanted something more …”

For the first time, Honus noted that the priest’s black robe was threadbare and tattered and his sandals were falling apart. The man’s face was young, but it seemed worn.

“Nightmares haunt your waking life,” said Yim. “You live cut off from human kindness. You’re slave to a god of hate and slaughter. Is this what you wanted?”

The priest’s sobs began to rack his body like hard blows, and it took a while before he could reply. When his sobs finally diminished to gasps, he was able to slip a “nay” between them.

“Then forsake your wicked path,” said Yim. “If you choose peace and life, I’ll bless you.”

The man dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “Bless me, Mother.”

Yim walked over to him and gently laid her fingers upon his forehead. “I forgive and bless you. Go forth and honor the goddess through your goodness.”

The priest regarded Yim with such devotion that Honus was touched by his expression. Yim seemed somewhat embarrassed by it, though she returned the man’s smile before she headed for the road. “Come, Honus,” she said. “We should resume our journey.”

Honus was about to follow when he gave one last glance at the kneeling priest. He was still beaming at Yim when his eyes suddenly changed. The transformation was so dramatic that Honus felt he was not looking at the same face. It had become the image of malevolence and rage. The eyes, in particular, were terrifying. They projected malice that, even glimpsed sideways, tore at Honus’s sanity. Sensing the peril in that gaze, Honus quickly looked away.

As he did, he caught a flicker of movement. Honus whirled, and saw the priest spring up. He was bounding toward Yim grasping a dagger. Its blade was stained with poison. Honus unsheathed his sword in an instant and severed the man’s head. The sound of that decapitation alerted Yim. She turned to see a headless body that spouted blood as it advanced toward her. It swung the blade as purposefully as if a brain still directed it.

Honus’s sword flashed again, and the dagger fell to the ground with a hand still gripping it. The dead man continued to advance on Yim, swinging his stump as though it still held a weapon. Yim didn’t retreat from the approaching horror. Instead, she stared at the ground behind it. She seemed transfixed and unaware of her surroundings. With a flying kick, Honus sent the body sprawling on the ground, where it finally assumed the stillness of a corpse. Yim didn’t move at all.

Honus followed Yim’s gaze and saw that she was staring
 at the severed head. The head was staring back with eyes that not only betrayed consciousness but also power and malice. There was nothing human about that look, and Honus realized that the earlier contest between the priest and Yim was trivial compared to the ongoing one. He was certain that Yim was fighting for her soul and the outcome was far from assured.

An otherworldly chill settled on the meadow as the silent struggle continued. Yim remained frozen in place as the color gradually left her face. Her lips darkened, acquiring a grayish blue hue. She began to wobble slightly, and Honus feared that she was succumbing to her malign opponent. Honus backed away, sensing the deadliness of the eyes that held Yim. It wasn’t until he was completely behind the severed head that he rushed forward and kicked it with all his might. It went flying in a high arc. Falling upon a limestone outcropping, the head smashed apart like a melon.

Yim collapsed, and when Honus rushed over to her, her eyelids were fluttering. Honus kissed her icy lips, lifted her so she was sitting up, and embraced her. Yim’s breathing was shallow, and it was a long moment before she returned Honus’s embrace.