Authors: Morgan Howell
“No riper than our patrons’.”
“I should warn you that, unlike me, peasants favor musky women.”
Yim laughed. “I doubt it’ll be a problem.”
“So what of tonight’s accounts?” asked Frodoric.
“Nineteen coppers and one silver. Nine coppers for room, meals, and ale. One silver for provisions. That leaves ten coppers.”
“Ten coppers for the night? I’d thought I’d do better.”
“You’d be surprised what ten coppers can buy,” said Yim.
“But what about the silver? What provisions did you buy with that?”
“Those were for me,” said Yim in a quiet voice. “Tomorrow, I leave for Averen.”
Frodoric was quiet awhile as the news sank in. At last he said, “Don’t go, Mirien.”
Yim rolled onto her side and lightly touched his shoulder. “You knew this time would come. I must go.”
Frodoric simply stared at the cracked ceiling as his eyes began to glisten. When he spoke again, his voice had none of its jocularity or bravado. “Come to Vinden, and forsake this thing you plan to do. I don’t know your intentions, but an artist oft feels things he cannot understand. A doom hangs o’er your undertaking. Mirien, if that’s your name—which I doubt it is—turn away from it. Travel with me. Gather what ever my singing brings, pay for my ale and board, and keep the rest for yourself. Just don’t walk into the dark.”
For the first time ever, Yim kissed Frodoric’s cheek. “Would you walk away from your songs and art for the security of plowing another man’s fields?” Then she answered
for him. “No. Though your path is often hard like mine, it’s
your
path. And there’s satisfaction in following one’s road to its end.”
“Then take my earnings for your trip,” said the bard. “They were always more yours than mine, anyway.”
Yim smiled. “I’ve purchased all I need, except for directions to Cara’s hall. I’m hoping you’ll give me those.”
It was snowing lightly when Yim left the inn the following morning. A cold northern wind swept most of the flakes from the road, which was an old imperial highway. It still retained most of its paving, but due to generations of neglect, many of the ancient stones had heaved up to work mischief on unwary feet. The road reminded Yim of the one she and Honus had traveled along the Yorvern. In fact, it was part of the same highway.
To the south, a series of low mountains rose like waves on a pond turned to stone. They were shades of gray frosted with white. According to Frodoric’s directions, two days of hard walking would take her to the place where she would leave the ancient highway for a more rugged road into the mountains. That route would bring her to Cara’s hall in six days, if the weather was favorable. The bard had even purchased a scrap of parchment and inked her a crude map. That and his striped scarf were his parting gifts, which he bestowed on her with teary eyes and many wishes for a safe journey.
Yim felt uneasy traveling alone, and at times wished that she hadn’t discarded the sword. Though she was unarmed, except for a small sheath knife that she used in cooking, the harsh weather protected her. It cleared the highway of all but those on urgent business. Thus Yim encountered few travelers, and they were hunched against the icy wind and anxious to get out of it. Those inclined to prey on others apparently were waiting for milder days.
Toward noon, Yim crossed the western branch of the
Yorvern River via an ancient bridge. The frozen waterway seemed little more than an overgrown brook compared to what it would become, and the stone structure required but a single arch to span it. Afterward, the highway followed the river east, and Yim occasionally spied a hut built on stone pilings in the manner of river folk. Although the shanties appeared maintained, she saw no signs of occupation, causing her to assume that they were seasonal dwellings.
As dusk arrived, Yim considered staying in an empty hut until she saw a light in the distance. Recalling the hospitality that Maryen had shown her and Honus long ago, Yim decided to ask whomever dwelt there for shelter. The elderly couple that came to the door seemed reluctant to take her in until she said that she knew “The Ballad of Cara One Arm.” Then Yim was welcomed. After a hearty meal of smoked fish stew, she sang the ballad in its entirety, and then repeated the couple’s favorite parts. Afterward, they insisted that she share their bed. Yim accepted the offer gratefully, for it was a frigid night.
Late on the following day, Yim left the highway for the road into the mountains. At first, it was easy to follow, but as she began to climb higher, the snow covered the roadway. Soon Yim encountered places where it was difficult to distinguish the road from the surrounding terrain. A few times she strayed from her route, but after blundering about awhile, she always found it again.
Yim came across no dwellings, and that night was the first she spent outdoors in a long time. She found a sheltered hollow on the mountainside, broke off dead tree branches for firewood, made a crude shelter from pine boughs, and lit a campfire. Yim cooked porridge, then built up the fire and went to sleep.
Though the night was frigid, Yim’s inner chill made her accustomed to cold. Thus the winter weather was tolerable. That tolerance was the only benefit of the dark thing within her, a thing that had increased in strength as she
had journeyed south. Aware of its growing power, Yim had been ever vigilant against sudden rages and murderous impulses. She had experienced more than a few. Their only outward manifestation was Yim’s expression of grim concentration as she suppressed them. Yim suspected that Frodoric had been aware of her bouts. She never knew how much he understood their nature, but he was always timid after one of them.
When the sun rose behind heavy clouds, Yim rose with it, chilled, stiff, and tired. After cooking some porridge, she continued her journey. Trudging through snowy mountains was tedious, and the following days were much the same: The sky was always gray, and it was always cold. The snowfall varied from an occasional flake to a steady stream of white, but it never ceased. Yim often lost the road, but the mountains helped her find her way. Unlike the snow-choked roadway, the peaks were impossible to miss, and Frodoric’s map depicted them well enough that she could recognize them. Apparently, the bard was as good at memorizing topography as he was at memorizing ballads. The main variations in Yim’s monotonous existence were how much snow fell and whether she slept outdoors or found hospitality. Twice, she sang for her supper; the other nights she camped.
Yim’s sixth day in the mountains began with promise, for when she crested a ridge in midmorning, she spied the pair of low mountains that lay to the north of Cara’s hall. Yim recalled standing atop the manor’s walls to watch Cronin’s army march between those peaks on its way to battle. The mountains were pale gray shapes, not close but certainly reachable before dusk. Cara’s hall was only a short distance beyond them. If Yim pushed herself, she’d be dining that night with her friend.
Between Yim and the mountains was a broad valley that was forested only around its edges. Its center was a large, featureless expanse of snow. Yim thought that there was something special about the valley, so she pulled out Frodoric’s
parchment. It was uninformative. Numerous viewings in falling snow had caused its ink to run in many places. A gray stain marked the valley, nothing else, and the mountains’ smeared outlines were as blurry as they appeared in the falling snow.
Yim tucked the map away and headed onward, determined to reach Cara’s hall before nightfall. Initially, she made good progress, although the snow fell ever more heavily. Occasionally, all she could see ahead was white. Nevertheless, she saw the mountains often enough to keep headed in the right direction. By noon, she had descended from the ridge, had passed through a grove of trees, and was traveling over the broad plain in the valley’s center, heading straight for the pass between the two mountains.
The walking was fairly easy. Although the snow often rose higher that Yim’s boot tops, the footing beneath it was smooth and regular. The greatest problem was the wind, which having nothing to break it, whipped across the plain with biting force. Focused on her goal, Yim advanced halfway into the plain before its perfect evenness began to worry her. She hadn’t encountered as much as a single bush or clump of grass.
With a surge of panic, Yim realized why that was so.
I’m walking on a frozen lake!
She halted and pulled out the bard’s water-blurred map again.
That’s what was marked in the valley—a lake
. She was angry with herself for recalling it too late.
The road skirted it
. Yim looked around, wondering if she should turn back. Gazing at the tracks she had made, she saw that all but the closest ones had been erased by the wind. Not only had the wind picked up, the snowfall had also.
I’ve made it this far safely
, she reasoned.
If I backtrack, I’ll end up camping in a blizzard
.
With her journey’s end so close, Yim decided to continue onward. While she was nervous about encountering thin ice, she also feared that the blizzard would obscure the way ahead. A band of trees marked dry land on the far
shore; sometimes she could see it but often not. Whenever she could view her goal, she dashed in its direction. She was running when the ice before her suddenly tilted downward. There was no sound, but the snow ahead darkened as water poured over it. Yim halted and darted away from the advancing water. She made a few steps in the opposite direction before the ice tilted again and water began to well up through the snow ahead of her. This time, Yim didn’t stop moving. She took two more bounds and then launched herself forward, hoping to leap over the crack.
Yim’s experience in the fens had taught her to distribute her weight over unstable surfaces. Thus she didn’t try to land on her feet, but on her chest. Perhaps that saved her life, for she slid through the wet slush instead of plunging through it. Yim clawed at the snow with her hands to pull herself farther way from the wet, frigid trap that had nearly swallowed her. She moved that way for a dozen paces before feeling secure enough to rise to her feet. Then she stood shivering from cold and terror.
The front of Yim’s clothing was soaked with icy slush and the edges of her cloak were already stiffening as they froze. Yim looked back at the trees that were so close but apparently unreachable. She might have been merely unlucky, stumbling upon a rare thin spot, or the entire shoreline might be one long death trap. Yim didn’t have the nerve to find out which. Her only safe option was to return to the other side of the valley, build a fire to warm herself, and then trek around the lake the following day. Yim glanced at her former destination. It was only a pale gray band in a wall of white. The grove of trees that she had passed through to reach the lake was invisible in the storm. Nevertheless, she headed in what she assumed was its direction.
Though Yim was terribly cold, walking helped warm her, and the thought of a fire spurred her efforts. She kept hoping that the snow would let up and give her a sight of her surroundings. After a long while it did, and she could see the
vague shapes of trees ahead. The sight cheered her until the snowfall lessened even more and she could see mountains behind the trees. They were the low, twin mountains north of Cara’s hall: she had circled back in the storm.
As Yim weighed her situation, the mountains grew ever fainter. Then they were gone, and she stood in a white void. Its only features were her tracks, and they were disappearing as she watched. Every direction seemed the same. Yim realized that if she resumed walking, she’d likely travel in yet another circle.
And fall through the ice
, she thought. The only safe thing to do was to stay put until she could see where she was headed. Yim crouched down so the wind would be less punishing and waited for a break in the weather.
The snow fell more heavily instead. The wind piled it into a drift around Yim, transforming her into the sole landmark in a white world that was otherwise perfectly featureless. Yim continued to wait for a change, and the waiting dragged on and on. Finally, something did change. The white void slowly turned gray. Behind the heavy clouds, the sun was leaving the sky. The gray darkened as dusk arrived.
The night was especially dark. The blizzard slackened, but it was too late. Darkness obscured Yim’s surroundings as well as the falling snow had done. The starless sky was black, and the snowbound landscape was so dark that it seemed little different from the sky. Yim thought of the irony of having faced so many perils only to perish crouching in the cold. She decided that if she was going to die, she wouldn’t do it passively. Yim rose to walk in the hope that she might get lucky and survive.
If I break through the ice, at least I’ll die more quickly then freezing
. Yim stumbled off without deliberation. When all directions looked alike, one was as good as any other.
Half-frozen and stretched to her limit, Yim had difficulty thinking coherently. Existence took on the unreal quality of a dream. After a while, there seemed to be a wavering paleness
in the dark. It was only a tiny point, but since it stood out in the night, Yim headed toward it. She didn’t care if it was an illusion; it provided a direction.
When Yim moved toward the paleness, it moved toward her. As it did, it changed. Over time, it assumed the form of a young girl with long pale hair that the wind whipped about. Except for a short skirt of leaves, she was exposed to the elements. The girl came closer. Yim was wondering how a child could endure walking barefoot through snow, when she saw that the snow was actually a field of wildflowers. Yim thought it strange that she hadn’t noticed before. The flowers were faerie lace, which grew so thickly that their white blossoms merged into an unbroken expanse of white.
The wind no longer felt cold. Then Yim realized that she was also walking through flowers. The girl came close enough for Yim to see her face. It was serene, and there was a twinkle in her sky-blue eyes. She knelt before Yim, grasped her hand, and kissed it. “Greetings, Mother. Long have I awaited you.”