Free [Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers by Morgan Howell

sheathed and the dance continued. Yim was so mesmerized by the elegance of Honus’s movements that she nearly forgot their lethal application.
    Honus continued his exercises long after Yim tired of watching them. She was rubbing her sore feet when he came over, dripping with sweat, to drink from the water skin. “We must resume our journey,” he said, “if we’re to reach the foothills by nightfall.”
    Yim gazed down the road. Ahead, the land seemed to ripple, forming a succession of earthen waves that rose ever higher until they reached mountains. The peaks were hazy, but the nearer landscape was equally monochrome. It was merely a darker shade of gray. “What’s in the foothills, Master?”
    “A few poor farmers. Some may hold yet to the old customs.”
    “What customs?”
    “Once, a Bearer or a Sarf could expect hospitality wherever they traveled. Now it is less so, especially in Luvein.”
    Yim saw that the sky threatened rain. “It’d be good to sleep under a roof.” She put on the pack and felt as if it had never left her shoulders. Honus set out immediately. After a while, cold drizzle began to fall. Yim donned her cloak and was glad for its warmth. The drizzle changed to rain. As Yim trudged on, she looked for a homestead, but the empty land grew wilder and the hills still looked distant. When daylight faded, Yim began to despair of finding shelter.
    “If we reach a farm, surely they’ll take us in,” said Yim. “Who would dare to defy a Sarf?”
    “Food and shelter must be given freely,” said Honus. “Otherwise, Karm’s dishonored. Even if we find a farm, it’s not unlikely we’ll spend the night outside.”
    As if to further discourage Yim, the rain began to fall harder. Soon she was treading through cold, viscous mud. Night arrived without any sign of habitation.
    “It’s too wet for a fire,” said Honus, “and walking will keep us warm. We’ll travel as long as we can.”
    Yim said nothing, but her thoughts dwelt upon how it was she, not Honus, who carried the pack. She trudged quietly through the gloomy rain until she spotted a faint glimmer in the darkness. “Master! A light!”
    Away from the road was the ruin of a large stone house, black against a dark hillside. It appeared roofless, but from one of the lowest windows came the pale light of a fire reflected off stone walls. “Don’t get your hopes up,” said Honus as he headed toward the light. Yim followed him through a small, muddy field. The entrance to the house was doorless and the steps leading up to it had rotted away, stranding the doorway high on the wall. At the base of this wall, a man-sized hole had been smashed through the stones. It also lacked a door. Out of this cavity stepped a man bearing an ax.
    “Ya stop thar!” he called out in a voice that mingled anger with fear. “What be ya wantin’?”
    In the dim light, it was hard to make out the man’s age, but he appeared ill-treated by life. His large frame looked gaunt and his face was lined and worn. Yet his tangled hair and beard were black, and he moved with wiry strength.
    Honus bowed his head politely. “We’re servants of Karm, Father.”
    The man spit. “Father, my arse! So it be Karmish beggars. Do ya na come in pairs? Ah see just one…an’ his slut.”
    Honus replied in a calm voice, “We request shelter and food in respect for the goddess.”
    “Aye, an’ if she ever respected me, maybe thar’d be some ta give.” The man eyed Honus suspiciously and tensely held his ax at the ready.
    “I’ll take nothing you don’t give freely, be it only a corner in your stable.”
    “Then take yar whore an’ go rut in the woods,” replied the man.
    “Come, Yim,” said Honus. “The goddess is not honored here.”
    Honus had turned to walk back to the road when a ragged woman with wild, white hair hobbled out of the doorway. “Karmamatus!” she called in a thin, quavering voice. “Karmamatus, do na leave us.”
    “Mam, go inside,” said the