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

man. “It be too cold an’ wet fer ya.”
    The old woman ignored her son and struggled through the mud until she reached Honus. She grasped his cloak with dirty, gnarled fingers. “Please, Karmamatus, please…”
    “Mam,” said the man more gently than Yim expected, “they just be beggars.”
    The woman looked about in confusion and saw Yim for the first time. Her eyes widened, and she let out a long wail that seemed to combine both deep sorrow and joy. She sank to her knees, buried her face in Honus’s cloak, and wept. The man dropped his ax and came over to lift his mother from the mud.
    “Thank ya, Karmamatus,” she said between sobs. “Thank ya.” She turned to the man and said triumphantly, “Ah told ya, Gan! Ah told ya they’d bring her back!” She broke free from her son and embraced Yim with more strength than her frail frame seemed capable of mustering. Yim felt hot tears against her cold cheek as the woman sobbed softly into her ear. Gradually, the sobs changed to a whispered name. “Mirien…Mirien…Mirien…”
    Gan sighed, his breath steaming in the damp air. “Come inside,” he said to Honus and Yim, not bothering to hide his irritation. “She will na abide ta see ya go.”
    Yim walked through the opening with the old woman still clutching her. Inside the shell of the derelict house, an abode had been constructed by roofing over its basement. The stone walls were rough, but, unlike the chambers above them, they had withstood the assaults of time and man. The low, uneven ceiling was made of branches covered with slabs of bark and thatch. Rain leaked from it onto the dirty stone floor.
    Gan’s mother led them through three dark rooms to one lit by a meager fire. The room smelled of the smoke that drifted out of a hole in the ceiling and of the pig kept in an adjacent chamber. The sow watched them from behind a barricade of thorny woven branches. The room was furnished with a crude table, a single bench, and a chest. The rest of the household’s few possessions were piled near one of the walls. Despite its rudeness, the room was mostly dry and the fire gave a bit of warmth.
    As the old woman stroked Yim’s cheek and kissed it occasionally, Yim gave Gan a puzzled look.
    “She be havin’ one o’ her fits,” said Gan in answer to Yim’s unspoken question. “She thinks ya be my older sister, stolen as a child.”
    In the firelight, it was clear that Gan was at least forty and that his mother’s eyes shone with madness. At the moment, they also shone with love.
    “Mirien,” said the old woman with a breath that smelled of rotted teeth, “ya have been gone overlong. Tell me,” she whispered, glancing toward Honus, “be he yar husband?”
    “Tell her what she wants ta hear,” said Gan heavily. “It will make na difference.”
    “Yes, Mommy,” replied Yim, “he is.”
    The old woman beamed, displaying a single yellow tooth. “A Sarf, too. What a fine husband, though Ah do na like his face.”
    “There’s a tender face beneath the fierce one.”
    Mam squinted at Honus. “Aye, Ah think Ah ken see it.” Her face grew sad and her mouth began to quiver. “Why? Why did ya na invite us ta the wedding feast?”
    “We wed in Bremven, Mommy. You were there. Don’t you remember?”
    “Ah…Ah think…” replied Mam, growing confused. “It be hard ta recall. Aye. Ah remember now.”
    “I wore flowers in my hair and Honus frightened you before you learned how gentle he was.”
    A gleam came to Mam’s wet eyes. “Aye…flowers.”
    “White roses.”
    Mam breathed in deeply. “Oh, the smell o’ them. Did…did Ah dance?”
    “Dance? You danced all night! You wore me out.”
    “Ah did! Ah did! Ah beed strong then. An’ young!”
    Gan, who had been watching this exchange with a melancholy expression, started to leave the room. “Ah’ll get some more roots fer the pot,” he said.
    “An’ ale,” called out his mother. “Ale fer yar sister an’ her fine new husband.”
    Gan