Free [Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm by Morgan Howell Page A

goddess. As I told you, I’m the Chosen.”
    “But I don’t know what that means,” replied Honus.
    “On that night in the temple when I lowered my guard and you peered into my eyes, I thought you understood.”
    “I couldn’t grasp what I saw,” said Honus. “I experienced only holiness.”
    “I’m not holy,” replied Yim. “I’m merely dutiful. I’m like a Sarf—a tool in Karm’s hands.”
    Honus said nothing, but he looked unconvinced.
    “Do you truly wish to hear my life’s story?” asked Yim. “Well, I’ll tell you. My childhood was dreary. A Wise Woman trained me in arts she claimed would be useful. She was a cold woman. Stern, but not cruel. I lived with her until a Seer in the guise of a peddler escorted me south. That was four moons ago. We were ambushed on the road. He was slain and I was enslaved. The rest you know.”
    “And as the Chosen, Karmamatus, what must you do?”
    Yim was so struck by the humility in Honus’s voice that she felt the urge to tell him everything. But she suppressed that impulse and said, “Whatever Karm ordains.”
    Gatt’s physical prowess made his second day of riding easier. He adjusted to the rhythm of his steed’s motion until man and animal moved as one. Gatt was no longer saddle sore, and those who observed the Sarf on the galloping horse thought him a seasoned rider. The road he traveled conformed to the one he had seen in his vision. He was on the portion that threaded between rocky hills and the Yorvern River when a young boy stepped from a roadside hut. As the Sarf galloped toward him, the lad waved and shouted, “Honus!”
    Gatt immediately reined his mount, and the horse halted just a few paces from the boy. Once the rider was motionless, the lad could see the Sarf’s tattooed face more clearly. “You’re not Honus.”
    “No,” replied Gatt. “I’m a friend of his. Have you seen him?”
    The boy smiled. “He stayed with us two nights ago.”
    Gatt made himself smile also. “I’m pleased to hear that. Then I should find him soon.”
    The boy nodded.
    “And was Yim with him?”
    “Oh yes! She …”
    Gatt spurred his horse and galloped off.
    Foel stared at the retreating figure and then completed what he had started to say. “She gave me my voice back.”
    *   *   *
    As Yim trudged onward, she keenly felt the weight of the pack, which contained Honus’s heavy chain-mail shirt in addition to provisions, camping gear, and extra clothes for both of them. It was a warm day, and Yim’s shirt was soaked with sweat where her burden pressed against her back and shoulders. Yim, trying not to think about the long trek ahead, felt in need of diversion. “Honus,” she said. “We haven’t seen another traveler all morning. Forget custom, and walk beside me.”
    Honus complied, but he looked uncomfortable about it.
    “Now,” said Yim, “let’s talk about cheerful things.”
    “The weather’s fair,” said Honus.
    Yim regard him with half a smile. “It seems that Sarfs aren’t instructed in the art of conversation.”
    “Do you deem me unskilled?”
    “Unpracticed.”
    “It shall be pleasant to see Cara again,” said Honus.
    Yim grinned. “   That’s  more like it. Yes it will be. Is Cronin’s manor grand?”
    “I wouldn’t use that word for it,” replied Honus. “I think ‘homey’ suits better. And it’s Cara’s manor, not her brother’s.”
    “Her  manor? When we met her at the inn, she seemed under Cronin’s thumb.”
    “He’s protective, for the times require it. Moreover, he’s a general and must act like one. But within his clan, both lands and leadership pass from mother to daughter. In Averen, Cara’s a chieftain and Cronin’s merely a high-ranking soldier.”
    Yim smiled. “Averen folk sound sensible.”
    “Other clans have other customs. With them, it’s the men who rule.”
    “Then why is Cara’s clan different?”
    “Because it was founded by Dar Beard Chin, a woman who bought land with a tree