[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers (3 page)

“I’m obliged for your help,” replied the Seer, seizing hold of the barrier.

As the strangers clustered around the Seer, something caught Yim’s eye. Poking out from one of the hoods was a bit of ribbon. It was red and yellow. Recognizing it, Yim cried out, “Father!”

The Seer began to turn. Before he could face Yim, he gasped and jerked slightly to the rear. Then he moaned and his hands slipped from the tree trunk. Afterward, he stood still for a long moment, wobbling slightly, before his body twisted in Yim’s direction. Then Yim could see the Seer’s belly. The man who had bought the ribbon was pulling a dagger from it. The long blade was bloody to the hilt. The Seer moaned again and gazed at Yim with a face filled with surprise and anguish. Then he silently mouthed the words “I’m sorry” and collapsed.

Yim reacted instinctively. She leapt from the seat to the side of the lane farthest from the men and dashed into the surrounding brush. Twigs and branches clawed at her, scraping her face and hands. Each stride met resistance. The ribbons sewn on her cloak entangled in the brush before tearing free, so that Yim left a rainbow trail as she struggled forward. Yim could see that the brush was thinner ahead of her. With the strength born of panic, she pushed onward.
Soon I’ll be able to run!

Yim heard the thud of heavy footsteps and noise of large bodies crashing through twigs and branches. As she fled, Yim glanced about for something to use as a weapon and spied a fallen limb that might serve as a club. She rushed toward it as her pursuers sounded ever closer.

A hand gripped Yim’s shoulder. Then she felt a sharp pain at the back of her skull. It seemed that lightning flashed inside her head, white hot and brilliant. The light quickly faded to red and then black. The world faded with it. When Yim crumpled to the ground, she was senseless.

THREE

W
HEN
Y
IM
became conscious, her first sensation was of pain. Her head ached with dull throbs that pulsed from the back of her skull. They made her queasy, and she feared that she might throw up. When Yim attempted to move, she discovered that she was bound. Her cloak was gone and so were her boots and socks. For a moment, she was confused. Then, with a surge of terror, Yim recalled that they had been attacked. The memory of the Seer’s murder came to her with the visceral impact of the actual moment: The blood-covered blade. His anguished parting look.

It was night and Yim was lying on her side in the wagon. She couldn’t see her bonds, but she could feel them. Her wrists were tied behind her back with what felt like thick, coarse rope. Her ankles were bound also and roped to her wrists so that her body was bowed backward and her hands touched her cold, bare feet. It was an uncomfortable position, and it rendered her completely helpless.

Despair threatened to overwhelm Yim. After a lifetime of preparation, everything had gone awry in an instant.
How could Karm desert me so quickly?
she wondered with a mixture of resentment and disillusionment.
I was doing her will.
Yim felt the urge to scream or sob, but she stifled it. If she surrendered to fear, it would own her. Furthermore, the last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself. The robbers had taken her boots and cloak and tied her up, but they hadn’t molested her.
Not yet,
Yim thought, fighting another wave of panic.

The wagon was moving. Yim worried about the horses, for they had been driven all day and were surely at their limit. It made her wonder if the robbers were ignorant about horses or spurred by desperation.
But what could they be fleeing from? No one will know or care that I’ve disappeared.

All her captors were apparently sitting on the driver’s bench, for Yim could hear their voices through the wall at the wagon’s front. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they seemed to be arguing. Their loud and slurred voices had a drunken tone, which made her guess that they had found the brandy.

Yim lay shivering for what seemed a very long time before the wagon halted. A few moments later, its rear door opened and moonlight spilled in on the wagon’s ransacked interior. Sacks lay strewn about. Several had been slashed open. Yim saw a man’s silhouette as he climbed into the wagon. In his hand was a bottle, which he put to his lips, upended, and drained. After tossing the bottle away, he reached into a crate and took out another. Yim made no sound and lay absolutely still, hoping that brandy was all the man wanted. The robber staggered back to the door and handed the bottle to another who stood outside. “Don’ get so stinkin’ ye get lost,” said the man. Yim recognized his voice; he was the scar-faced man who had bought the ribbon.

“I know the way,” replied the man on the ground, “drunk or sober.”

“Then don’ bother me till we’re there. Got me some business.”

Yim heard a laugh. “I’d like a bit o’ that, too. Let me know when yer done.”

“Stick to yer drivin’. This birdie’s mine.”

The door shut and it was dark again. Soon the wagon began to move. Yim heard boots crunching spilled grain and then a drunken voice softly calling as one might to a frightened cat. “Ribbon Girl. Purr-ty Ribbon Girl.”

Yim remained silent as the man stumbled about in the dark. She heard him trip and curse. Then a boot struck her knee. “Ah! There ye are.”

Yim forced herself to be still and silent, then watched terror-stricken while the man moved so he straddled her. His shadowy form swayed unsteadily as he drew his long-bladed dagger and squatted to touch its cold blade against her neck. “Well, birdie, yer father walks the Dark Path. Wanna join ’im?”

“No,” whispered Yim.

The man pressed the flat of the blade more firmly against her throat. “What?”

“I don’t want to die.”

The man pulled the blade away. “Then don’ make me mad, ’cause it’s no great loss if I slit yer throat.” He used his dagger to cut the rope that bound Yim’s wrists to her ankles. “Get on yer back.”

The man stood aside so Yim could roll on her back and extend her cramped legs. She remained as helpless as before, for her wrists and ankles were still securely tied. Afterward, her captor dropped his dagger so he could use both hands to tug at her shift. He jerked its skirt upward to expose her shins and then her thighs. He didn’t stop tugging until the fabric was bunched around her midsection and she was naked from the waist down. Then he clawed between her legs in a rough travesty of a caress. His touch made Yim shudder, and she clenched her teeth so as not to cry out.

When the man finished with his pawing, he untied the cord about the waist of his trousers, lowered them partway, and flopped upon Yim as if he were falling into bed. He did nothing to soften the impact, which knocked the wind from her. When Yim gasped for air, she smelled the thick, sweet stench of drink on her assailant’s breath. His face was so close to hers that she felt warmth each time he exhaled. “Girly, Girly, Ribbon Girly,” he sang tunelessly as his heavy body pressed against hers. He felt as inert as a corpse. “Spread yer legs, Ribbon Girl.”

“I can’t,” said Yim, her voice constricted by fright. “They’re tied together.”

“I said spread them!”

“I will! I will! Just cut my bonds.”

The man began groping for his dagger and Yim had no idea if it was to cut her bonds or her throat. His hand struck the wagon’s floor, feeling for the blade without finding it. The beat gradually slowed, then stopped altogether. By then, the man’s stubbly cheek rested against Yim’s. It remained there as he became dead weight. Yim held herself absolutely still—except for a tremor that she was unable to control—although the mere touch of the man’s bare thighs against hers was repellent. After a while, her abuser’s breathing became regular. Soon, he was snoring loudly and wetting her face with his drool. Meanwhile, the wagon rolled onward.

Throughout the remainder of the night, Yim lay beneath the unconscious man. Lying still was agonizing, but she didn’t dare move for fear of reviving her attacker and causing him to finish what he had begun. Yim couldn’t sleep or even rest. Every moment, she expected her nightmare to begin anew.

Eventually the sun rose and the wagon halted. Someone pounded on its door. The pounding continued until the man atop Yim moaned. Then he shouted, “Stop yer noise!” He moaned again. “Oh my head!” He rose, pulled up his pants, found his dagger, and sheathed it. Then he gazed down at Yim with bloodshot eyes. She was still half naked. “Well Ribbon Girl, did I tup ye proper?”

Yim faked a smile. “Yes.”

“Good,” replied the man. “Wish I remembered it.”

The pounding resumed, though more softly than before. “I found a buyer for the oats and grain.”

As Yim wiggled in an attempt to pull down her shift, her abuser swung open the wagon’s door. Outside were one of his accomplices and a man who was missing an eye. “What’s yer offer?”

“Afore I say, I want to see the goods.”

The man in the wagon extended his hand. “Then climb up and take a look.”

By the time the one-eyed man entered the wagon, Yim had managed to get her shift over her legs and was looking out the open door. She saw low, squalid buildings packed tightly together. They were built of timber and wattle and flanked both sides of a dirt lane that reeked of sewage. At the lane’s edges, men and women seemed gathering for an open-air market where all of the goods for sale were used.

Yim glanced at the buyer and saw that he regarded her indifferently, as if he were accustomed to viewing bound women. Soon he turned his attention to the goods for sale, kneeling to examine the grain spilled on the wagon’s floor and fingering the contents of a slashed oat bag. Having done that, he gave Yim’s captor a disinterested look. “A copper a sack fer the oats, two coppers fer a sack of grain. Half that fer any sack that’s slashed.”

“That’s robbery!”

The buyer grinned. “Aye, no doubt ’tis. But I didn’t do the robbin’. If ye don’t like my price, take this lot to Lurwic and see what it fetches.”

“Bahl’s headed for Lurwic.”

“They say his army’s already there,” replied the buyer. “War ruins the market fer bulky goods. Yer lucky I’m buyin’ at all.”

Yim’s captor sighed. “Sold. Count the sacks.”

The buyer called out to the street. “Nabs! Tomby! Move quick and empty this lot.”

Two ragged boys came over and the buyer tossed the sacks to them as Yim’s captor counted each one. Since the robbers had sold the provisions, Yim doubted that she would be journeying farther. Otherwise, she had no inkling of her fate. Once the sacks were emptied, her captors left the wagon’s door open and drove up the lane, stopping periodically as men and women appeared to haggle for the remaining goods. The wares dangling from the wagon’s eaves were sold, along with the pot that Yim had cooked in. The brandy went next, with the robbers keeping a few bottles for themselves. After much dickering, two ragged men purchased the barrel of salt mutton for eleven coppers, and then chortled as they rolled it away. It made Yim surmise that either her captors were poor bargainers or very anxious to leave town.

When the wagon was nearly emptied out, Yim discovered that the robbers had taken the Seer’s boots. She spotted them, along with his bloodstained cloak, among a small pile of her and the Seer’s clothing. A pinched-faced woman arrived and began rummaging through the garments. As she held up Yim’s cloak to inspect it in the light, Yim’s captor said, “Twenty coppers for the lot.”

“Twenty! Do ye think I shit money?”

“’Tis a bargain, lovey. Ye know it.”

“Ten coppers.”

“Pah! There’s two pair o’ boots here and a cloak what’s nearly new.”

“Twelve.”

“Fifteen and I’ll throw in these ribbons.”

As the woman made a show of deliberating, she glanced at Yim, who had retreated to a corner. “And the lot includes her shift? It goes with the cloak.”

“Aye, lovey, ye can have it.”

“And the undershift if she’s wearing one.”

Yim’s captor reacted with mock horror. “’Twill leave her naked!”

The woman laughed. “So what? ’Twon’t affect her price.”

Yim, who had been listening to the conversation with growing alarm, shrank against the wagon’s wall as her captor advanced. “Don’t give me trouble,” he said as he pulled Yim to her feet. He spun her around and untied her wrists. “Take off yer shift. Are ye wearin’ an undershift?”

“Yes.”

“I want that, too.”

“Please…”

“Please won’t get you nothin’. Now be quick. Most like, yer clothes have fetched more than ye will.”

Yim obeyed because she had no choice. After she shed her clothes, her wrists were bound again. Yim slumped to the floor and huddled in the corner, drawing up her knees in an attempt to cover herself. The woman departed with her purchases and the wagon moved on. When it halted again, Yim was dragged from it to stand upon the muddy street before a small stone building with an iron door. Near the door was a knee-high stone cube, marking the building as a place where slaves were bought and sold.

Yim stood shivering in the chill morning air, unable to hide her nakedness while one of her captors pounded on the iron door. She was painfully aware that when the door opened someone would emerge to exchange a few coins for her. Yim had never felt more miserable or so utterly forsaken. Soon someone else would claim her body, and only her soul would be wholly hers.

FOUR

T
O THE
north in Lurwic, the duke’s castle was burning. The duke didn’t care; he was dead. So were his family, his servants, his soldiers, and everyone within the surrounding town. Lord Bahl’s men had been thorough. After the battle ended, Honus had walked through its aftermath. Although a veteran of many engagements, he was appalled by the wantonness of the destruction. Whatever wasn’t looted had been destroyed. Every house was burning. Not a single crock or chair or bit of cloth remained intact. But the owners of these things fared worse. They had been slain with such ferocity that Honus often had to avert his eyes. None of the dead were completely whole, as if their attackers had been unsatisfied with merely killing them. No one had been spared indignity, not even tiny babes. As far as Honus could determine, he was the sole survivor.