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

instead—we’ll be together an’ we’ll be happy.”
    “Ah want ta die,” sobbed Mam. “Die an’ be with ya.”
    “Only ya ken take care o’ baby brother,” said Yim. “He’s so sad and angry. Please help him. Do this fer me.”
    “Aye, Mirien. Ah promise.”
    Yim kissed the young woman who smiled and grew peaceful, then fell asleep in her arms. Yim continued to hold Mam while Mirien’s spirit departed for the Dark Path. Then Yim’s own vision returned. The woman in her arms grew old and the room turned dirty and cluttered. Yim lowered Mirien’s mother down on the sack and covered her with a filthy blanket. The frost upon the stones began to melt, but effects of the spirit’s visit lingered with Yim. She was chilled to the bone. Her hands and feet stung. Rising unsteadily, she cautiously made her way back to the outer chamber.
    When Yim entered the room, she heard Honus’s harsh voice in the dark. “Where were you?”
    “I…I was cold, Master. I looked to see if there was any ale left.”
    “Such thievery dishonors Karm,” said Honus. “I should beat you.”
    “Please, Master, I took none.”
    “No doubt, because there was none to take.”
    Honus jumped up and seized Yim’s forearm. She gasped at his painful grip and flinched, expecting a blow. None came. Honus relaxed his hand. “Am I that fearful?” he asked. “You’re trembling all over.”
    “I’m cold, Master.”
    “Gan is an ungracious host, yet he has little to give. It’s not for you to betray his generosity.”
    “I won’t do it again.”
    “See that you don’t. Otherwise, you’ll feel my hand.”
    “Yes, Master.”
    Honus released Yim. “Now go to sleep.”
    Yim went over to the hay, glad that Honus couldn’t see her tears. She ached from the cold and her arm throbbed where Honus had seized it. Wrapped in her damp cloak, she was too cold and miserable to sleep, despite her exhaustion. Honus sounded like he was awake also, and swallowing her pride, Yim called to him. “Pl…pl…please, Ma…Master, may I lie beside you? I’m so c…cold.”
    “I think it best,” said Honus, “that you lie alone and contemplate how you disgraced the goddess.”
     
    Gan awoke to the warmth of a fire. As much as that surprised him, he was even more surprised to see his mother sweeping. He couldn’t imagine where she had found a broom. “Mam! Ya’ll choke me with that dust.”
    “Ah be sorry, Son, but Ah could abide it na longer.”
    “It never bothered ya afore.”
    “That be true, but it should have.”
    Gan rubbed his bleary eyes and tried to ignore the throbbing in his head. Then, he noticed the pot was on the fire. “What be ya cooking?”
    “Breakfast. We have guests.”
    Gan’s expression turned sour. “Beggars,” he said contemptuously. “A Sarf an’ his whore.”
    Mam walked over to him and grabbed his shoulders. Her strength astonished him, but not as much as the look in her eyes. Her gaze was lucid and intense. “Do na speak o’ what ya do na understand.”
    “Aye, Mam,” said Gan meekly.
    “Ya be a good son,” said Mam, “but hate be poor medicine fer sorrow.”
    Mam went over to the pot and gave it a stir. “Ya ken tell our guests that thar be food fer them.”
    Gan rose to waken Honus and Yim. By the time the three returned, there were four bowls of porridge on the table. The steam that rose from them smelled of fresh spring herbs. Mam walked over to Yim, who looked pale and drawn, and hugged her. “Ah do na remember yar name.”
    “It’s Yim, Mother.”
    “Yim,” said the old woman so lovingly that Honus looked at her intently. “Thank ya fer yar visit.”
    “Ah told ya she’d be like ta have a fit,” said Gan.
    Honus nodded, but seemed not to agree. They all sat down to a meal that, despite its humbleness, was as savory as the last one had been loathsome. Mam put down her bowl and smiled at the way her son was enjoying his breakfast. “Gan, do ya recall the old gardens behind the ruins north