Chapter Two Yeeran
Chapter Two
Yeeran
Motogo dragged their gaze up from the marble table that separated them and Yeeran. It was not lost on Yeeran that the furniture would have taken a significant amount of effort for servants to bring all the way from Gural. It was a power play, as it always was with the new chieftain of Waning.
‘If we must hand over all our obeah-enhanced weapons then you must double the fraedia amounts,’ Motogo drawled.
‘You know that’s not possible. The fray cannot be tampered with, it literally keeps Mosima alive—’
‘I don’t believe you. I think the fae hoard it for themselves.’
Yeeran ground her teeth together and sat back in her chair, increasing the distance between them so she didn’t feel tempted to use her fists.
‘You are negotiating in bad faith.’
‘Bad faith?’ Motogo stood, the movement rattling the tent walls. ‘I allowed you into this camp, you who stood by while your very own chieftain was killed. You who have abandoned your race, your morals, your army—’
Is it a prerequisite that all chieftains must be assholes? Pila asked lightly, and Yeeran nearly snorted.
Motogo must have seen her lips twitch because they pointed a lacquered finger in condemnation. ‘You toy with us.’
Yeeran rose from her chair. She was significantly taller than Motogo, so she didn’t need to sound threatening as she looked down on them.
‘I have abandoned no one. All I seek to do here is save lives. It has been months of discussions, months of negotiating this peace treaty. What I do is in the interest of all parties, especially the Waning army.’
Motogo exhaled through their nose. It seemed for a moment that their anger was spent, but then their stare caught the drum strapped to Yeeran’s side.
An exquisite piece of craftsmanship that had once been given to her by Salawa.
Yeeran recalled how Chieftain Motogo–General back then–had made their jealousy clear.
‘What would Salawa say if she could see you now?’ they said with a sneer.
‘She’d probably ask why you were sitting in her chair.’ It was a petty insult, getting to the crux of the true thorn between them: Motogo was not well liked, by Salawa or anyone else.
Motogo scoffed.
‘Then,’ Yeeran continued, ‘she’d probably kiss me.’
Motogo’s large face turned a deep purple. It had not been a secret that Yeeran was the chieftain’s lover, but she had never flaunted it. Especially not like this.
Pila hummed with approval as she watched through Yeeran’s eyes.
You’ve made them very angry.
A tribute to Salawa. She found Motogo odious, Yeeran said to Pila. Though occasionally Yeeran felt a jolt of sadness still, she didn’t think of her old lover as often as she had before. The grief had calloused over, the memories of the bad times rising to the surface far quicker than the good.
Motogo was quivering with anger now. ‘You should leave, before I do something I greatly regret.’
Yeeran nodded; there was nothing left to be achieved here.
Four months and this was what it had come down to.
The elves had taken three weeks to let her into the camp, six more to agree to drafting a peace treaty. And now this, conflict after conflict.
It was worse before, Pila said.
That’s true.
The first few discussions had been with all four chieftains: Waning, Crescent, Eclipse and Waxing.
They had argued between themselves far more than with Yeeran.
Eventually she had firmly suggested that one chieftain be the coalition’s mouthpiece for the purpose of progress.
Motogo had been nominated given they had once been Yeeran’s general–the chieftains thought their pre-existing relationship was a benefit.
But in truth, Yeeran had been disappointed when Motogo showed up that first day; she would have liked to have sat down with Chieftain Yao of Eclipse.
She seemed the only one who wasn’t entirely driven by bloodlust.
The rest wanted war, they craved it. Most of the elves did now that the Bleeding Field had been abandoned–a fact Yeeran still couldn’t quite comprehend.
The Forever War had waged for hundreds of years.
Strife was woven into the very sinew of every elf, for they all believed in the righteous cause they fought for–the fraedia crystals that lay beneath the bones and blood of the battlefield.
But now the tribes had unified, setting their sights on a larger prize: the fraedia in Mosima.
Convincing Furi to part with some of it had been another battle altogether. But it was better than bloodshed.
Even if sometimes I regret it.
Being ambassador for the fae was a thankless task. But there was no one else who could fill the role except Yeeran. She knew the elves’ way of life, knew the indoctrination the Forever War had scarred onto their minds. Even if the process was painful, at least there was a process happening.
Anything to avoid another war.
‘Please discuss the final points with the other chieftains, Motogo. We’re so nearly there. I’ll return in three days,’ Yeeran said, trying to sound contrite.
Motogo nodded once, before dismissing her with a wave of the hand. ‘Go.’
‘This way,’ the armed guard said as he started to escort her through the camp.
‘I know where I’m going, I’ve done it enough times.’
I am irritable today, Yeeran thought.
The soldier didn’t appreciate Yeeran’s quip. His hand moved to his drum as he said, ‘No matter how many times you’ve done it, I’m not letting you out of my sight.’
Yeeran sighed. Once she’d have been afforded significantly more respect. Once she had been colonel.
But no matter the situation now, she could never go back to being a soldier who traded in blood. The last year had opened her mind as well as her heart.
The war camp was a sprawling, noisy thing. It lived like a beast, its breath thick with cook fires, its ribs the tents that lined the mud-sodden streets. The claws were the many armouries, and its teeth, the soldiers who wielded the weapons.
The noise of the camp was as familiar to Yeeran as her own heartbeat: the pounding of the drums as warriors practised their drumfire, the war songs of soldiers carrying out formations, the snorts of camels in their pens.
If she shut her eyes the last year would fall away, and she’d be back on the Bleeding Field, Rayan as her captain, Salawa as her lover.
A simpler time, when death was her only worry. Survival was a much weightier burden to carry.
But now, Rayan is king, and Salawa is dead, she thought. Time has changed more things than just me.
The guard escorting her took her down a different path than she was used to. ‘Why are we going this way? Isn’t it quicker to turn left here?’ she said.
The soldier gave her an irritated glance. ‘There’s a flood up ahead.’
That’s what happens when you set up camp in a marshland.
The Wasted Marshes were a chieftain’s nightmare.
The flash flooding, the wet ground, the poisonous creatures all made it an uninhabitable terrain.
But the elves had not come unprepared. Ships full of timber had arrived at the coast to fortify the soil beneath the tents.
Thicker tarp had been sent for to ensure the tents were waterproof.
They had moved their livestock to the rockier ground, opting for goats and sheep rather than less agile cows and pigs.
Dogs prowled the campsite to ward off smaller venomous animals.
It appeared that once the four chieftains worked together, they could create something quite powerful: a city capable of laying siege for months, if not years.
I could not stomach years of this, Yeeran said to Pila.
Diplomacy is slow, and boring. Pila yawned from somewhere inside Mosima.
It is.
Can you come back now so we can go for a ride with Amnan and Furi?
Pila knew her words would make Yeeran wince. It was her way of asking to heal the rift between her and Furi. And each day, Yeeran’s answer was the same.
We can go on a ride on our own.
It was difficult to feel lonely when you were faebound, but Furi and Amnan had become an important part of her life, and their absence left a dull ache.
Not that Furi was gone. No, as the fae’s ambassador Yeeran saw her constantly. But they were no longer lovers. Furi had made it clear that their love only created more trauma. And that was not a penance she was willing to suffer.
Yeeran was led past a group of soldiers practising hand-to-hand combat. The air smelled of boiled leather and sweat as they lunged at each other with bare fists. They grew silent as she walked by. Something about them looked off to her. Then she realised what it was.
‘A new uniform?’ she whispered in disbelief. Stitched onto their sleeves were all four symbols of the elven tribes: Waning, Crescent, Eclipse and Waxing.
The coalition was truly coming together.
‘Move on,’ barked the soldier by her side. She hadn’t realised she had stopped and quickly stepped back in line with her escort.
The camp was large, and it took some time for her to reach the edge of it. This new route moved through areas Yeeran hadn’t seen before and she tried to memorise as much of it as she could.
They passed three greenhouses and two mess halls teeming with soldiers at lunch. As they turned a corner Yeeran heard strange squeaking sounds emanating from a tent to her left. It was larger than those that housed soldiers, but smaller than some of the greenhouses.
‘What’s in there?’ she asked the soldier.
He gave her a sardonic look. ‘You know I’m not going to answer that.’
‘It was worth a try.’ She smiled ruefully and it seemed to soften him towards her.
‘To be honest, I don’t know what’s in there. Whatever it is, it’s overseen by the chieftains, and I’m not high ranking enough to know.’
She let her feet meander closer to the tent entrance, but the opening was guarded by two soldiers and she couldn’t look in.
What would need an armed guard?