Chapter Twenty Yeeran
Chapter Twenty
Yeeran
Yeeran walked into the jail far more calmly than she felt. Her hands were clammy, and she pulled off the silk gloves that bound them.
Malak was huddled in the corner of his cell, scraps of food abandoned on a tin plate in front of him. He looked miserable, and she was glad.
‘Hello,’ Yeeran said.
Malak stood up slowly. ‘Listen, Yeeran—’
‘You knew they’d send the rats in if you didn’t show up.’
He didn’t deny it. ‘I cannot control what the chieftains decide.’
‘Let us not play this game, Malak. You know exactly what the chieftains are doing, because you’re the one influencing it.’
‘You overestimate my influence, greatly.’
Yeeran gripped the bars of the prison and leaned in. ‘I think not.’
They regarded each other, and for a brief second Yeeran saw his expression change. Gone was the affable man she had come to know; in his place was a man cut from ambition. His face relaxed into a smile again and she began to wonder whether she had imagined the ruthless expression.
‘I admit, I have been trying to sway them to sign the peace treaty, as you well know. The rats were a cruel weapon that I tried to persuade them against. Do not forget I warned you.’
‘Did you?’ She drew level with him.
‘I told you they had contingencies!’ he said, his gaze imploring. But Yeeran’s anger was ice.
‘You realise your secrecy will cause hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths?’
Malak walked to the cell bars smiling sadly. She wished she could read his mind, see the thoughts that wove that smile. ‘Yeeran, it’s a war. People were always going to die.’
He was right. But she couldn’t shake the betrayal she felt.
‘I trusted you,’ she said quietly.
‘You should never trust those on the opposite side of the negotiating table.’
Again, he was right.
‘I couldn’t betray the army’s secrets,’ he continued more gently. ‘What I said was enough to be tried for treason in front of the other chieftains. I did what I could.’
She felt her anger begin to thaw, but then he added, ‘Don’t you remember what it is like to be loyal to the army?’
Despite her profession, Yeeran wasn’t an innately violent person, and a part of her also knew that Malak didn’t intend for his words to wound with insult–he was only trying to find common ground. But wound they still did.
She reached through the bars and pulled Malak towards her until his face was pressed against the metal.
‘My loyalty lies on the side of life, Malak. Tell me, have you had the wasting pox before?’
‘No,’ he said. To his credit, he did not fight against her grip, his eyes downcast in submission.
‘The disease gnaws at the muscles, taking your strength until there is nothing left but fetid skin. It consumes, and it doesn’t stop until it has taken all of you.’
Malak trembled and shame pierced Yeeran’s rage. This was not the way to negotiate. She released him and he dropped to the ground panting.
‘We need access to the Wasted Marshes to forage for hister flowers. We’ll be willing to trade your freedom for a few hours on the surface.’
‘You would give me up for that?’ he said, surprised.
Yeeran thought of Furi, curled up in her sickbed, fading away with each second. She’d do anything to save her. ‘We need the flower. And now, so do you.’
Malak blanched. ‘You’re afflicted?’
Yeeran held her bare hands out. She had entirely forgotten to put her gloves back on, but the mistake presented the perfect ruse. ‘Most certainly. See, no gloves, and I’ve spent all day tending to the sick.’
Malak didn’t need to know that she was unlikely to be a carrier of the disease.
He rubbed at his neck where her hands had touched him.
‘That won’t help,’ she said.
Malak’s eyes skittered around as though he could find a way to escape the disease itself.
‘In two to three hours your neck will begin to sting, then it’ll turn purple as the disease begins to ravage your muscles.’
His hand began to shake.
‘No,’ he whispered. Fear turned his lips bloodless and Yeeran wondered if this was the first authentic expression she had ever seen on his face.
‘In five days, you’ll likely be dead,’ Yeeran said.
He let out a shaky breath, then nodded once as though fighting his own internal battle. ‘Don’t trade me for time, trade me for the flower itself.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We have a greenhouse of hister flower in our camp. We’ve been keeping a store of it in case there was an outbreak from the rats. Trade me for a crate of petals.’
Yeeran narrowed her eyes. The coalition was so much more prepared than she ever imagined. How could she have underestimated them so entirely?
‘What happened to your loyalty?’ She didn’t want to sound as bitter as she did.
He grimaced. ‘I suppose you could say that in this situation I am loyal to life.’ He twisted her words back at her. ‘I do not want to die, Yeeran.’
‘You’ll help me negotiate with the other chieftains, then?’
‘Yes.’
Though her gut warned her that it had been all too easy, she knew she had to trust him, if only a little. There was no other choice.
Yeeran removed the jail key from her pocket and opened the cell door. ‘I’m going to wind my magic around you now. I won’t remove it until we have the hister flower.’
She rattled a few notes on her drum, and her magic coiled out to bind his wrists together.
Rayan was waiting outside. His eyes were still red as though he’d spent the morning crying. She knew there was more that had happened between him and Lettle, but she didn’t press him. Whatever it was had twisted his heartstrings.
‘Is she well?’ Yeeran asked. He knew she meant Lettle.
‘Yes, they’re talking still.’ Rayan looked at the bound Malak. ‘All set?’
‘Turns out the elves have hister flower in storage; we’re going to trade him for the petals,’ Yeeran said.
Rayan frowned. ‘You think you can convince them to part with a cure? Even though their intention was to infect us?’
‘I have no other choice,’ Malak said. ‘As my life is forfeit too.’
Rayan exchanged a glance with Yeeran as if to say, Are you sure this is the right thing to do?
But what else could they do? She was about to say as much, but then Rayan’s eyes glossed over once more. His mind was wholly focused on his concern for Lettle.
Yeeran wasn’t offended; she understood, because her mind was wholly focused on her concern for Furi too.
With a grunt she tugged on her magic and pulled Malak towards the boundary.
—
‘Aiftarri. ‘Yeeran’s skin turned to gooseflesh as Rayan parted the magic ahead of them. Pila whimpered beside her.
I want to come with you, the obeah said.
No, it’s too dangerous, they’ll kill you on sight.
And what about you?
Malak has assured me that the chieftains will negotiate.
Pila huffed. It said enough, for she knew Yeeran’s thoughts as well as her own.
Yeeran looked sidelong at Malak next to her. His hands were bound with her magic, her drum resting on her hip ready to fire at a moment’s notice. But he had a small, pleasant smile on his face as though he were about to walk across the street, not across realms.
Before she crossed the boundary she turned to Rayan and said, ‘If I am not back in three hours, barricade the opening. We cannot be caught off guard again.’
‘But—’
‘Seal it, Rayan.’ She wrapped her words up in all the authority she could muster.
Rayan saluted as though she were his colonel once more.
‘I will do it.’
Pila pushed her wet snout into Yeeran’s hand. Yeeran crouched down.
I will see you very soon, all right? Yeeran said. And if I don’t see you now, I’ll see you in the beyond.
The obeah rested her head on Yeeran’s heart.
Stay safe, Pila said.
Malak whistled tunelessly, the sound piercing Yeeran’s ears. She stood up and turned to him. ‘Ready?’
‘If you are,’ he said.
Rayan and Yeeran exchanged a nod. Then she stepped forward into the tunnel.
Malak went ahead, his whistling echoing around them. Yeeran followed closely, using magesight to guide her steps. She could hear the sounds of the army camp and she realised it must have moved closer to the tunnel.
‘It did not take them long to forgo the neutral zone–it’s almost as though you had planned this,’ Yeeran said wryly.
‘We planned for everything,’ Malak said.
His words sounded like a prophecy, and they sent a shiver along Yeeran’s skin.
I don’t like this, Pila said. Yeeran could feel her pacing along the boundary’s edge in Mosima, Rayan beside her.
Neither do I, but I can’t let Furi die. I won’t live in a world without her. Yeeran’s throat tightened as she battled to keep the despair at bay.
Then bring back the flowers. I know you can, Pila said.
Sunlight brightened around them as they neared the exit to the Wasted Marshes, but the light seemed more muted than she would have expected for the midday sun.
‘Should I go ahead?’ Malak asked.
‘Yes, announce yourself to still their drumfire. But don’t forget the drum at your back.’ Yeeran thrummed her fingers against her weapon, releasing a soft projectile of magic that landed between Malak’s shoulder blades.
Malak jumped, startled but unhurt.
She could see the set of his jaw as he looked back at her.
‘Understood,’ he said.
He stepped out into the light, Yeeran in his shadow. The first thing Yeeran noticed was that the sunlight still looked strange to her. She looked up and realised that the mouth of the tunnel was entirely encased in cloth, as though funnelling anyone who entered and exited.
Smart, she thought. It allows them to control Mosima’s entranceway. Though cloth isn’t exactly the most robust material.
A squad of soldiers stood in front of them, their hands poised above their drums. It was such a strange sight with the cloth draped above them. It reminded Yeeran of the travelling players in Gural who would erect temporary stages.
She imagined the soldiers launching into dance and an unbidden smile split her face. It froze a moment later as a projectile of drumfire whizzed past her cheek and she felt a sharp sting.
Yeeran! Pila’s panic was as bright as Yeeran’s pain.
She put a hand to her cheek. It was hot and wet, and when her hand drew back it was red.