Chapter Thirty-Two Yeeran
Chapter Thirty-Two
Yeeran
From the moment Yeeran saw Ajax get struck by drumfire, she knew Rayan was going to die.
Lettle knew it too, but she refused to believe it. Her sister’s passive smile had horrified her, but she understood that Lettle was protecting herself. Yeeran was just worried what would happen when Lettle’s smile fell away and reality hit.
If Yeeran thought about it for much longer, she would turn around and go back to Mosima, but she knew she couldn’t. Malak was out there, and if she could end this all now, she would.
So much had changed since Yeeran had last been in the camp.
Though it had only been six weeks, it was as if a year had passed.
The tent poles had sunk deeper into the swamp terrain, leaving their canopies sagging.
Discarded bits of food and clothing lay heaped in stinking piles.
The edge of the camp was completely deserted, but she could hear fighting up ahead.
A group of soldiers ran into her line of sight in the distance. One of them pointed at her and the others readied their weapons.
Yeeran was not prepared to fight so many, not when she had another purpose. She slipped into the nearest tent and rolled beneath a pallet, waiting for them to pass.
‘Was she one of Malak’s?’ a voice called out.
‘I’m not sure, didn’t look like she was wearing his uniform to me.’
‘Doesn’t mean she wasn’t one of his treasonous folk.’
Has the army uncovered Malak’s mutiny?
‘Search the tents.’
Yeeran’s pulse beat like a drum in her throat as she heard the soldiers move systematically through the camp.
‘Have you checked this one?’ Yeeran watched as boots inched across the threshold, a few feet from her face.
She turned onto her side slowly so that she could more easily reach her drum, but as she moved the weapon tipped onto its shell, letting out a hollow sound.
Yeeran sucked in a breath and held it. Maybe the soldier hasn’t heard.
She watched their shadow stretch as they walked back to the doorway of the tent, her lungs straining.
Thwum.
The arrow ripped through the mattress above Yeeran and embedded itself in the floor a few inches from her face.
She didn’t hesitate. In one motion she flipped the pallet towards her attacker, creating a barricade. As she jumped up, she cast a glance at the archer before ducking behind her makeshift shield.
The soldier was of an age with Yeeran, and her epaulettes determined she was a colonel, though there was no way to tell from her insignia which tribe she hailed from. All four phases of the moon decorated her jacket.
But her weapon of choice was indication enough for Yeeran. Waxing was the one tribe who utilised obeah bone to carve their arrowheads. It helped them fly true, and with more force than a simple metal point.
It was why Yeeran knew she would survive this–if the colonel had wanted to strike her, the arrow would have found her heart.
‘Don’t shoot! I’m not with Malak!’ Yeeran shouted.
‘Then why did you run?’
Yeeran snorted. ‘You pointed your weapons at me.’
‘You found her?’ another voice said.
‘Yes,’ the colonel replied. ‘She says she’s not with Malak.’
‘I’m not,’ Yeeran said. She stood up slowly with her hands raised away from her drum. The colonel quickly notched an arrow as Yeeran’s face came into view.
Yeeran looked into the soldier’s lilac eyes, so close to her own violet. They both also had cropped hair and dark skin. It was like peering into a looking glass and seeing a different version of yourself.
A version before she’d been exiled. A version before she even knew the fae existed.
The colonel saw Yeeran’s shorn ears and scowled, dropping her bow. ‘You’re really not with Malak, are you?’
‘No.’
‘What rank were you before you were dismissed?’
‘Colonel.’
The soldier whistled between her teeth in disbelief and some of the distrust in her eyes had shifted to pity.
Yeeran deflected any more queries with a question of her own. ‘Is it true? Did Malak really kill the chieftains?’
‘Yes, it was a group of diviners who discovered his crime. I’ve never been one to believe in the Fates, but I looked at the graves myself.’
‘Lorna?’ someone called, and the colonel leaned out of the tent.
‘What?’
‘There’s talk of a gathering in the west side of the camp. All senior officials are being called on.’
‘By who?’
‘Don’t know. Not Malak, though.’
Lorna looked back at Yeeran. ‘Coming?’
Yeeran shook her head.
Lorna shrugged and said, ‘Well, I guess they can’t dismiss you again for desertion.’
Then the colonel and the rest of the soldiers were gone and Yeeran was alone once again.
She felt dizzy from her near death and sank to the ground by the overturned pallet.
Are you well? Pila asked.
Yes. I was lucky the soldier didn’t recognise me. How are Ajax and Rayan?
They live, but not for long.
Yeeran squeezed her eyes shut against the torrent of grief that threatened to choke her.
And Lettle?
She…she is a broken thing, Pila said softly.
Yeeran couldn’t imagine the pain of losing Furi. Just the thought of it undid the seams of her heart, and she felt herself bleeding.
A sound brought her back to the deserted camp. She crept towards the tent entrance and gently lifted the flap.
A figure shuffled out of the tent opposite her. They looked left and right, checking the street was clear before venturing out. As they stepped into the daylight Yeeran could see who it was.
Malak.
Blood seeped from a wound at the back of his head, dyeing his blond hair crimson. His face was set in a snarl of determination as though he could defy death itself.
She slipped out of the tent after him. When she was within firing distance she said, ‘Malak.’
The chieftain paused, his shoulders tensed. Then he continued walking.
She struck the mud by his feet with her magic. A couple of staccato beats. Ba-dum.
He stopped again but still didn’t turn to face her. ‘Leave me be, Yeeran,’ he said.
‘Leave you be? You just tried to kill my sister,’ she said. She unravelled a thread of magic with her drum and coaxed it to wind tightly around his ankles.
Rata-dum, rata-dum.
The act caused him to fall forward, his chest striking the ground first.
As she rounded on him, he began to laugh. A simple sound full of mirth.
‘I don’t see anything funny here,’ Yeeran said.
‘Look, can’t you see, we’ve just crossed the old neutral zone,’ he laughed. ‘The neutral zone, what fools were we?’
Yeeran followed his line of sight and spotted the old coalition flag that marked the elven territory hanging limply from its pole.
‘I was a fool, that is true,’ Yeeran said. ‘I should have never trusted you.’
‘I told you that,’ he said. ‘But if it helps, I really did want to change things.’
‘But kill as many fae as you wanted along the way? The siege, the rats, the locusts? Even the obeah that was killed, that was all you, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
At least he didn’t lie.
He smiled sadly, his cheek in the dirt. ‘And I would do it all again.’
‘You have no empathy. All you wanted was glory.’
Abruptly he bucked up from the ground. ‘All I wanted was peace!’ he shouted, spittle and mud flying everywhere. His eyes were wild and red.
‘I don’t know if we even know what peace looks like,’ Yeeran whispered. ‘We lost sight of what it means a long time ago.’
She sat in the mud next to him, her hands falling from her drum. She had no fight left.
‘When did you kill the chieftains?’ she asked.
‘The night we went into Mosima. The obeah was not supposed to die, but it had seen my people bury the chieftains. So Reena had to kill it.’
Yeeran nodded. ‘And Motogo?’
‘Your queen did that job for me.’
They had played right into his hands. ‘The peace treaty, did you ever want to sign it?’
He lay on his back and looked up to the sky.
Blood from his wound made a halo in the dirt.
‘Yes, though not as it was.’ He was slurring his words.
‘I think the world could be a better place under one ruler. The siege was meant to show you that. We had prepared the cure for you, we had saved grain for you, we even had a solution to clear the waterways. But you never once asked for help. I was supposed to be the fae’s saviour. ’
Yeeran lay back in the mud. The sky was a perfect blue. ‘I think all oppressors think they’re a saviour at some point in their campaigns.’
He snorted. ‘First your sister calls me a tyrant and now you call me an oppressor. But to my cohort I was their liberation.’
Silence settled around them until Malak said, ‘So, what now?’ He sounded weak and Yeeran knew if she had more mercy she would get him a healer.
‘You have lost control of the army.’
‘I have. I’m sure it was your sister’s doing,’ he laughed bitterly. ‘Somehow she got word to a group of diviners who spread details of my crime.’
Yeeran smiled. ‘Lettle has always understood the power of words over weapons.’
‘And she wielded them well.’ He yawned and closed his eyes.
Yeeran heard the distinctive sound of camel hooves striking the ground. She sat up. Coming towards her were a dozen soldiers.
‘Malak, are these yours?’ Yeeran asked urgently, but he didn’t reply.
He’s passed out, she realised.
Yeeran readied her drum and stood.
The leader of the group was a woman in her late sixties, with cropped white hair that curled by her ears. Her dark brows stood out starkly against her pallid skin.
‘Who are you?’ she said to Yeeran. Her blood-covered hands hovered above her drum, ready to strike.
‘Who are you?’ Yeeran countered.
‘Yeeran, is that you?’ Someone pushed their camel forward from the back of the group. It was only then that Yeeran realised not all of them were soldiers.
‘Shaman Namana? What are you doing here?’ They had only met a handful of times, but the shaman’s silver cloak was distinctive enough to make her familiar.
‘We’re raising a rebellion,’ she said with a smile. ‘Put the drums down, this is Lettle’s sister.’
But the leader didn’t trust so easily; she kept her hand steady above her drum. ‘Why are you with Malak?’
‘I was tracking him, he’s unconscious. Head wound.’
The leader nodded to a couple of soldiers who jumped down from their camels. ‘We’ll take it from here.’
Yeeran was reluctant to let Malak out of her sight.
‘What will you do with him?’
‘He will be tried for his crimes.’
‘Under whose authority?’
‘Mine.’
‘And you are?’
‘My name is Mortah. I travelled with your sister from Caperly.’
Yeeran had heard the name from Rayan, but it was only now that she saw her in her uniform that she matched the name with the person. ‘Captain Mortah?’
‘I was once,’ Mortah said. ‘You are young to remember me.’
‘I studied your campaigns. You were the first to introduce the flank and turn strategy–a formation I used often.’ Yeeran saluted with as much respect as she could proffer.
‘I’m glad of the legacy. It has helped me reclaim some control of the chaos that has ensued.’
‘You have control of the army?’ Yeeran asked.
‘Most of it. I called on all the senior ranking officers and thankfully some of the older cohort remembered me. I am putting in order what I can—’
Pila’s voice entered her mind, she sounded scared. Yeeran? Lettle and Furi want to speak Afa’s spell now.
Why?
They believe it will untether Ajax from Rayan so the king can live.
And the obeah?
Will turn into humans.
‘Yeeran?’ Namana said. ‘Are you well?
Panic felt like fire in Yeeran’s veins. She was not used to the feeling. She was the one who always stayed calm.
I’m coming.
‘I have to go,’ she said. She pointed to Malak’s horizontal form. ‘Take him, try him, do what you want with him. But never let him lead again.’
Yeeran began to run. Mud splattered her legs as she picked up her pace until the tunnel to Mosima was in front of her.
Pila?
She was about to plunge into it when the ground started to shake. She watched as a hairline crack grew along the rockface, spreading until it was wide enough to pass her hand through.
The tunnel to Mosima caved in, stone and debris throwing Yeeran backwards. She crawled through the wreckage, her heart in her throat.
Pila? she thought again, desperately.
But the obeah didn’t reply.