The Yar-Sh Prisoner Swap

PART TWENTY-NINE

In-Sar

“A mine!” My eyes widen. “Are you sure that’s what she said?”

“Absolutely.” Mel folds her arms. “A prion mine to the west of the mountains. She whispered those exact words to Rachel just now on the thread. Yar-Sh is working in a mine, as a prisoner.”

I turn to El-Frankin. He is sitting at the table with his fingers knotted together.

His horns are sparkling and the tip of his tail—small scar on the tip—is quivering.

He’s thinking, weighing everything up. It’s one of the things I love about him; how intelligent and calculating he is.

He looks at problems from every angle and then approaches them with bravery and determination.

“Prion,” he repeats and nods slowly. “The drug that’s used as sedation during lightyear flights.”

“Yes.” Mel nods. “Apparently.”

“And it’s potent,” Ar-Hagan says. “Touch it, ingest it, breathe it, whatever you do, it makes you sleepy to some degree.”

“Which makes perfect sense,” El-Frankin says.

“What do you mean?” I ask and place my hands on my hips. I’m keen to get a plan together and be proactive, not talk about chemical compounds and their properties. My body is jittery with it and my heart is thumping.

“It makes sense to use prisoners to mine it,” El-Frankin says and stands. “Because they will be in a stupor, too tired and exhausted, mentally and physically to try and escape. As long as they can collect enough of the stuff each day for the king to supply the ships, then that’s enough.”

Mel rubs her temples. “It will be heavily guarded. The king won’t want Jakarty on the loose.”

“Not necessarily,” I say. “He will presume they are too wearied, too exhausted to try to escape.”

“Which means.” El-Frankin bangs his fist on the table. A vase of blue flowers wobbles. “I have to go and get Dan-Y’s brother now.”

“We,” I say, almost on reflex. “We have to go and get him.”

He looks at me, his dark, intense eyes glistening. “Thank you.”

“I would never let you do this alone.” I look at Mel. “We will get your sister back, I promise.”

“I thank you, In-Sar,” she says.

Ar-Hagan, her mate, takes her hand. “I think I should go too.”

“No,” El-Frankin says. “We can handle this. And three of us will be more obvious.”

“Obvious for what?” Ar-Hagan asks with a frown.

“My plan.”

“The plan you have just plucked out of the air?” Ar-Hagan says with a huff.

“We go to the mine.” El-Frankin nods. “And suss it out.”

“What if there are lots of guards?” Mel asks.

“We will watch, work out the routine and determine our best time to get Yar-Sh out of there.”

“And if you manage to do that?” Ar-Hagan asks. “Then what?”

“We will take him to the militarized border. My sons will help us cross.”

Ar-Hagan blows out a breath. “He will be seen, as you just said three are a crowd.”

El-Frankin frowns.

“Perhaps we should try the pass,” I say.

“Too dangerous, In-Sar.” El-Frankin shakes his head. “What we need is another route through the mountains, some way of traversing them and staying alive.”

“I know.” I flick my tail. “But we could disguise him as a guard. Get a uniform and…” My plan has flaws but perhaps it could work.

“I don’t hate that idea,” El-Frankin says. “How about we get him first and go from there.”

“Yes, maybe the Jakarty will do the prisoner swap this side of the border,” Mel says. “In fact that would be better, get Tammy back to the Civilized Tundra as soon as possible. Into our hands and out of theirs.”

“That is definitely a good plan,” I say and look at El-Frankin. “When do you want to go?”

“Now,” he says. “There is little point hanging around when we have a mission to attend to.”

Within minutes we are racing over the farmstead in El-Frankin’s vehz. The crops sway in our wake and the setting suns stretch shadows from the mountains. We pass the barn, then the spot Tammy was taken, heading due west toward the militarized border.

But this time we don’t stop at the border to secretly cross with the help of El-Frankin’s sons. Silently, both lost in our thoughts, we pass it.

I reach for El-Frankin’s hand. It’s warm and solid and I lift it to my mouth and kiss his knuckles. “It will all work out.”

“I hope so.” He gives me a weak smile. “But there is so much that could go wrong. The Jakarty are not good for their word.” He swallows and frowns as he touches the controls to avoid a hirion wandering over a mound toward a river.

“They want their prisoner back as much as we want ours,” I say.

“But this prisoner…once the prion wears off, we will have to subdue him somehow. He’s clearly considered dangerous if King Athos has him captive.”

I nod. El-Frankin has a point.

The male we are going to rescue is a rebel, he’s lawless, and he has nothing to lose by attacking us and going rogue.

Yar-Sh

My mind is in a permanent fog, and the moment it starts to clear, the mist is back again. The confusing cloud that steals coherent thought is like a spider’s web hanging in front of my brain, my face, my vision. I swipe at it but it stays. I shake my head but it re-settles in an instant.

I breathe through a red kerchief I stole from a fellow prisoner to try and inhale less prion, it doesn’t really help. Each time I touch prion with gloveless hands it seeps into my blood and drains my energy. All I can think of is sleep, closing my eyes, settling my bones and fading into blackness.

But if I don’t collect two ounces of prion flakes a day, I will be whipped. My choice is to be in a permanent half-sedated prion stupor or lashed to within an inch of my life by the king’s evil prison guard.

Sometimes I wonder if death would be a better option. I’m barely alive as it is, this dream-like, or rather nightmare-like existence, is worthless.

And how the king must clap himself on the back, shake his tail in glee at his genius.

Because using Jakarty prisoners—there are eight of us—to mine this potent substance means he only needs one guard.

We are all too weak and defeated to even think of escape.

The only thing on our mind is sleep. From the minute we are woken with deafening bells, to the moment we are permitted to rest for a few hours that is our only desire.

I scrape the hard rock and then poke at the golden seam of prion.

It flakes under my touch and I catch it in a test-tube.

Of course some has been buried under my nails and is now working its evil magic, soaking into my system and creating another wave of heavy tiredness.

The moment one flake wears off I am re-infected.

Yes, that’s what it feels like. As though I am being infected with prion and my body, despite its size and strength, just can’t fight it.

I have no idea what time of day it is. The clock, the weeks, the months, are a blur. I think of the hard sack I will be able to lay on soon. I will be able to give into the fight of staying awake.

I yawn and look to my left. Hi-Nay, a fellow Jakarty, has given in and rests his forehead on the cold damp rock wall. He will get a lashing if the guard finds him like that but he often considers it worth the risk. The pain of the whip will keep him awake for a while at least, so he says.

I continue to fill my test-tube, it’s a quarter full and this gives me a clue as to how long I must continue in this dark fug before I can rest.

After I have separated a few more flakes from the seam in the rock I glance at Hi-Nay again. I am surprised the guard hasn’t spotted him and summon up the strength to turn around and look toward the mine’s elevator.

And that’s when I see it. Am I dreaming? What is happening?

The guard, brute that he is, is lying on the ground, tail limp, eyes closed. And above him are two males. They are not Jakarty, they are too polished, too well dressed. One holds a thick metal bar aloft.

“What the…?” I mutter in the Earth language I have been forced to learn and use. But speaking is difficult; my jaw is heavy and lazy.

I slip the test-tube into my pocket and pull down my kerchief, trying to figure out what is going on. My thoughts are random. Information comes into my brain but takes a while to slot into place.

The two men are rushing toward me now. None of the other prisoners appear to have spotted them.

“We are looking for Yar-Sh.” One grips me by the shoulders. “Do you know which one of you is him?”

I swallow, my tongue thick and my throat tight.

“Tell us!” He shakes me. “Think!”

“Me,” I manage. “I am…Yar-Sh.”

“You are?” He frowns as though deciding whether or not to believe me.

I nod and close my eyes. Removing the kerchief was a mistake. The air is thick with prion.

“We have to get out of here.” The other one, younger, rubs his brow and narrows his eyes. “I can feel the effects of the prion already.”

I am shaken again. It feels as though my brain rattles in my skull and my horns might fall off.

“What is your name?” I am asked.

“Yar-Sh.”

“And who is your brother?”

I hesitate, struggling to find his name in the blur. And then it comes to me, looms in my mind. “Dan-Y.”

“Dan-Y, yes, that’s right.”

“It’s him.”

“Good, let’s go.”

I am half-carried, half-dragged past the guard. He mumbles something. But the mask he usually wears is off and soon the prion will fill his lungs and keep him asleep until someone finds him.

If someone finds him.

My fellow Jakarty prisoners might summon the energy to reap their revenge and kill him.

“Where are we…?” I manage. “Going?”

“We’re getting you out of here.”

Even though I am fuddled I am confused. The disorientation is layering up. These guys are not Jakarty, they are clearly from the Civilized Tundra so why are they helping me? Why are they rescuing me?

“I don’t understand.” We are in the elevator, whizzing upward.

“Your brother sent us,” says the one who shook me. “We will take you to him.”

“You will?” I shove the kerchief into the tattered pocket of my pants. “Why?”

“Because he has something of ours that we want back.”

A realization begins to form. An exchange. A swap. I am part of a bargain.

The elevator doors slide open and I see daylight at the end of the tunnel.