Page 161 of Earthbound

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.’