Yara
Year 1378 (Present day)
This was the way she would get what she desired. She had put too much faith in others to make the correct improvised decisions. It was time for her to take direct control.
The historian, Lydee, knew she was being watched. She spent days in her house, leaving only to visit the library and purchase food. At least according to the agent who had been following her. Yara now had reason to doubt what the man said, considering his failure to track her during her visit to the library. How anyone could lose sight of a woman in a library she did not know. The agent had been suitably punished by Yara herself. It was her first act to show the world that she was taking this investigation into her own hands.
And if I run into this man who calls himself Gregorich, he will be the next to witness the efficacy of my methods.
Yara followed the historian out of the library, her face hidden beneath the loose-fitting sunhat which had become so fashionable among wealthy women over the past decade. She had always viewed the style with disgust, a way for useless people to appear as similar without as they did within, but it served a purpose now. With the style trickling down to the masses, she could hide within a large group of people without fear of being detected. This was what her agents lacked; a penchant for thinking beyond the orders they were given. Follow this woman. That did not mean, “Do nothing other than follow her.” She so disliked having to spell out everything for her underlings. Well, no more. She would do it herself.
Yara had not let the woman leave her sight for more than a minute. She knew which books Lydee had viewed on the second floor, and she would return there to ascertain the historian’s rationale for seeking them out after such a prolonged period of isolation in her residence. It was mystifying how arrogant the university’s old professors were. An entire cadre of overpaid, underperforming academics with no sense of how the world truly functioned. They were in fact opposites and anathema to Yara. Her rise to power had not taken a traditional route. It had come from within her, from a strength that others did not possess. She was simply more intelligent, more cunning, and more ruthless than the rest of the world. It therefore stood to reason that she should be above them. It was the same with Oslian. People who could shape the world were obligated to do so.
Within a crowd of people ahead of her, Lydee paused below one of the city’s many murals of devotion to the Divine King, this one depicting him in his younger years. She slowly looked to her sides, and then turned to look back. Through the haze of the midday sun, there was no way she would make out her pursuer, but Yara was pleased that she evidently believed she could. Yara held the advantage, only needing to see the outline of a target she had been following all day. Lydee had to discriminate between dozens of people and determine which of them she had seen before. That she thought she could do so was further proof that Yara was her superior. Intellectuals always believed that their supposed expertise in one area afforded them an edge in all aspects of life. Well, Lydee would soon learn the error of that assumption.
The woman was not returning home, that was clear. Where she was headed, Yara did not know, but the path she took was intriguing. They walked further into derelict districts of the city, places Yara knew well from her past. There was a real risk now that Lydee would be assaulted and nothing would come from Yara’s hard work. But if the woman had chosen this area of the city, it was for a specific reason. Was this new turn of bravery connected to what Lydee had read in the library? Yara believed so. The woman had spent days considering her next move, and now she walked with purpose. This would be a lucrative day for Yara’s investigation.
Lydee’s steps took her to one of the oldest neighborhoods in Oslidor. To the citizens of Oslidor, it was known mockingly as The Fool. Its true title was Goldbend, but as the residents could not have ever hoped to scrape together a speck of gold, the best they could hope for was fool’s gold. Thus, the more appropriate name.
As she walked past street urchins huddled together in the filth of the streets, Yara smiled under her disguise. The trash from the royal district was said to be swept down into The Fool. She hoped it was so. The people here deserved their fate. That was a truth Yara knew personally. For she had been brought up here, and her wretched family had earned all the dirt and sickness in the world.
Her target stopped in front of an abandoned house, its sole doorway containing nothing but a single broken hinge. The sun had fallen low, providing better visibility for the last hour before darkness arrived. The heat and haze of the day were dwindling, and Yara had to stand further back so as not to arouse suspicion. Lydee was now out of sight, but Yara had seen her disappear into that building. She would wait now. It was the perfect time to switch her clothing into a more appropriate attire to match her surroundings. Not a difficult task as there were plenty of people who would willing trade their rags for her expensive cloth. Afterwards, she would simply take her possessions back, regardless of whether the poor woman wanted to acquiesce to her order or not. Best to get rid of the witness anyway. There was nothing to gain by being reckless, and the world would not miss one destitute woman.
Having changed her attire, Yara walked into another abandoned building three houses down from the one Lydee had entered. The residence was cramped, not more than twelve by fifteen feet. It would have once served as a home for an entire family. The door of the one-room dwelling had been torn off, likely in a riot or gang fight of some sort, and splinters of wood covered the first few feet of the floor. A smirk came to Yara’s face as she looked down on that scene of depravity. The people of The Fool were always settling their disputes with violence. It was a sign of lesser intellect to choose raw strength as a first and only option. She knew that firsthand, for her father had made what little money he earned as muscle for a gang. He enjoyed taking his work home with him, as well. Her older sister took the beatings quietly, and then turned them on Yara twofold, as if the younger sister had been spared from her father’s diligent training.
Where are they all now? Ah, yes, I know the answer to that. Perhaps I shall pay them a visit when I am done with this investigation.
Yara found an empty crate whose stains indicated it once carried cactus fruits, one of the few sweet treats a fool could afford. Yara so loved that demonym. It was as accurate as it was cruel, a fitting moniker for the filthy dimwits who passed their times fighting amongst themselves under the delusion that having rank over other undesirables was a position to be envied.
I would have Oslian burn this whole neighborhood to ashes if I could be sure the flames would not spread to adjacent districts. Though if it occurred by accident…
Yara had plenty of time to play with her thoughts as Lydee did not emerge for over three hours. When she did, she looked around and, frightened by where she found herself after dark, she hurried back the way she had entered the neighborhood. This time Yara did not follow; she knew the woman was returning home. Instead, Yara waited until Lydee was out of sight before strolling toward the building her target had just left. Yara walked without fear of the fools and their knives. As always when she left the palace, she wore chainmail under her clothes and carried with her a tonic for boosting energy and one for increasing strength. Of course, she also carried several knives of her own, each blade coated in deadly poison.
I believe I will have an opportunity to use these blades tonight. That would be lovely. I have worked long hours today and I need some entertainment.
She struck her flint tinder kit and lit a street lamp that had likely not been used in decades. The glass was broken, but there was still some oil in the bottom, enough for a few minutes of light. Upon entering the building, she saw that it was much more expansive than the residence in which she had been waiting. Still a single room, it was easily as large as an entertaining room in a decent house. There were no doors or signs that the room led anywhere. Yara looked down on the floor and followed the footprints outlined in the dust. They led to the back of the room and an uneven floor plank. Hidden. How interesting.
She lifted the plank quietly, then reaching into the space in the floor, put her hands under the neighboring planks and lifted them as well until she had a space she could fit through. The light from her lamp was quickly diminishing, but a last look down showed her she had no more than a three-foot drop. Holding the lamp above her, she jumped down into the hole.
She had to get down on her hands and knees to move. A single opening led off into the darkness. Yara followed it. It became difficult to hold the lamp as she crawled, but she did her best, not knowing how long her journey would be. After having traveled perhaps thirty yards, she saw light ahead of her, and just in time. When her lamp went out, she left it in the sandy dirt as she crawled on.
There was light up ahead now, as well as a faint scratching noise. Yara reached the end of the tunnel to see that the opening led into a small room where a man sat at a desk. An oil lamp hung from the ceiling above him, providing the only light. Now who do we have here? The professor knew he would be in this precise location, a place he took pains to hide. This is why I must be the one who does the important tasks.
The royal councilor crawled out of the tunnel and looked up at the man who had turned to look at her. He was of advanced age, heavy set and bald, with a grey beard and a flushed face which spoke of too many years of late nights in the taverns. Knowing her attire hid her true status, Yara simply stood up and brushed herself off.
“Good evening,” the man said. “And who are you?”
Yara waited a moment before responding, anticipating the delightful fear in the man’s eyes when she gave her answer. It was going to be a night to remember, and she wanted everything to be just perfect.
“I am the Grand Advisor to Oslian Vinredor, the Divine King of Vinredor.”
The old man’s reaction was even more delicious than she had hoped. His eyes widened uncontrollably before he glanced back at the tunnel behind him which led out into the darkness, attempting ineffectively to conceal this action. Looking back at Yara, the man breathed out slowly from his mouth, while his hands moved nervously at his sides. He then looked down at the paper he had been writing on. His eyes then darted back to Yara, his face now blank.
Hoping I did not notice where your eyes wandered. You wish to hide what you were writing, as well as your intense desire to flee. Though I suspect you would already have run if you believed you could get away. It pays to be more fit, old man.
“I followed your friend. She led me here,” Yara said, fishing to see what response the man would give and whether he would reveal information about who he was before she began her interrogation.
The man said nothing. He continued staring at her, though Yara could see his mind was active, scheming. He had been hiding underground, and he did not wish for the information he was writing to be seen. An old man, he had likely been living this life for years. Yara would get nowhere with polite questioning. It would have to be done through… alternative methods.
Excellent.
She put one hand behind her back and withdrew a knife, the blade covered in a protective wax slip. She made a show of removing the slip and examining the tip of the blade.
“Do you know what I have here?”
No response.
“As Grand Advisor, I have access to tools of which most are ignorant. This knife is finely crafted, but I speak instead of the poison which covers it. The Royal Herbalist is extraordinarily skilled and diligent. One of her passions over the years has been tonics which assault the human body. They are quite useful for getting information. I do not recall the name of this one, as there are so many, but I do remember I was enamored with its effects. It causes a temporary paralysis to the limbs. Good for when you need to keep someone from squirming.”
She reached behind her back with her other hand and presented a second knife, unwrapping it in identical fashion to the first weapon. “This tonic, I remember well. The Royal Herbalist refers to it as a fire ant tonic. I’m sure you can guess why, but I enjoy explaining it, which I have done many times. Its name is derived from the burning sensation it causes throughout the body. One has to be careful not to use too much of the tonic, for it can prove fatal. Alas, I am forgetful again on one point. I do not recall how much of the tonic I applied to this blade. I have had reason to apply the tonics so many times that my mind has mixed them all together. It will be interesting to see what happens. Now, are you going to cooperate?”
The man nodded.
“I do not believe you.”
She threw the first knife at the man. It lodged in his shoulder. As he reached to remove it, his arms fell loosely to his sides and his legs went out from under him. Yara walked over to him and looked down. His eyes were filled with terror.
“Remember, this only incapacitates the extremities. You can still speak. And that is critical, for your life may depend on the answers you give, or at least, how forthcoming you are. First question- what is your name?”
The man moved his mouth, as if testing to see if it did indeed function. Then he spoke in a low voice Yara could barely discern.
“You’ll have to speak up. I cannot hear you.”
Again the man spoke too softly for her to hear.
Yara slammed her foot down against the man’s left calf. He squealed out in pain as his eyes welled up with tears.
“That I heard. It’s a wonderful concoction, isn’t it? Paralyses the limbs yet does not dull the sensation of pain. Tell me your name.”
“Marshaw.”
“Full name.”
“Marshaw Alent.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Writing.”
Yara stomped on the man’s other leg.
“Writing a letter to a friend.”
“This is taking too long. I will read it myself.”
Yara lifted the paper up to the oil lamp. It was addressed to someone referred to only as P. The contents of the letter made Yara’s eyebrows raise. As she finished it, she turned around with gusto.
“This is even better than I had hoped! You are a follower of The Path. While I think your belief in the fulfillment of a prophecy in the coming days is quite silly, I am pleased to have access to your little hideaway here. The Divine King will be concerned to learn about your activity, but in the long run, he will be happy I have found you.”
Yara had begun pacing the room for dramatic effect. She was so glad the night had ended with excitement.
“Why did the professor come to you?”
“She is not part of my organization.”
“That was not my question. What did she want from you?”
The man adverted his gaze.
“If you are wondering how long the tonic will affect you, it will be more than long enough for the fire ants.”
The man had closed his eyes. When he opened them, Yara saw the guilt he felt. It was euphoric.
“She asked about an old friend of mine. She wanted to know where he was.”
“Oh? And this man’s name?”
“Woller.”
The night of my dreams.
Yara leaned down until she was less than a finger’s length away from the man’s face. Sweat was running from his forehead in unceasing rivers. Yara tilted her head in consideration. “What did you tell her?”
“I don’t know where he is.”
Honest? Partially.
“Why did she come to you?”
Marshaw Alent would not meet her eyes, blinking in a futile attempt to block the streams of sweat.
Yara pulled the knife out of the man’s shoulder and blood ran out as he yelped. She waited for him to cease his pathetic mewling before she asked again, “Why did she come to you?”
“Woller and I were friends,” Marshaw replied through gritted teeth.
Yara pressed the tip of the knife blade against Marshaw’s cheek. “What did you tell her. Say it precisely as you said it to her. I will know if you are lying.”
The man breathed out deeply. Yara could see he was holding back tears. She slowly pushed the knife tip into his skin as he whimpered.
“Tell me,” she whispered into his ear.
“I told her… he had asked me about The Haven of Light.”
Yara turned the knife without applying more pressure.
“He asked where it was! I told him it was up north, in the Ebanigan tundra.”
“Where exactly?”
“I do not know. I’ve never been there.”
“How will she find it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What advice did you give her?”
The man shook his head, an action Yara took as involuntary. She had uncovered much, but she needed the last drop of information or she would lose sight of her target. Yara pulled her knife back. “If this blade is not doing its job, I will go to my next option.”
Marshaw’s eyes were sealed shut. He cried in quiet, heaving motions punctuated by a hacking cough. Yara stood up. “This is going to be much worse, but you are not cooperating.”
As she reached into her pocket for the second blade, Marshaw screamed out, “I told her there are clues in Vision! That is how the others found The Haven!”
Yara paused with her hand in her pocket. “Vision?”
“The second holy book.”
“I see. What else did you tell her about that book?”
“Nothing! She doesn’t need to be told. And I’ve never been to The Haven, I swear it.”
“Why was Woller running to this place?”
“I don’t know. He did not tell me.”
Honest answers. Only took a little persuading. Good and delightful. I have all I need.
“That is all. I must be taking my leave. The poison will wear off in a few hours.”
As a reply, Marshaw simply wept.
Yara looked down at the pathetic creature. She would ask him more questions about his organization if she had the time. Catching Lydee before she fled the city was her priority however.
“I will do you the favor of keeping the fire ants for another person. Perhaps someone less forthcoming with the truth.”
With that, Yara sheathed her blades and grabbed the oil lamp before ducking back into the tunnel from which she had entered.
Once back on the streets of The Fool, she quickly made her way to the nearest guard post. After informing the guards of where to find the traitor Marshaw Alent, she made haste to Lydee’s residence.
I would have liked to see that old man squirm some more, but I cannot be sure he would survive, and Oslian will want to have him interrogated. Fun for someone else then. I’m in a generous mood.
The fire ants can wait for Lydee. They are better suited for someone who does not tell the truth.
Yara is such a strong character—pure evil.