'When I was ten,' she said finally, 'I was separated from my people and spent more than a year shackled to her under the floorboards of a house. We were the slaves of a rich merchant who bought and sold people as if they were grain or trinkets. By day we worked in the mines, and at night we were returned to him. But she kept me safe. 'Little sister of the light earth,' she called me. It was as if goddess had sent her to protect me. At night she taught me her language and I taught her mine. Her skin was strangely pale, like these people, and so were her eyes. It's why they are fascinated by the red-gold of your hair, Finnikin.
'She told me about many of the Yut traditions. That when one died away from Yutlind Sud, the person's name was to be taken back to the kingdom by the last person to hear the deceased's voice. To be shouted out for the ghosts to capture in their mouths and blow back into the land. Their spirit would never truly rest until that happened. We knew we would never see our homes again, so the Yut girl decided that if we could not plan for life, we would plan for death.'
In the silence he heard her breath catch.
'One day Majorontai placed a flower in my hand. It was so rare to see something of beauty in that place that it brought a tear to my eye. But it was a highly poisonous plant, procured by one of the household guards in exchange for things she would not discuss with me. 'Tonight we see our kingdoms, little sister,' she said. 'Promise me you will put it to use this night, for I cannot leave you behind in such a place.
'And last night you returned her name to her kingdom for the ghosts to capture?' he asked.
She nodded, and they fell silent for a while.
'I'm relieved that you didn't honor your promise to take the poison,' he said quietly, 'but did you ever feel guilty?'
'I have no guilt to reckon with,' she said, and he could hear the steel in her voice. 'I honored my promise. Oh, I made sure the poison was taken, Finnikin. By someone who deserved it.'
Chapter 14
When Trevanion shook Finnikin awake, it was morning and the spirit warriors were gone, all except one.
'When did they go?' he croaked, holding a hand to his eyes to block out the blinding sunlight.
'Two days ago.'
'And you look no better for it,' Trevanion said. 'But we need to move on.'
Finnikin stumbled to his feet, but the quick movement caused a shooting pain through his side and then Evanjalin was there holding out a hand to him. Although he felt weak, he ignored the gesture, watching as her hand dropped to her side.
'It's best you eat something, Finnikin,' Sir Topher said, filling Froi's pack with berries and salted fish.
Finnikin caught the spirit warrior staring at him. 'Are we his prisoners?' he said.
'You'll have to ask Evanjalin.'
But he could not look at her. In the harsh light of day he had seen the strain on her face and the way exhaustion had bruised her eyes. All from risking her life for him.
'The spirit warrior stays with us as far as the first sentinel beyond the grasslands,' she said quietly. 'As our guide.' She walked over to where Froi was lazing against a tree, eating berries from one of the packs at his feet.
Trevanion handed Finnikin a bowl of cold stew, and he wolfed it down hungrily, watching as his father gathered up his pack. 'We are three days' walk from the first rock village. The guide will take us through the grasslands rather than up the river. Too many rebel tribes to contend with otherwise.'
Three days' walk from Trevanion's men. Finnikin wondered how he would feel if he were only days away from seeing Balthazar or Lucian. Most times he couldn't remember what his friends looked like, but he heard their voices now more than ever. Snatches of their conversations haunted his sleep.
He tried to take his pack from his father, who refused to hand it over. 'I can carry it,' Finnikin argued.
Trevanion sighed. 'She was right about the stubbornness of one whose blood is a mix from the River and the Rock.'
Finnikin glanced over to where Evanjalin was reprimanding Froi by the tree. 'No Mont has the right to accuse anyone of bullheadedness.'
They made their way out of the jungle, sweat causing their clothes to cling to their bodies in the humidity. Finnikin could hear the rasping breath of Sir Topher behind him. Tiny insects mingled with the perspiration pouring down Finnikin's face as he tried to keep up with their guide, a young man covered in decorations made from human teeth. The spirit warrior had promised them they would reach the Yut leader's rock village by the next afternoon.
'The leader of Yutlind Sud, you say?' Sir Topher asked, stopping to catch his breath.
'I believe we are being taken to the southern king's troglodyte fort,' Evanjalin explained, tipping water from her flask into her hands and patting Sir Topher's face. She had not spoken to Finnikin since his rejection that morning. Each time he looked at her, he could only see her standing in the clearing at the mercy of the spirit warriors. Begging for his life.
'He says there are only four rock villages in Yutlind Sud. All are fighting posts. The captain's men could be working for the south's cause,' she continued.
'Excellent idea to involve ourselves in a ten-thousand-year-old war that makes no sense even to those fighting it,' Trevanion muttered.
Their exit from the thick vegetation provided little relief. Beyond the jungle the vast expanse of grassland, which would take them to the center of Yutlind Sud, was empty of any trees or shade. Finnikin remembered little of the journey except for the blinding heat and the fever that came and went and came again, until he feared that whatever infection had crawled inside him would never leave.
Late in the afternoon they stopped at a village of nomads. Finnikin couldn't help but think how different this tent city was from those built by the Lumateran exiles. Perfectly rounded canvases dyed the colors of the rainbow were scattered across the grassland. Women sat sewing pieces of horsehide together and cast shy glances at their visitors.
Trevanion walked toward the men of the village, who circled the settlement on horseback. Their horses were fine specimens, powerful and beautiful. Trevanion's admiration was clear, and after a moment, one of the patriarchs issued an order to a younger man, who dismounted and handed Trevanion the reins. The patriarch hit the flanks of his horse, and it took off at great speed, with Trevanion's mount close behind.
In the evening, they were fed yak milk and maize cake. As they ate, a young girl with a bronzed face and eyes the color of honey cooed at the sunburn appearing on Finnikin's skin. She touched his hair, running it between her fingers, speaking to him in the guttural language of the southern Yuts.
'What is she saying?' he asked Evanjalin.
'That real men don't have hair your color,' she said, walking toward Froi. She snatched a cake out of the thief's hand and gave it back to Sir Topher.
When Trevanion returned, he helped Finnikin to his feet. 'They have allowed us the use of one tent, Finn. It's no use traveling farther if you are still weak and in pain.'
Finnikin did not argue. It was a relief to lie on a woven mat out of the glare of the sun. The tent was tiny, and when Sir Topher and his father entered, they were forced to crouch down beside him.
'Try to get some sleep,' Trevanion said, checking the cloth around Finnikin's wound. 'We'll see what we can do for the pain. It's the fever that weakens you.'
'Evanjalin will know what to do,' Finnikin said in a low voice.
'She is resting, but was kind enough to make up this paste for your aches and pains,' Sir Topher said cheerfully, crouching beside him. 'Can you sit up?'
Finnikin found it impossible to rest, with the steady flow of visitors to his tent. If it wasn't his father or Sir Topher, it was their guide, the spirit warrior, who insisted on speaking to Finnikin in a language he could not
