Yanar by Ellie Smith
Chapter 3
Yanar opened her eyes and saw nothing but blackness. She felt her head spin and slammed her eyes shut in hopes of steadying her thoughts. Where was she? The coach. Rain. Yes, that was it. The wind and rain had evidently made the coach driver lose control and they had went tumbling downward. Yanar frowned. Downward to where? She tried to move and realized she was still clinging to the footrest bar. Yanar listened but could hear nothing but what sounded like heavy rain coming from somewhere beyond the coverlet that was still wrapped around her. But she wasn't even sure of that, the sound was so faint. There was no roar, no sound of horse's hooves, no cries as there had been before. Did she dare peer out from under the coverlet? Yanar decided she must. She had already determined that the coach was laying on its side. And, if it had fallen there was a chance it could fall again. If she was at all able, she had to get out before it did. With a deep breath, Yanar thrust back the coverlet and looked around the rain-drenched, mud-caked interior of the once lavish coach. Mimina was nowhere in sight. The coach door was open and, after freeing herself from the confines of the mud-caked coverlet, Yanar hoisted herself up and peered out the opening that had once been covered by a door. What she saw made Yanar want to cry out in horror.
The coach was in the middle of a sloping hillside, completely surrounded by what looked like a muddy battlefield. The thick, oozing mud was littered with bodies of horses and bodies of soldiers. Some were buried head first, others were almost totally covered except for an extended arm or leg and still others were laying on top of the mud in twisted and broken positions. When she felt the coach shift slightly Yanar knew she must get out quickly. She pulled herself up then perched on the side of the coach before easing herself down to the soft, rain-slicked mud.
When she stepped on the mud Yanar sank into the slimy goo almost to her knees. She grimaced then carefully inched her way around the coach, holding on to anything she could to keep her footing. When she felt the coach slip again Yanar decided her best bet was to try to get back up to the road. She wondered if she should look for survivors but, after examining several of the bloody and half-buried soldiers’ bodies, decided it would be futile. There was very little chance that any of them had survived. Yanar continued her journey up the hillside, finding that if she moved on her hands and knees, the way was easier and she did not sink into the gooey mud as easily.
Slowly, Yanar worked her way upward, stopping at each soldier she found in hopes of finding someone alive. When Yanar heard a creaking behind her, she looked over her shoulder to see the coach slide down the hill then begin a tumbling spiral before it disappeared into a deep ravine. She sighed softly. If she had not gotten out when she had, she would be as unlucky as the soldiers had been. Yanar sighed softly then began her slow trek again. Each time she passed another body Yanar was not sure if she wanted to cry or be sick. A distant clap of thunder and Yanar’s gaze jetted to the sky to see more descending black clouds. There was no time for either one. She had to get to safety before the hillside shifted again. She had to hurry! Yanar quickened her pace as much as she could and reached the top of the hill just as the heavy rain started again. She crawled to a grassy area she thought would be safe then collapsed onto it. She laid there and allowed the warm rain to wash the mud from her aching body. It was a long time before Yanar eased to a sitting position and looked down at the muddy hillside and the dead horses and soldiers there. How could this have happened? How could so many people have died so unnecessarily? Yanar said a prayer for the soldiers and the horses then pushed herself to her feet and looked along the road. Should she attempt to get to that small village Vintar had mentioned? A sharp flash of lightning and a loud crack of thunder made her decision easier. No. She must find shelter, fast. Yanar brushed her wet hair out of her eyes then looked around the area. Her gaze stopped on some nearby rock-encrusted hills. If she could find a cave there she could get out of the storm until it passed. By then she might have a better idea of what to do. After a quick glance at the black clouds that were growing closer with each passing second Yanar hurried toward the hills.
It was difficult going on the slippery grass but Yanar managed to keep her footing and stay away from the mud. As she neared the hills Yanar saw a large rock formation and crossed mental fingers a cave was nearby. The thunder was growing increasingly louder and, with each crack of thunder, the muddy earth trembled beneath her feet. As she neared the hills, Yanar scanned the rocks and found an opening at their base. A cave. Was it large enough for her to take refuge in? It had to be! When another flash of lightning was followed immediately by a horrendous clap of thunder Yanar gasped then broke into a dead run, reaching the small cave entrance just as the storm raged down around her.
Inside the cave, Yanar leaned against the rock wall and looked out at the torrential rain. She should be safe here. Her gaze darted around the entrance of the cave. The cave was small, barely six feet wide. But it was plenty large enough to shelter her from the raging storm. Yanar huddled against the jagged rock wall, shivering when a blowing gust of wind whipped around the corner. As the lightning flashed wickedly, Yanar looked into the depths of the cave, using the flashes to see what might lie in the bowels of the opening. She saw several twigs and sticks and, using the lightning flashes to see, Yanar sought them out then began arranging them in a neat pile in a small alcove near the entrance. If the twigs were dry enough, perhaps she could build a fire. She dropped to the dirt beside the pile and began rubbing two sticks together as one of her teachers had taught her. As the first trickle of smoke floated up from the sticks, Yanar silently thanked Benzant for teaching her how to build a fire without the use of modern means. "You will most likely never have a use for something like this," he had told her. "But the king wished me to teach you all I know. This is something I know." They had spent the entire day collecting various sizes of twigs and small sticks and practiced building fires and lighting them. By the end of the day Yanar had become quite the expert on fire making. As they had sat watching the crackling fire Yanar had asked the aged, silver-haired man questions about his adventures and he had told her stories of his youth.
As the small fire grew Yanar recalled some of those stories and was glad she had listened so intently. It might be possible that she could use some of the things she had learned from Benzant who has spent many years traveling the kingdom and living completely off the land. She stacked twigs against the leaves and, within minutes, had a cozy fire in front of her that lit the inside of the cave with glowing warmth. She huddled close to the fire, allowing the warmth to take away her wet chills. But Yanar knew it would not be enough. Her clothes, what was left of them, were soaked. No, the only way she was going to be able to get completely dry was to take her wet clothes off. She removed her outer garments, hung them on a sturdy tree branch just outside the cave entrance, then nestled close to the fire, her cotton underskirt hugging her lithe body tightly. She watched the storm from her safe haven, watched more of the distant hillside slide down into what appeared to be an almost bottomless ravine. She said a prayer for the soldiers, their horses and Mimina, and asked the Gods to watch over them.
It was almost three hours later when the rains slowed to a dreary drizzle. Yanar, now warm and dry, checked her dress to find the mud had been washed away. She brought the wet garment into the cave and draped it on the rocks near the fire. She laid more sticks on the fire then settled back against the wall and watched the departing storm. How would she get back to the castle? Certainly she could not walk. Yanar recalled what Mimina had said and realized they were closer to the ancestral castle. Her only choice was to try to reach the ancestral castle. Once there, she could send one of the guards back with a message of the horrendous accident. Yanar leaned back against the rocks and watched the last remnants of the storm disappear in the distance as she planned her new journey. As the plan formulated in her thoughts Yanar realized she could not travel as the King’s daughter. Yanar knew very little about this strange world she had been t