Page 27 of Betrothed to the Yeti

I gasp as I step through the door. Thin, pale faces, smudged with grime, gape at me. They eye my lambs hungrily. Long, white-speckled tongues swipe over their cracked lips. Were my limbs that thin when Pabu complained about their size? I squeeze my elbow to gauge whether they bulge as much as these people’s joints. A row of skeletal people sits along the wall from end to end. Which ones are alive? I can’t tell.

Goats run free with their shriveled udders and protruding ribs on display. My lambs bleat and nuzzle into my skirt folds at the smell of disease. The mud huts where my family lived stand within the ‘low wall’ but look deserted.

“They keep bodies of loved ones in that hut until I can perform last rites. I have many duties across all four villages, so sometimes the dead sit for days,” the Seer whispers. She’s hanging on my arm, but I’m grateful for the reminder of my life outside this dismal place.

“This isn’t right,” I declare when a small child, no more than two years old, approaches to pet the lambs.

I bet this child doesn’t know the fluffy coat of my lambs is how they are supposed to look. My nod of encouragement does nothing to dim the fear in their eyes. I crouch to their level and lead the largest lamb between us. My fingers burrow within the ivory curls while my chin bobs at the child. Tiny, bony fingers join mine. The answering mew sounds like a lamb, but comes from the human kid.

“You can’t have him. He’s not for sale,” scolds a woman over my head. Her wrinkled hand topped with blackened nails snatches the arm of the child. The kid wails as he’s hauled behind the woman’s tattered skirt.

“I don’t buy people,” I say, with anger building in my chest. My fury pushes me to stand taller than I ever had in Alpha. While I wear clean clothes on my fattened limbs, I grew up in the first hut. Diseased or healthy, these are my people.

“Jaya,” the woman whispers as she recognizes me. “We assumed you were dead.”

“Less so than you,” I snap. “Who did this to our neighborhood?”

“You should see for yourself,” answers the Seer, which only adds kindling to my burning anger. “I have hope that you will fix Alpha or talk Pabu into making an appearance. Fear rules Alpha, so if you talk Pabu into scaring the Leaders…maybe they will listen to my advice.”

My response is a glass-cutting glare.

There is no way I’m talking Pabu into acting beastly inside Alpha. His love of humans balances his darkness, and I won’t risk his civility to scare the Leaders. The Elders remember plagues from Earth and the early Enceladus settlers. Shouldn’t the threat of disease and death be enough to scare the Leaders?

“Please take me to Nawang and Dronma,” I say to the Seer with a curt nod. There is nothing I can do—except pray a geyser swallows this place—from this side of the wall. Perhaps after I drop off the lambs and inquire about Nima, I will venture beyond the ornate wall and talk to the Leaders myself. My heartstrings tie themselves into knots over the plight of my neighbors, but where were they when I starved? Rubbing my face in it. Do I have darkness in me because I’d like to choose who I save and who rots?

I shake the evil thoughts out of my head. Pabu would be disappointed if I sink so low.

They built the wall to contain the stench. I’d bet my life on it. Because once we are on the main square, the smell dissipates. The brothel is quiet. The large and imposing building holds Nima and her baby. Do I dare to break them out? Should I try to talk to Nima so she can gather baby supplies while I drop off the lambs? As my thoughts wander, I absently pull the lamb’s lead toward Nima’s prison. What if I use the lambs as a diversion, break out Nima and her baby, and all three of us flee to Pabu?

“The butcher is this way,” the Seer says with another tug to my elbow.

“Months ago, the men of the ‘lower wall’ families were the miners and hunters outside the wall who came home with goods to trade each night. The women were shopkeepers, homemakers, and in some cases, prostitutes. Why is no one working? Why are they content to sit and starve?”

“The hunters and miners remained outside the walls of Alpha until their compound was attacked by tigers—tigers hunting together like a wolfpack! Pabu did his best, but asked me to coordinate giving the wounded to Delta, the healthy to Gamma, and the dead their last rites—”

“When was this?”

“A few weeks ago,” she says with a shake of her long, gray hair.

So, after Pabu imprinted on me and saw the worst of Alpha. He would see moving the men to happier villages as what’s best for them. Of course, he wouldn’t think twice about separating the families. Do Yetis live in clans or families? No matter, he hasn’t interacted with his kin in hundreds of years. Would he understand the family unit? Was he fully grown when he was shunned? It doesn’t feel right to sift through his memories to answer my questions. I can’t risk waking his darkness or scaring him with my sour thoughts.

The ‘lower wall’ slums are partially his fault. In trying to save the hunters and miners from Alpha’s evil, he starved their dependents. Or are their slow deaths my fault for melding minds with Pabu? Through our link, I know his darkness would relish the chance to destroy Alpha but in doing so, Pabu’s self-control would be pushed to his limit. My memories are just the motivation Pabu requires to give into his baser self.

The moment of truth…I must do what’s right…but right by who?

Lost in thought, I allow the Seer to pull me to Nawang’s shop and attached family home. The mud building is four times the size of our hut, with one large square window out the front. Old habits die hard, so I approach the window like when I begged for food. While technically I have a higher status than Nawang, I can’t bring myself to enter the building like a customer. Through the window, Dronma fusses with dumplings on the counter.

“Hi Dronma,” I call with a super-speed wave at chin level. I bounce on the balls of my feet with excitement, which startles the lambs into bleating and shuffling around me.

“Go away,” she whispers tersely before approaching the window. She leans over the sash, and I wrap my arms around her neck. The big, squeezy hug is one-sided as is the kiss I plant on her warm cheek. “Cut it out before someone sees you,” she whispers into my ear. Her hands and arms are as meaty as mine, but my joy at her recovery is short-lived.

Her hands on my chest push me onto my backside in the snow. She leans further to look both ways. “How did you get into this part of the village? You belong behind the ‘lower wall,’” she sneers.

“Dronma, we are sisters. I brought lambs—”

“We don’t want your vermin—the lambs or you.”

“You can’t talk to the wife of the Protector God that way,” scolds the Seer.

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