Page 4 of Yasmin and the Yeti
Two days later,they came for her.
She was curled in a corner of her cell, just as she had been since Kra’caow was killed, locked in solitary misery. When the bars opened, a single guard entered. He didn’t even bother with cuffs. He just grabbed her by the wrist, his grip like a vise, and hauled her to her feet.
She’d thought she was too numb to be afraid, but a wave of terror washed over her as he yanked her out of the cell. She tried to fight but even though he wasn’t much taller than her, he was far stronger. He snapped something at her and her stomach roiled as she caught the word for captain. She was under no illusions about what he intended to do to her. She desperately tried to escape the guard’s grip but it was useless.
He dragged her out of the cell block and down several corridors before entering a massive cargo hold. The ceiling soared at least thirty feet above them, crisscrossed with catwalks and loading mechanisms. Massive containers were stacked in neat rows, secured with metal tethers. Smaller containers were arranged on shelves, held in place by a series of nets.
They were halfway across the hold when the ship lurched violently to one side. The lights flickered and died as an alarm began to wail, high-pitched and urgent. The guard tightened his grip on her arm, cursing in his own language, but another lurch tore her out of his grasp. The entire room began to spin, and she was sent tumbling through the darkness. She collided with one of the heavy cargo nets and grabbed onto it for dear life as the room continued to spin.
A sudden, jarring impact threw her free from the net. She hit the far wall hard, knocking the breath out of her. By the time she could breathe again, she realized that the ship had come to a halt. She could still hear the distant sound of explosions, and a bitter cold was already seeping into the compartment. She scrambled to her feet, her body aching from the impact. The guard who had taken her from her cell lay nearby. His head was at an awkward angle, and his eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. He was clearly dead.
Shaking, she stood and looked around. The crash had torn a huge hole in one wall, but twisted metal blocked the opening. She spotted a smaller door on the far wall and began to work her way towards it. Several of the ties holding the larger cargo containers had snapped, sending them crashing against the walls, and one of the heavy nets had come loose. She had to pick her way carefully through the chaos to reach the other side.
The small door was sealed shut, with no obvious handle. She found a square panel on the wall next to it and cautiously poked it with her finger.
Nothing happened.
She tried again, this time pressing her whole hand flat against the panel. It glowed faintly, then with a hiss, the door slid sideways into the wall.
Beyond it was a small chamber with lockers lining one wall and another door at the far end. She crossed to the exterior door and peered through the small viewport. All she could see was white. It looked like the ship had crashed near the top of a small hill, with the land sloping down into a valley before rising again towards a high mountain range. Everything was covered with a thick layer of snow, and she couldn’t see any sign of civilization—no lights, no buildings. Nothing.
Her chances of surviving in this frozen wasteland were slim. But it was better than facing the captain’s cold eyes and the fate they had planned for her.
She started searching through the lockers. She found a pair of heavy boots that were far too big for her but after she slipped them on, the buckles tightened automatically, gripping her calves. Most of the other lockers contained tools she didn’t recognize but she found a cloak in the last locker. The silvery material was surprisingly thin, but it was long, reaching her ankles, and had a deep hood.
She wrapped the cloak around her shoulders, then grabbed a strange metal tool from one of the other lockers. It spiraled to a point at one end and had a circular handle at the other. Even though she didn’t know what it was for, it felt heavy and solid in her hand. She had no illusions about her ability to fight, but at least it could cause some damage.
Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand on the control panel next to the exterior door. For a horrifying moment, nothing happened. Then, with a loud creak, the door shivered in itsframe and slid sideways, jamming halfway open but leaving enough space for her to slip through.
She looked out at the frozen landscape and the flakes of snow drifting slowly through the air.
“This is my choice, Kra’caow,” she whispered, and stepped through the opening.
CHAPTER THREE
The skarn’s tracks were fresh—no more than an hour old. Rhaal moved like a ghost across the pristine white landscape as he followed the tracks. The wind carried the animal’s musk to him in teasing bursts, and his nostrils flared as he processed the information—male, young, healthy, and unaware it was being hunted.
Perfect prey.
He adjusted his course slightly, angling towards where the ridge dropped away into a narrow valley. The skarn would be stalking the pikka that gathered there at dusk. If he timed it right, he could intercept the predator before it reached its own hunting grounds.
His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since the previous day, and even then, it had been only dried meat from his stores. Fresh meat would be welcome, the warm blood a comfort against the bitter cold that had descended as a prelude to the coming storm.
The sky above was heavy with clouds, the light flat and gray. He could smell the storm on the wind, taste the ice crystals formingin the air. Two, maybe three hours before it hit. Plenty of time to make his kill and return to his?—
The world exploded.
The sky tore open with a sound like the mountains themselves splitting apart. A blinding flash of light seared across the clouds, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. The shockwave hit a moment later, sending a tremor through the snow beneath his feet.
He dropped into a crouch, digging the claws on one hand into the snow for stability, reaching instinctively for the bone knife at his belt with the other. His lips pulled back from his fangs in a silent snarl as he watched the burning object carve a path through the sky, trailing black smoke and debris.
It disappeared behind the eastern ridge with a final, thunderous impact that sent snow cascading down the mountainside in a miniature avalanche.
The skarn forgotten, he rose to his full height, scenting the wind. The air had changed, filled with an acrid, chemical stench that made his nose burn and roused his territorial instincts. It was the smell of offworld technology—of fuel and scorched metal and artificial materials never meant to exist in his isolated wilderness.
What was the ship doing here? Offworld ships were only allowed to land at Port Eyeja. Was the explosion simply a mechanical malfunction or the sign of something worse?
For a long moment, he stood motionless, torn between the instinct to retreat deeper into his territory and the need to investigate the threat. Finally, he growled and headed towards the crash site. Better to know what had invaded his domain than to wait for it to find him.
