Excerpt
Cursebound
Chapter 1YeeranYeeran wasn’t alone in the forest. Though she saw nothing and no one, she felt her skin prickle like she was being watched.
It had been five days since Yeeran and Pila had left Mosima. Five days since she’d learned of the fae’s involvement with Crescent district.
And as each day passes more and more of my tribe die by their hand. The thought was for her alone, but Pila answered her.
Furi said they were recalling the fae soldiers from Crescent. What if we’re too late? Her obeah didn’t reply and Yeeran was glad of it because she could no longer think about the death that was sure to meet her in Waning.
They pushed further into the forest, Yeeran’s feeling of unease increasing.
Though the journey across the Wasted Marshes had been arduous, she’d been thankful that she hadn’t crossed paths with anyone else. Yet.
Pila, can you sense anyone nearby? Pila raised her snout to the lilac sky and sniffed. I don’t smell anything.
To Yeeran the air smelled like moss and swamp water but she knew Pila’s nose could detect far more than hers.
Are you sure? Yeeran asked. I feel like someone is watching us.
Only the animals and plants, Pila confirmed.
The Wasted Marshes was a harsh landscape with as many poisonous plants as there were animals. The soil was boggy and often turned into quicksand beneath your feet before you knew it.
They entered a clearing where the earth was more solid. Circled by cypress and eucalyptus trees, it would provide some element of shelter from the weather. And with the sky darkening around them it was sure to rain come sunset. A perfect place to camp.
Yeeran slipped from Pila’s back and looked around. Despite Pila’s assurance, she still felt unsettled.
There’d been rumours of a tribe of violent nomadic elves, but those stories were unsubstantiated, and had likely just been invented to scare away skin traders who tried to operate in these lawless lands.
What are skin traders? Pila asked.
You know how obeah skin is coveted in the Elven Lands for its magic? Pila shivered beside her.
Yes. Dark skin like mine can be passed as obeah leather to the unsuspecting. It’s easier to catch an elf than an obeah. Pila whined.
I like your skin. Yeeran patted Pila’s fur.
Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone hurt me. Despite her lingering concerns, Yeeran knew they wouldn’t find a better place to rest. She removed her pack and began to lay down her bedroll.
A sudden breeze swirled around the trees and ruffled the eucalyptus and cypress leaves. Yeeran closed her eyes and breathed in the scent, trying to calm her nerves.
Pila pinned her ears back and craned her neck upwards.
What is it? Yeeran asked.
I thought I smelled something, but it’s gone. Any serenity that Yeeran had conjured fled in that moment.
She dipped into a low crouch and swung her drum in front of her. Her fingers danced along the surface as she scanned the trees.
Caw-waw, caw-waw, caw-waw.
The bird’s call rang out eerily in the clearing. Yeeran didn’t recognise it and she knew it must be a signal from one elf to another.
Hunters. It was the only explanation. Why else would a group of elves travel to the border of the Wasted Marshes? The forests in the Elven Lands had become sparse with obeah due to over-hunting and so hunters were forced to travel further afield for their prey.
Pila shifted her paws with nervous energy. Yeeran reached over and scratched the gap between Pila’s horns.
No one will hurt us, she said.
Because what the elves didn’t know was that the obeah were linked to a fae’s soul—you kill an obeah and the fae dies too. To become faebound was a condition unique to fae. That was until Yeeran and Pila bonded and she became the first elf with fae magic.
Caw-waw, caw-waw, caw-waw. The sound was getting louder, Yeeran was sure of it.
You need to run, Pila, Yeeran said.
Pila huffed out her nose.
I’m not leaving you. We’re more agile apart. If they see me, there’s nothing they will do. If they see you, they’ll kill you. Pila growled low in her throat as if to say, ‘They could try.’
Yeeran leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the obeah’s. Her hands slipped into her scruff as she embraced Pila. It was a strange feeling, holding onto a part of your soul. It was as if she was reaching into a mirror but instead of glass her fingers brushed fur and warmth.
I can’t breathe, Pila said.
Yeeran released Pila’s neck with a smile.
Go now. Make sure you give the clearing a wide berth. I’ll see you on the other side. The obeah slipped away into the undergrowth, her black fur a flicker of shadows on the fern leaves before she was gone.
It was easy to forget Pila was a creature of the forest. But so too was Yeeran, her father had made sure of it.
As they’d got closer to the Crescent district border the terrain had grown less boggy, but it was still wetter than she would have liked—drier ground could minimise sound.
She moved through the bush at a steady pace, her footfalls silent.
‘With each step, roll from the ball of your foot to your heel,’ her father had once said. ‘And move quickly. The faster the cadence, the easier it is to keep the rhythm.’
Yeeran had adored her father, but he had disagreed with her choice to join the Waning army and they had parted in anger.
Then Lettle killed him . . . The thought caused her to stumble and she tripped over an overgrown root. She landed heavily on her back.
Birds scattered from the bough above. Yeeran winced at the noise she must have made. She felt a surge of concern down her connection with Pila.
I’m all right, just took a fall. Next time, don’t fall, Pila replied matter-of-factly.
Yeeran lay there listening carefully to the forest, but its rhythms were unchanged, except for the bird calls having fallen silent.
The sun was setting and the darkness of night was gathering in the shadows of the trees. Yeeran wanted to put distance between her and the hunters before sleeping for the night.
She waited a little longer before standing, but then something moved in the canopy above her and she paused.
It looked too big to be a creature of the Wasted Marshes—the fauna here were mainly birds and reptiles. But this beast had long arms and legs that spread wide as it pranced from tree to tree. Yeeran watched the shape move, mesmerised by its agility. Then, without warning, it began to spiral down the nearest trunk towards her.
She sat up, her hands moving to her drum, but it was too late. The figure was already standing above her.
With the light of the sunset at his back all she could see were the whites of the man’s teeth as he spoke. ‘Hello, there.’
Yeeran froze. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the man standing above her. His grin, which she had initially thought was sinister, spread up his cheek in a lopsided, boyish way, ageing him down from the forty years she estimated.
‘Hello,’ she said uncertainly.
‘You seem lost,’ the man said, offering her his hand to help her up.
Yeeran wasn’t sure why she grabbed it but there was something about him that seemed non-threatening.
Those are the people you should be wary of the most, Pila said across the distance.
True, she replied.
Yeeran stood and brushed herself off.
‘Did I see you climb down from a tree?’
The man bobbed his head, causing his blond hair to flop over his eyes. He pushed it away with a calloused hand.
‘Yes, us Nomads make our camp among the tree line.’
‘Nomads?’ she said with just a hint of doubt.
His eyes flickered to hers before looking away. ‘Yes, Nomads,’ he repeated with just a hint of mettle.
He went to pick up Yeeran’s drum that had fallen from her shoulder when she had tripped. Her eyes narrowed as his fingers lightly brushed the skin. She wondered if he recognised that it wasn’t made from obeah leather.
For a second she thought he wasn’t going to pass it back to her, and she tensed, ready to fight for it.
Then he said softly, ‘I’m always amazed at how something so beautiful could reap such violence.’ He held out the drum to her.
His words disarmed her for a moment, but she snatched the drum back and swung the strap over her head before replying, ‘Anything beautiful can be a weapon, it all depends on who wields it.’
