Page 26 of Yasmin and the Yeti (Alien Abduction #25)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Y asmin woke to the sound of soft chanting.

She had been moved to a bed in a small alcove to one side of the main cave but she could see Cera moving about the cave, surprisingly graceful as she mixed herbs and checked bubbling pots.

The air smelled of something earthy and sweet, like cinnamon mixed with pine.

Two days had passed since Rhaal had carried her to the clan caves. Two days of drifting in and out of awareness, of the healer’s gentle hands and the shimmering blue sothiti that kept her alive. Two days without Rhaal.

She tried to sit up, wincing as her head spun. Her body felt hollow, as if she’d been scraped out from the inside. The only evidence of the life growing within her was the persistent nausea that came in waves.

The healer turned at her movement, her ice-blue eyes softening. “Still,” she said in the Hothian language, one of the words Yasmin had learned.

She obeyed, sinking back onto the fur-covered platform. Frustration burned in her chest. She hated this weakness, this helplessness. In her old life, she’d been independent, capable. Now she couldn’t even sit up without assistance.

Cera approached with another cup of sothiti. She drank it without complaint, though its earthy taste made her stomach roll. The effect was almost immediate—a warmth spreading through her limbs, pushing back the bone-deep chill that had settled in her marrow.

“Thank you,” she said in Hothian.

The healer nodded, her expression grave. She said something else, a long string of words Yasmin couldn’t follow. The language barrier was yet another frustration. She couldn’t ask about Rhaal, couldn’t learn what was happening beyond the walls of this cave.

A shadow fell across the entrance to her alcove and she looked up to see a tall, imposing Hothian male ducking through the doorway. His bearing spoke of authority, and the Healer immediately straightened in his presence.

“Elder Njkall,” the Healer said, bowing her head slightly.

Njkall came to her bedside, his gaze direct but not unkind as he studied her.

“So you are Rhaal’s mate,” he said in perfect, if accented, English, and her eyes widened in surprise.

“You speak my language.”

“I have a… friend who speaks it.” His voice was deep and calm, like water flowing over smooth stones. “How do you feel, mate of Rhaal?”

“Weak,” she admitted. “Frustrated. I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

He nodded sympathetically. “Sometimes a female’s body struggles to accept a cub. The sothiti will help. And this may help with one frustration, at least.”

He reached into a pouch at his waist and showed her what looked like a small black slug. “A translator. Place it in your ear.”

She reached for it, then yelped and almost dropped it when she realized it was warm and slick, pulsating against her fingers.

“It is biomechanical,” Njkall explained patiently. “It will bond with you and allow you to understand the languages of the Empire.”

She eyed it skeptically, then, with only a slight shudder of revulsion, placed it in her ear.

It squirmed briefly, tickling the delicate nerves there, then went still.

The healer said something, and this time, the meaning of the words came to her clearly.

“I know you feel weak, but you are growing stronger.”

“Thank you,” she said, tears stinging her eyes. To be able to communicate again, to no longer be trapped in a world of incomprehensible sounds… it was like regaining a limb.

“And now that you understand, you will stop trying to move when I tell you to rest,” Cera added tartly.

“I will,” she promised, then turned back to Njkall. “How did you know I would need it?”

He gave her a small smile. “The healer provides updates to the clan leaders. I thought it would ease your stress.”

“I’m very grateful.” She hesitated, uncertain of his status or rank, or how to address him properly. “Sir,” she added, not quite a question.

“Just Njkall.” He said it slowly, as if aware of her difficulty with the harsh consonants of his name. “Many things have changed since Rhaal chose to leave us. There was a time when we would not have considered using such a device. Nor would we have accepted a non-Hothian mate.”

“You mean there are others?” she asked eagerly.

“Yes. Including another human.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Isabel is mated to Baralt, the head of law enforcement in Port Eyeja. He heard about your mate’s rather public declaration and informed me of it.” His amused smile faded. “And another human female lives with us here. I do not know if she will choose to visit you, but if she does, be kind.”

“Of course. But please, can you tell me anything about Rhaal? Has there been any word?”

Njkall’s expression grew serious. “Not yet. He follows the Sunken River to its source, deep in the mountains. It is a difficult journey, even for one as skilled as he.”

“But why? What’s happening with the river? Something about the fish”

The Elder exchanged a glance with Cera before answering. “Sothiti comes from a parasite that lives in a certain species of cave fish. For months, the fish have been dying and the parasites with them. Our supply dwindles.”

“And without it, I…” her hand moved instinctively to her stomach.

“Without it, many will suffer,” Njkall said gently. “You are not the only one who needs the medicine, though your need is perhaps most urgent.”

“And was there something about the Empire?”

“Yes. They protect us from offworlders in exchange for a regular supply—a supply we could barely meet this quarter.”

“Rhaal will find the answer,” she said, trying to sound confident.

“I hope he will.”

A movement at the cave entrance caught her attention. A small figure lurked in the shadows—a pretty human woman with pale skin and long dark hair. She was naked except for a Hothian style harness.

“Polly,” Njkall called softly, his tone changing to something gentler, almost tender. “Come meet Rhaal’s mate.”

Polly flinched at being noticed but didn’t flee. She took a hesitant step into the light, her eyes darting around the cave like a cornered animal’s. Yasmin suddenly understood why Njkall had asked her to be kind.

“Hello,” she said softly. “I’m Yasmin.”

Polly didn’t respond, but her gaze fixed on Yasmin’s face with nervous intensity.

“Polly came to us last season,” Njkall explained. “She chooses not to speak of her past, but she is clan now.”

A wave of sympathy swept over her as she looked at the other woman. What had happened to bring her here? What horrors had she fled?

“It’s nice to meet you, Polly,” she said, smiling at her. “Maybe you could visit me again? It would be good to talk with another human.”

Polly’s eyes widened slightly. She glanced at Njkall, who gave an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement.

“Maybe,” Polly whispered, the word barely audible. Then she retreated back into the shadows of the outer cave.

“She has been through much,” Njkall said as he watched her go, an expression she couldn’t read on his face. “But she is stronger than she knows.”

“Is she…” she hesitated, unsure how to phrase the question.

“My mate,” he said quietly. “Though she may never be ready to accept it fully. I am content to protect her, whatever she chooses.”

She nodded, thinking of Rhaal and his patient care of her when she first arrived. These fierce warriors had depths of gentleness she never would have imagined. But she’d also been aware of his desire for her from the beginning as well.

“Completely content?” she asked tentatively and he shrugged a shoulder.

“Perhaps not completely,” he admitted. “But content enough. Rest now,” he added, moving towards the exit. “I will return tomorrow. Perhaps Polly will join me.”

After he left, Cera brought Yasmin another bowl of broth. “Drink,” she instructed. “You need strength.”

With the translator, she could now ask the questions that had been burning in her mind. “What’s happening with the river? Why is the water bad?”

Cera’s expression darkened. “We do not know. The fish sicken and die. The water tastes wrong, though it looks clear. Some of the younglings who swim in the lower pools have developed rashes.”

“And that’s what Rhaal went to investigate?”

“Yes. He is looking for the source of the poison. Something or someone upstream.” Cera helped her sit up to drink the broth. “He is brave, your mate. Foolishly brave, perhaps.”

“That sounds like him,” she said, a fond smile touching her lips despite her worry.

Throughout the day, other clan members came to visit.

Some were merely curious about the human female carrying Rhaal’s cub.

Others brought small gifts—a carved comb, a soft blanket, dried berries.

Each visitor brought snippets of conversation, pieces of a larger puzzle that she was slowly assembling.

Orma, a quiet older female who had known Rhaal since he was a child, spent the longest time with her. She sat beside Yasmin’s bed, her expression troubled.

“The lower hunting grounds are affected now,” she told Cera in a hushed voice. “Broc found a dead marru yesterday—a young one. Its fur was falling out in patches.”

“The marru drink from the river,” Cera said grimly.

“And we eat the marru,” Orma added. “Njkall has forbidden hunting in the lower valleys, but that leaves little game for the winter stores.”

Her concern grew as she listened. This wasn’t just about her pregnancy or even the sothiti. The clan’s entire way of life was under threat.

“Has anyone gone upstream before?” she asked. “Before Rhaal, I mean.”

Orma nodded. “Several times. The last time was a moon cycle ago, two scouts. They found nothing unusual and returned. But I have been thinking that perhaps they did not go far enough. They did not go as far as the sacred valleys.”

“The sacred valleys?”

“Where we lay our dead to rest,” Cera explained. “It is forbidden to disturb them. But the river flows beneath those grounds, through the deep caves.”

A chill ran through her that had nothing to do with her condition. Rhaal was heading into forbidden territory, following a poisoned river to its source. And if someone was deliberately contaminating the water…

“He’ll find the cause,” she said as confidently as she could. “Rhaal won’t give up.”

“No,” Orma agreed, her eyes softening. “Not when his mate and cub depend on it.”

After the visitors left, she lay back, exhausted but restless.

The translator had been a gift beyond measure—not just for the ability to communicate, but for the understanding it brought.

She wasn’t just fighting for her life and her baby’s.

She was caught in a struggle that threatened an entire people.

Her hand drifted to her stomach. “Your father is out there fighting for us,” she whispered to the tiny life inside her. “For all of us.”

The next morning, Polly returned, hovering at the edge of the cave like a nervous bird. Yasmin pretended not to notice her at first, giving her time to gather her courage.

Cera had left a small pouch of soapstone and carving tools beside her bed. Glad to have something to do, she took out a piece and began to shape it into a simple bead.

After several minutes, Polly edged closer, watching her hands with evident fascination.

“Would you like to try?” she asked, holding out a small piece of stone.

Polly hesitated, then took it, her fingers trembling slightly. She perched on the edge of a stool near the bed, watching Yasmin work.

“I used to make jewelry,” she explained, keeping her tone light and conversational. “Back on Earth. Mostly simple pieces I sold at local markets, but a few more specialized pieces. It’s soothing, working with your hands.”

Polly didn’t respond, but she turned the stone over in her palm, studying it.

“Like this,” she demonstrated, making a simple groove in her own piece. “Just start with basic shapes.”

After watching for a moment, Polly tentatively began to scrape at her stone. Her movements were awkward at first, but she persisted, her focus intense.

“That’s it,” she said encouragingly. “There’s no wrong way to do it.”

They worked in companionable silence for a while. Her piece began to take the shape of a smooth oval, while Polly’s remained more abstract.

“I was taken too,” Polly said suddenly, her voice so quiet Yasmin almost missed it.

She kept her eyes on her work, sensing that direct attention might cause Polly to retreat. “From Earth?”

A tiny nod. “Two years ago. I was walking across campus at night.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“I was sold to a… a bad place.” Polly’s hand tightened around the stone. “Then I came to Hothrest. After. And Njkall took care of me. He didn’t ask questions. He brought me here.”

She risked a glance up. Polly’s face was tight with remembered pain, but there was something else there too—a fierce gratitude.

“He’s a kind male.”

“They all are. Even when they don’t understand.” Polly’s eyes met hers briefly. “Your mate—Rhaal. He’ll come back. They always come back for what’s theirs.”

The words were simple but filled with absolute conviction, and she felt a surge of hope—not just for Rhaal’s return, but for this fragile connection with Polly, for the clan fighting to survive, for the future they all shared.

“Yes,” she agreed, her hands steady as she continued to shape the bead. “He will.”