The Beast Within Us

Chapter 32: ↭ Yara

↭ Although the journey to Briniel was nearly finished, Yara could not urge her banners onward. The party of soldiers and bannerman remained staked on the roadside, parked on the flank of the small village outside the border of Audor and Briniel.

Tremendous effort was taken for Chala to pry Yara away from the cold, stiff corpse of Darryn, and although she couldn't spare the energy, as her lover attempted to care for her in the weeks that followed, Yara had secluded to a withdrawn shell. As the rusty pink-tinged blood was washed from her shivering form, she wailed for her childhood lover. She begged the mysterious gods for mercy on his soul as she was then forced to her caravan. Chala was a prominent solid figure always, but more so on that night than she could have imagined. The sun had long set and the crescent moon soared through the sky by the time Yara could lie still enough to sleep. Her eyes were swollen puffs from her incessant bawling and her once-pale nose was bright red with irritation. She slept well into the next day, and it seemed that none of the men and women in Lady Wheiler's service could bare to wake her, for fear of her grief destroying her further.

After the heartbreaking loss of the Warden's captain and the miserable display of her evident heartbreak, her wards began to grow restless as they waited for their oath-sworn wardeness to recover. Tradition called for up to a fortnight of grieving permitted for the tragedy of deaths as such, and it began to grow increasingly clear that the journey would take an unexpected hiatus and that the relationship between Captain Darryn Wykle and Lady Yara Wheiler was not as professional as it had once appeared. Discussion engulfed the camp like a wildfire, soldiers whispering long into the night of their warden's competence and loyalty to the crown. A rift had began to form, and the political parties of loyalty and respect for the warden was displayed undeniably with the Lady Wheiler's ward, Chala.

Those with unwavering faith in their warden and their late captain, could often be seen in an increasingly accepting light in the blunt of Chala's presence. Those who believed in Lady Wheiler often directed their propositions and inquiries to the hewan for guidance, as she was her sole caretaker in the weeks following the death of Darryn. It was these bannerman that helped the hewan prepare Darryn's Last Farewell, a traditional Audor funeral. They stood unfeigned behind their warden, as she disgraced their honor guilelessly in grief, and guided Chala to stand in when their warden could not.

The doubtful soldiers held strong to their conservative and merciless views of Chala's newfound acceptance at first. Their waning faith led stragglers to disband from their mission and head home after Darryn's Last Farewell. The others in question stayed reclusive, awaiting the end of the grieving period of their lady before making any rash or irreversible decisions.

It was clear that her grief would not be over quickly, Yara remained a shell of her former self. Her days were spent a disheveled slump in Chala's arms or sleeping fitfully despite the sedative tonics administered by the village's healers. Yara's lover attempted to support the broken-hearted woman in the best way she could, but even so, Yara would stare at her blankly as if she didn't recognize her. She refused her love's advice to bathe or eat, and would even scream obscenities at Chala at times.

Wounds take precious time to heal, and even the ugliest of injuries would leave marred scars on the prettiest of faces. Things did get easier, but Yara felt the immense guilt and shame in her soul that threatened to burn her alive for her sins. Her strained relationship with Chala was on her own shoulders, the hewan had done nothing but support her despite the abuse and attempt to stitch together the mess that her secret affair with her late lover had left behind. When she could not bare to sleep at night, Yara would watch Chala's peaceful slumber with envious eyes. She had known from the day she had spoken to Chala that she was everything she had ever wanted to be- brave, free-willed and strong. Her coal eyes ran traces over and over her sleeping form, a pattern they had paved a thousand times. She was the same, but something felt so different to her. The woman would eventually write the conflicting emotions off as guilt or grief and curl up beside the beautiful woman who remained stuck at her side as her most valiant protector. Yara could not let her grief destroy her connection with Chala as well.

The morning that the claws of grief began to loosen their hold slightly on the heart of Yara Wheiler, the lady of the north rose just before the sun began to color the sky. Her coal eyes continued to probe Chala's sleeping form as she dressed in clothes that felt too stiff and reminded her of a different time. Yara continued plaiting her long braid as she stared intently in a fervent attempt to recognize the newfound strength that shone through her lover, a strength she desired so desperately that her eyes burned with salt-washed tears of frustration. Her fingers weaved and yanked at the long chestnut locks as she suddenly felt a very irrational urge to free herself from the traditional wardeness' french braid and begin anew with herself.

Yara had struggled for so long to fill her father's shoes and do her duty as the ideal warden and the noble legacy that would uphold her house's name. In her young time spent alive she had wasted so much time and energy dedicating herself to her father's dreams that she had also missed so much of her own. Her dusted onyx eyes fell to the mangled braid in her fingers, remembering with sorrow how she had once begged her father for a different life.

The young Yara had been prepubescent at the time, barely beginning to study what it truly meant to be the warden of a great house. Despite the lack of formal education, Yara had lived with a father of one of the greatest houses there ever was, and knew all too well how her life would likely play out. Even at that young age, Yara knew it was not the life she wanted. Her desire to rebel had begun there. The small and gangly girl had cut the length of her prettiest silk dresses, awkwardly stitching them into a squire's uniform and to finish her masterpiece, Yara cut her chestnut curls as short as she could manage. She stood before the mirror of her vanity with pride and and accomplished grin plastered cheekily across her dimpled face. She was so proud!

The lanky girl rushed to show her father first thing, he would be the first to know that she was not going to grow up to be a warden- but a knight!

The rage that blundered through the keep that night was frightening. Yara had never seen her father so angry before and as he pulled at the mismatched patches of hair across her head and lectured Yara, something inside of the joyous girl began to break. Her father had sat up with her for hours that night, reaming about her defiance and repeating the way a woman was to behave and represent her family name.

'What is our house's pillars of faith, Yara?'

'-We were, we are, we will be. Honor, duty, valor, father.'

'Good. Your lack of judgement will not be the reason our house falls. The Gyrfalcon is on our house sigil, do you know why, my empty-headed Yara?'

'Falcons symbolize success, victory, superiority, freedom and aspiration. A person with falcon qualities can rise above difficult situations. Falcons are strategic planners with visionary powers. That is why they are perfect for the Wheiler house. It would do you well to remember that, Yara.'

'Yes, father. I won't bring dishonor on our house again. Not now, not ever.'

The lecture had broken her spirit, and while she had intended to never disappoint her father again, she had met Darryn a few years later and fell in love with the lanky squire. Now, again, she had disappointed her father by allowing her grief to publish her forbidden relations with the captain of her army, and the whispers that spread through camp would eventually find their way back to Serell. It would take everything she had to convince the king that the whispers had been a lie, and even more effort to persuade him to free his prized hewan gift to her, the slave Yara now took as a lover.

The anger threatened to singe Yara's insides again and the bubbling hysteria of sorrow and rage made her quiver subconsciously. Something needed to change.

Under her mattress a large and very sharp hunting knife threatened to spill blood as she gripped the rope-length of her chestnut braid. Her hair had never been short as it had that day years ago. It was unladylike and dishonorable for a noblewoman to cut her pretty hair. Her father would seethe in his grave if he knew Yara's intentions and Serell quite possibly would flog her. The thought tipped her rose lips upward and Yara yanked the blade through the hair with a staggering rip. The waterfall of curls unwound from the plaited braid rope and billowed to the floor in a cloud of sandy brown fluff. Yara was left with a ragged cut that barely brushed her collarbone, and after touching up the unmatched edges she found she rather liked the dishonorable haircut she had just rewarded herself with. Her curls no longer weighed down by the weight of judgement and hair pins, her soft curls were light and bouncy. The wardeness lifted her chin to stare at herself in the mirror of her wardrobe, appreciating the wild, fierce touch the change had given her.

Things needed to change, and Lady Yara Wheiler decided that it would start with her. ↭