“And if I were a gypsy man,” he asked, “would you heed me then?”
“No.”
Bastion frowned. “You almost got us all killed when you charged into that fire, and now you would risk it all again? Would you take other gypsies, and risk them too, just to find the one?”
That angered Yana. “I...if I had not gone into that fire we would have lost the girls!” She was not careless, and did not like being accused as such. Worse yet, she was afraid, because Bastion was quite right. It was foolish indeed for her to go to the Lower Reach, but what choice did she have? “What about you?” she demanded. “Will you not help? Do you only look after your own?”
She immediately felt bad for that, knowing that Bastion had just gone out of his way to save the gypsy girls. He had answered the call.
“Yes, Yana. I look after my own,” Bastion said firmly. He let the silence hang in the air. “The gypsies are my people too,” he finally said. “They are a part of the kingdom, even as they roam. Your caravan is my caravan, Yana.”
“What?” she said.
“I serve the kingdom as I will, Yana. I have not interfered with the gypsies, and even as I fight for them, I ask nothing from them. Yet how can I have the responsibility for them, but no authority over them?”
“Then don’t be responsible,” Yana replied. “We can look after ourselves. We are not your caravan.” Again, Yana felt embarrassed. Clearly they needed help from the kingdom, with the growing threat... but Yana was unwilling to sell out their freedom for security. Yet there was no freedom, if they would be sold into slavery, either.
Bastion ignored the insult, and took her hand, looming in close. “You are so strong, Yana. So stubborn.” She cast her eyes down- her mouth was getting her in trouble.
“The kingdom is aware of the castle in the Lower Reach. We are aware of Kaffa. We have been gathering information to make a stronger move, bigger than the Moldavians we killed in the gulley.”
Yana looked up. “War?” The word gave her chills.
“No. The black riders exist to prevent war. We strike in the night, we strike in stealth. Entire armies can be defeated with the right strategy. Entire armies can be spared.”
Bastion released her hand, and they began walking again. “I have yet to consult with my father and uncle, but I intend to take my men into the Lower Reach, destroy that castle, and whoever rules it. If we should find Emilee, or other captives, we will retrieve them.”
“I am going with you!” she exclaimed.
“No. I intend to take only the black riders,” he replied.
“But... I... I am a black rider! I have the cloak! I rode with you!” She was angry again. “I am going anyway!”
Bastion stopped, and chastised her squarely with the look in his eyes. Damn it all, thought Yana. How did he do that? Her mouth was still getting her in trouble.
“That is true, Yana. You are going.”
She looked up at him, not speaking. “You will don that cloak, and ride with me. We need your tracking skills,” he said. Now he was smiling.
“Wait- you already said I could not go!”
“Since when did you hold any regard to what I say?” he asked.
“Ugh!” she said, punching him in the arm.
“Hear me, Yana,” he said. “My men follow orders. My men are disciplined. Even the horses are trained.” Yana nodded.
“I know you are a gypsy, Yana, and you do as you please... but when you ride with us, you must place yourself under my command. My men must not see you defy me freely. It is my place as Captain. My men trust me to preserve their lives. I will preserve you, too. Do you understand?”
“Yes… Captain,” she said. That felt weird. She had never called him that.
“But,” she added, “I am the one always saving your life!”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The dark halls of the castle silently echoed the firelight of Draiman’s lantern, and the wooden floor creaked and eased just slightly at his footsteps. He walked through the passages of Tatu Castle, to bring report.
He knocked on the thick wooden door he arrived at, and the voice called out for him to enter.
Volga finished the last few morsels of the meal he was working on, as Draiman approached him.
“What have you?” Volga demanded. Draiman handed him a small scroll, and Volga looked it over with a frown.
“Only seventeen?” he asked.
“We have some resistance,” Draiman said. “Your men hunting near the Jedikai kingdom are missing. You lost more slaves because your men were inept enough to set off a forest fire.”
Volga was insulted. “The way I hear it, it was your damn gypsies that started the fire.” Draiman scoffed at him.
“Only the gaje would be so foolish,” he retorted. Volga laughed at him, his big belly jostling along with his mirth.
“You are probably right, my friend!” Volga said. The Moldavians and the gypsies were certainly not allies, as the gypsies did not make allegiances, and were widely hated by all gaje- anyone not a gypsy. Yet these two were friends, or at least partners.
Volga took the scroll and peered at it further, as he began to count out coins at the table in his enclave. He gathered up the correct amount, and poured the coins into a pouch with a jingle. He handed it to Draiman.
“Your gypsy men- can they root out this resistance?”
“We capture the slaves- we don’t get paid to fight!” Draiman answered.
Volga knew that was coming. He would consult his own men on how to deal with it, as they were soldiers first anyway.
“Who stands against us,” Volga asked, “and what do they know?”
“They know that people are being taken; people are missing,” Draiman replied. “They know Moldavians have something to do with it. They do not suspect my gypsies,” he said.
“And who are ‘they’?” Volga asked again.
“There are several cities that are resisting the problem, making it more difficult for us. But we are an invisible enemy to them. They cannot attack us,” Draiman said.
“The black riders of Jedikai... they ride against us,” he added.
Volga nodded. “Then I will send my men to the south, to other country, for now. There are plenty of villages to the south. We will have less resistance there.”
“I will move my caravan south as well,” Draiman agreed. “We need supplies. I will return before the full moon, and will bring any news I can gather.”
“Bring more captives!” Volga bellowed. “We will sail soon to Kaffa with all the slaves we have now. If I am not back before you, feel free to enjoy the castle and any slaves you want, while you await.”
Draiman left Tatu Castle, to join his men where they were encamped. He looked forward to restocking in the south. He would meet more gypsy tribes and see if he could add to his ranks. Until then, he drank with his men into the night, under the skies of the Lower Reach.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Yana and Bastion addressed the caravan at Jedikai, beseeching them to stay close to the city until they had dealt with the threat. They were accustomed to following Yana, and she knew they would be wise enough to stay close to the city, especially after the accounts of Kizzy and Nadya. In her great love for her people, Yana was also saddened- they were fearful, and that sort of life was not befitting a gypsy. She hoped to set things right, any way she could.
Bastion led Yana and the horses towards the city gates. They had work to do.
“Heh,” Pook said. “Look at this,” he said to his fellow gatekeeper, Gumi. Gumi shuffled over and peered out, seeing Bastion and Yana headed towards them, and the city gates. “Did you see them go out?” Gumi asked. “Nope. Musta been on your watch,” said Pook.
“Well if I’d have seen them leave the city on my watch, I wouldn’t have asked you!” Gumi said.
“Maybe if you hadn’t lost the telescope, you’d have seen them!” Pook retorted.
“Maybe if I’d have smashed it over your hea
d, I’d have some peace and quiet around here!” said Gumi.
Pook ignored the remark, and looked out on Bastion and Yana as they entered the city. “Something tells me that ‘peace and quiet’ is gonna be in short supply,” he said. Gumi grunted agreement, as he watched them pass.
Bastion brought the horses to the King’s livery, and Yana rushed in to see her horse. Kuta was looking beautiful, brushed out and likely well-fed, she figured. All the horses were back home, and the stable was active with workers tending to them, and making preparations. Yana whispered kindly to her horse in Romany, while Bastion was talking with someone. She looked over. It seemed it might be somebody important, from the looks of him. They looked over at her, and the two of them made their way to Yana and her horse.
“Hello Miss Gypsy,” the man with Bastion said. His demeanor was friendly.
“Yana, this is Otta, the King’s administrator, and my uncle,” Bastion clarified. Yana had heard of him.
“Hello Otta,” she said, extending her hand in a gypsy greeting. He took it perfectly, as he was well-versed in diplomacy and culture.
“We are pleased to see you in Jedikai,” Otta said. “Welcome.”
“Thank you,” she answered.
“Bastion has advised me of your news,” Otta said. “We are underway to give you every possible preparation for the Lower Reach.”
Yana liked him. “Thank you,” she said again. “I hope we can put an end to these attacks.”
“Aye. The people of the city are restless because of it. I imagine the gypsies feel it even more.”
“We do, sir,” he said.
“I am pleased to see you among the riders. The people of Jedikai may not be too fond of gypsies, but I understand you have shown valor,” Otta said.
“Valor can arrive or depart just as sure as a gypsy caravan,” she replied. Yana looked at Bastion. “Bastion lends his courage freely,” she said. “It seems to show up everywhere he goes.” Speaking well of Bastion came easily to her just then. She liked how it felt.
“Then perhaps he will accompany us to the palace,” said Otta, looking Yana directly in the eye. “The King has requested your presence.”
__________________________
The Gypsy Queen- CHAPTER 6- “Hall”
Yana entered the gates to the palace, grateful for this opportunity. She feared the King, being a simple gypsy girl, but she did indeed feel bolstered by Bastion’s presence. She knew she was safe with him.
The palace was an impressive place. Yana looked around wide-eyed at all the sights. The structures were beautiful and commanding, and the fine silks and boots of the people were appealing. Yana always loved to watch the people when they went into the various cities where they traveled and did business, peddling their wares- baskets, fruits, fortune-telling, and the entertainment of song and dance among them.
The city people were friendly enough, on some occasions, especially if they hoped for a good fortune to be told them. Too often, though, the city people were cruel, calling the gypsies dirty or worthless, and accusing them of thievery. Yana was always amazed by that, knowing that some city folk were every bit the thieves that gypsies could be, only in a different way. The gypsy clans were simply people, and she did not like to see people mistreated for no reason... and that was what she was accustomed to in some of her forays into the cities.
Yana tried to win them over with pleasant music and dancing, even getting them to clap or dance along with them when she could. Alas, the city folk had some cause for their disdain- many gypsies did run afoul of them, and do them harm. She wished she could redeem her people, but it seemed things would always be this way. This disparity was a reality, a disharmony much like the one within her.
Yana often felt scattered, as wandering just seemed to have that effect on her. She felt unable to get clarity sometimes, though she had always found an element of beauty to the uncertainty that life presented her.
She felt that way now, she realized, walking with Bastion into the palace. She tried to think straight- think of what she might say to the King, or what he might say to her. The palace was quite lovely, even down to the stones laden on the earth beneath her feet.
She looked over at Bastion as they walked, prompting him to look back at her with a smile reminiscent of their time years ago. Oh, Yana thought, how she loved the look on that darling boy’s face. She reached out and held his hand, and allowed him to lead her into the throne room.
It was grand, though not as cavernous as she might have guessed. The King was not on his throne, but standing to the left, tending to a small simple garden of common periwinkle. Yana counted seven big planters. The throne was ornate but not overly so. The throne room smelled faintly of lavender, and something familiar she couldn’t quite identify.
The King turned to them as they walked in. Yana was taken aback by his resemblance to Bastion, though she might have expected it. Yana had never met his family, as the caravan she was with when she found him as a child avoided things like kings and princes. Authority was not the preferred company for gypsies.
The King allowed them to approach, saying nothing. He was so pleased to see his son, and curious of the gypsy girl that walked with him. He nodded to his son, and then looked at Yana.
“So,” the King boomed, startling Yana, “this is the gypsy girl causing so much trouble?” Yana’s mouth opened just a bit. He was suddenly quite menacing to her. “This is the one,” he continued, “that has interfered with our riders and warriors?” He looked at his brother Otta, who said nothing. “A mere gypsy girl, an intruder who might steal the shirt from my back if she could?”
Yana was horrified and infuriated. “Yes sir,” she announced as boldly as she could. “I might steal the crown too, were it not so tightly screwed down onto your head.”
She fully expected to be struck down for her rebellious tone.
The King burst into laughter. Soon he was short of breath, laughing so hard that his eyes watered, as Bastion and Otta joined in on the joke.
The King leaned on one of the planters, holding himself up as he laughed heartily. Yana was not amused. Finally, he was able to speak.
“Come,” he motioned, “I must sit.” The King shuffled over to the throne, and settled down into it. The rest of them came over and stood before him.
“Father,” Bastion said, “This is Yana. The one who saved me when I was struck by lightning.”
“Yana,” the King nodded at her, “You are due my gratitude. You have it.”
Yana smiled. “Thank you, sir,” she replied. “The Captain does seem to be worth saving, even if he is not a gypsy.”
“Worth saving,” the King mused. “Just as the gypsies and others who have been taken,” he remarked.
“Yes,” she replied. “I have fought for my people. Bastion fights bravely for his,” she added.
“Yana, the people of the kingdom and the people who wander through it, they are both important. The freedom of us all is at stake.” The King said.
“The gypsies have strived for freedom even in spite of your own kingdom, and your laws, sir.” Yana said.
“Yes. There has always been a rift between us,” the King said. “We clash because our freedoms come in different forms,” he explained. “The gypsies are free as they roam, avoiding any rule of law. The people of the city, and the villages are free because of the rule of law.”
“How can one be ruled over, and yet be free?” Yana asked.
“Order and structure... rules... bring harmony. Harmony brings security. Security brings peace. Only in peace, can we be free.”
Yana opened her mouth to refute the King, but could not. She had not been in peace herself, even before Bastion had come storming into her life. She felt restless, in chaos. No loyalty to any cause or purpose. She realized suddenly that she had not felt restless since she had been striving to help the people in trouble. Striving to help Bastion... felt good.
“Security,” said Yana, “the gypsy people may never know
security, because they have no harmony with the gaje. Even if we strike down the slave dealers, still we face conflict with the kingdom.
“I cannot see how it could be otherwise. We do not accept rule of law from any land, and the laws always work against us.”
“Or could it be,” asked the King, “that it is the gypsies that work against the law? “
“We will not trade away our freedom, sir,” she said, “and so, we remain a people without a King or kingdom.”
“One might say that you are not really free, if you are never at peace,” the King replied. “It has been my wish, during my time on this throne, to resolve this dilemma,” said the King. “Perhaps my son will succeed where I have not, one day.”
That sent a chill through Yana. Bastion’s father, the King, seemed suited for the throne. Bastion, however... she just couldn’t picture it. She did not want to picture it. She loved riding with him, or sitting at a gypsy campfire with him. The palace looked as if it could be a sort of prison, Yana thought.
“We will succeed in the Lower Reach, sir,” Yana offered.
“Yes. The Lower Reach,” Otta spoke up again. “Even now, preparations are being made for your departure.”
The King addressed Bastion and Yana. “You must succeed. These dangerous missions are good strategy, but dangerous nonetheless. What would have happened, my son, had Yana not helped you against the Moldavians?”
“If she had not helped me, they would still be out there capturing people as slaves,” Bastion said.
“If she had not helped you, you’d be dead. Then what would happen to the throne? The kingdom relies on us for leadership; they cannot afford to lose you- I could not bear to lose you,” he said.
“Yes, Father. But I must do my job. I am a Captain,” he said.
“We will talk later,” the King said. “Yana,” he said, turning to her, “I know you are a leader of your people. Tell me, where is your caravan?”
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