“We are in the west meadows, sir,” Yana answered.
“Ah yes. The west meadows. Do you have any conflicts with the people of Jedikai, down there?”
“Conflicts, yes. None more than usual.” Yana said.
The King turned to Otta. “Send a patrol to the edge of the west meadow, and see to it that the gypsies there are not harassed. Make sure they have what they need. Make sure they are protected while she serves with the riders.” Otta nodded.
“I am most grateful sir,” Yana said. She had taken offense upon meeting the King, as he seemed prejudiced towards gypsies like the rest of Jedikai. Now she wouldn’t have to worry about her caravan.
“Yana, I have two requests of you,” the King said. “First, I ask of you to join us in the Great Hall for a feast tonight. You shall be the guest of honor,” he said.
Yana knew it would be an insult to decline, and her curious nature begged to attend anyway. “Yes sir, I would like that very much,” she said.
“Secondly, I ask that you accept a mandate I would charge you with. Something you are uniquely suited to do,” he said.
“A mandate?” she asked. “What is your mandate?”
The King looked her right in the eye. “Protect my son.”
Yana looked at Bastion, and then back to the King.
“I accept your mandate, sir” she said firmly.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Draiman walked through the grounds inside Tatu Castle. It was a cluttered assembly of wooden buildings and walkways, within the stone walls of its perimeter. The wood was all of different age, as the corridors and rooftops had all been added on in a piecemeal fashion. Draiman hated it, as there were rough snags and broken boards to bother with no matter which route he chose. Finally he arrived at his destination- the dungeon.
It was a plain looking building, just one story tall. Inside, Draiman found its clusters of little cells. Sometimes the slaves could be found in them, but often they were empty. Always, they smelled foul.
Draiman pulled a hood over his head, and hid his face behind a scarf. Even though the slaves would soon leave the country, and never be seen again, he did not want to be seen either. Draiman was a gypsy selling out gypsies, and he needed to keep his exposure to a minimum. His people would deliver him a horrible death if they found out.
He descended from the basic one-story building, down the concealed steps, into the dungeon below. He knew the slaves were being kept there, and decided to choose one to play with before heading south with the caravan. His eyes narrowed to adjust to the dim light. He could feel his violence and lust begin to flow, as he looked over the captives.
They said nothing, cowering in the underground cells. Their misery was as evident as the stench of the cool dirt. Draiman reached his staff between the bars into a group of slaves who had clustered together. They remained silent, and offered little resistance. They had already been beaten since their arrival, as it was customary to their training. The gypsy slaves were tougher, but they all learned swiftly to obey, and not resist.
Draiman could see the fear in their eyes, and it excited him. He was looking for a gypsy girl, one that had been beaten plenty, but still had some fight. He reached his staff into another cell, prodding a girl whose clothing was not as filthy as some. He liked what he saw, so he jabbed the stick at her, hearing her yelp in pain. His smile was concealed by the scarf, as he shouted for a guard to retrieve the one he had chosen.
The guard showed up, shuffling through the dim halls. The dungeon was not the only thing underground, but rather hallways and offshoots were everywhere, so that the masters of the castle could move about undetected, or hide in the case of emergency. Draiman knew his way around fairly well, but still got turned around sometimes.
The iron gate creaked open at the guard’s tugging. Draiman stepped in and grabbed the girl he had chosen, causing her to cry out again as he jerked her upward to him. “Come with me,” he growled, his urgent lust overwhelming his thoughts.
“Where are you taking me?” she begged. Draiman hit her in the side of the head, knocking her down. This time she stayed silent. He jerked her back up on her feet. She was perfect.
He took her away, and the guard clunked the gate back and locked it.
The others sat quiet, afraid to earn another beating.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The Great Hall in the palace at Jedikai was like nothing Yana had ever seen. She marveled at the artwork and ornate decoration. She had to concede that the gaje had done some fine work. Food and drink were already being served, and music played merrily. Bastion led Yana to the King’s table, and they waited until the King came and sat down, and then sat next to him.
Bastion’s Uncle Otta sat on the other side of the King, and other members of the court joined the main table. Many other tables were set along the sides of the hall, and people from the city came to dine in celebration. The center was kept open, a dance floor with the musicians nearby.
Wine began to flow, a deep red wine Yana had never tasted before. She indulged, but was careful not to have too much. She had known the ill effects of too much drink well enough, in the gypsy camps. The hall was vibrant with talk and laughter, as the galley workers brought out more and more food. Yana soon realized she was getting a lot of stares.
She wore a formal dress provided her in the palace, so she was not dressed like a gypsy, but she had the distinct look of a gypsy anyway. Yana leaned in to Bastion.
“They don’t like me here,” she said.
“They are good people, Yana,” he replied.
“I would rather be among the galley crew, than at the King’s table,” she said. “I would be much more comfortable there.”
“This is the perfect time to win them over, Yana,” Bastion said. “Yes, some of them don’t like gypsies, but isn’t that exactly what we want to change?”
“I don’t want to be here,” Yana said. “I am here to help find Emilee and fight the slave traders. I am not here as some kind of emissary.”
A servant approached them, and poured a bit more wine for them both.
“Have you need for help in the galley?” Yana asked the servant girl. “I’d rather scrub crockery,” she said with a smile.
The servant girl looked to Bastion for permission, as they were typically not to speak to the guests during an event. Bastion smiled and tilted his head towards Yana, encouraging her to answer.
“Begging your pardon Miss,” the girl said, “but every girl in the kitchen would trade places with you quicker than an arrow from a bow.”
“Why is that?” Yana asked.
“Um...” she stammered, unsure how to say it. She began blushing profusely, and sought to excuse herself immediately. “It’s a fine table, Miss. It’s the King’s table.” She ran out of words, and said “Pardon me,” quietly, and disappeared.
It all came clear to Yana, and she felt foolish for not seeing it sooner. It wasn’t just that she was a gypsy... it was that she was a girl, a woman, seated next to Bastion at the King’s table.
“Bastion, they are not just staring at me because I am a gypsy, are they?” Yana asked.
“No,” he answered.
“They are staring at me because they think we are together?”
“The women are, yes,” he answered.
“And the men?” she asked.
“They stare because they have never seen a woman as beautiful as you.”
“That is rubbish,” Yana scoffed. She couldn’t tell if Bastion was teasing her or not. A question popped into her head.
“Why have you not taken a wife, Bastion?”
Bastion chuckled. “A wife? Who has time for that?”
“You do,” she said. “You are heir to the throne.”
“I guess I’m just too much of a gypsy,” Bastion said.
The music stopped, as the King stood up and motioned. His voice boomed forth deeply, as he addressed the entire hall. “Citizens of Jedikai!” he called out. “To
night we celebrate the return of my son!” he said with pride. “We continue to move against the slave trades, to protect the kingdom!” The room applauded that statement, as it was an issue of concern to everyone. The King was well-loved by the citizens. He served them well, and Jedikai had prospered under his rule.
The King began coughing, as his attendants came up to him to help. He dismissed them with a wave of his hand, and spoke again.
“The gypsies stand with us! Soon we will overcome the threat, and we will restore safety to the Kingdom!” he announced. The crowd applauded again, as the King began coughing once more. “Tonight,” he continued, “I introduce a brave gypsy who has struck blows against the slave traders, and saved the lives of Jedikai citizens, including my son! Welcome her to our courts, our halls, our city... Yana!” he said with a flourish, motioning to her.
The hall broke out in great applause, and Yana was confused. She would not have expected to see the Great Hall of Jedikai full of citizens applauding a gypsy- least of all, herself. Neither did she expect any such attention. Fortunately, her dancing had made her familiar with attention, so she stood up and smiled, and waved a sort of hello to the crowd. She sat back down, a bit embarrassed. I never should have tracked Bastion into that gulley, she thought with a smile. How in the world did I wind up here?
Music broke out once more, and a costumed figure came out, and began to consort with the tables around the hall. It seemed a young boy, to Yana, and he was wearing a ridiculous hat. He hopped about, telling jokes at the tables that Yana could not hear. It must be the fool, she supposed, a raconteur in the King’s court.
The fool moved to speak with the musicians, and Yana noticed a gorgeous harp. It looked much like the little one she learned to play, only much bigger. She thought it might be even taller than she was. No one was playing it; they all had other instruments. Yana’s eyes were drawn to it.
The musicians began to play along with the fool, and the fool began stepping to drum beats, and moving with them. His theatrics were silly, Yana thought, but still... he was fun. The music came to a stop.
“Tonight I would regale you, with ancient tales of yore,” the fool said, “from distant lands and long lost Kings, from very distant shores!” He hopped towards the King’s table. “Instead I have a song for you, a simple gypsy rhyme, for our guest of honor, Water Into Wine!” Yana sat up straight. The young boy had all her attention.
The music started up, and the musicians played lightly in step with the fool’s tempo. He recited the words perfectly:
water on the zodiac
and wetness on her lips
hardened shells could crack too soon
with gentle fingertips
closer, closer, draw me near
lost in gypsy time
drinking salty kisses
turning water into wine
The earth began to move
and the mountains changed their place
but still in her farewells
there was love upon her face
lofty springs flow clean and fresh
freedom runs divine
rolling mud beneath our feet
turning water into wine
The air would chill defiant
yet still we sit outside
a gypsy camp about us
come now for the ride!
Winds of change before us
somehow right on time
fermented in a springtime breeze
her water into wine
Fire runs in pages
scrolls and wood in kind
stories of the past
a gypsy leaves behind
freedom lies before us
but the unknown looks so fine
when you wake up as a gypsy
turning water into wine
The fool finished with a flourish, and Yana stood up to cheer him, as the rest of the people in the great hall did with her. It was an old poem, a song that Lyubov had taught her. She even mouthed some of the words in amazement along with the young boy, stunned to hear this poem recited in the King’s courts!
Yana gripped Bastion’s hand for just a moment, and then arose by herself, walking directly into the open area, to greet this ‘fool’. When she got to him, she realized for a moment that she was very much the center of attention. Instead of speaking, she almost broke into laughter. The fool’s hat was even more ridiculous up close. But this was no fool, Yana figured.
She put her hand on one hip, just so. The fool mimicked her and put his hand on his hip as well. Yana put her other hand out in front of her. The fool did the same. I knew it, she thought. She looked over to the musicians, and the fool did as well, both urging them to play, with their outstretched hands.
The beat began, and so did Yana. Bastion looked on, as did the entire crowd. Yana had always been beautiful, but never more so than tonight, he thought. It seemed that he could feel her every twist and turn, even from where he sat. It was like when he had smoked with her at the gypsy camp... he could feel her energy distinctly. He touched his hand to his chest, to the scar he had received the night she found him as a child. It pulsed lightly, his heartbeat in a cadence even faster than the drums that played as they danced. Yana was so lovely in the palace dress; he never would have pictured it, as he had only seen her in fields and forests.
Yana danced in unison with the fool, just as she suspected, and he danced well. It was a gypsy dance, and there could not be any doubt- this ‘fool’, the young storyteller... was most certainly a gypsy as well. She wanted to talk to him, but she set aside such thoughts to simply dance freely. As Bastion looked on, so did the King, Uncle Otta, and every soul present- to see Yana come down from the King’s table and dance this merry dance with the jester was a sight no one expected.
Finally it ended, and Yana was flush with energy as she had forgotten everything except the thrill of the music. The hall erupted once again, delighted with the spontaneous performance. Yana was right next to the musicians, and the big harp loomed before her, when she turned to her left.
Yana stepped up to it, and looked to the leader of the musicians.
“May I?” she asked eagerly. He acquiesced, and she wrapped her arms around it and plucked a string. It rang rather loud, as the hall grew silent, now watching only her. She plucked a few more, trying to get a feel for the distance and gauge of the taut strings. She pulled her fingers across them all, illuminating the hall with sound, then easing them off with the pedal. Then, she began to play. She closed her eyes and let her fingers find their way, and played the song she played for Bastion at the campfire. Deep and loud, the vibration of the harp poured into Yana as she leaned her body into it in an embrace. She lost herself, playing the soulful notes she had practiced so many nights, at so many fires. Every person in the room was rapt, as she played.
Stronger and stronger she played, as her heart traveled to a place it had never felt, and took everyone along. She stroked the strings as though they were beloved, and perhaps they were.
Bastion stood and walked towards her, compelled by the music. It drew forth his emotion just as her fingers conjured the notes. Yana gently released the final string from her fingers, and stayed a few moments more, just to let the vibration ring out, into them all.
She stood up and opened her eyes, drifting slowly back to reality as she stepped away. The crowd was silent. The notes still hung in the rafters, like a persistent aroma of the sweetest sort.
Bastion stood near the harp, on the open floor. She went to him and held his hand. He took hers, right at the scar on her wrist. She had played her harp for him by the gypsy fire, and she had played it for him tonight. This time, she would do the thing she desired to do the first time, but could not.
She drew on Bastion’s courage, and her own heart, and took his face into her hands, and kissed him. She felt the same powerful vibration she had felt inside him the first time she touched him as a child. She was every bit a woman now, and kissed him as a lover, kissed him jus
t like she played, like she danced... with every bit of herself.
Bastion kissed her back, pulling the young gypsy girl into him for the sweetest kiss of his life.
The last remnants of her music echoed out as they kissed...
and gave way to a mighty roar of applause.
_____________________________
The Gypsy Queen- CHAPTER 7- “Pixie”
Otta looked on, a worried expression on his face. The future of the throne was in doubt. Otta had always craved the chance to be King, but it was not to be, with Bastion as heir. There were things he would do differently, including dealing with the gypsies... but the people of the kingdom seemed happy enough for now, he thought. Yana had fully charmed the Great Hall, and Otta watched her and Bastion dance along with the jester and all the others that had joined.
For the King’s purpose of uniting the gypsies, it was a fine step, but there could be many others who would not only not approve, but wholly reject Yana, especially if Bastion should choose her as queen. There could be uproar beyond what Bastion had ever considered, as Captain. Otta was glad that it would be many years before he ascended to the throne. He did not consider him ready to be a King. That is, he thought, if Bastion even lived that long.
The party wound down, and the citizens trickled out, seeming drunk and happy as they went. Those sitting at the King’s table departed for the King’s chamber, a more intimate setting for those closest to the King. Benches were set out on the veranda outside his private quarters, and Bastion and Yana settled in together near the small fire that was encircled by the guests.
Otta opened the wine, and made the introductions. “This is the Chamberlain,” he signaled, “and his wife. The magistrate,” he continued, “and this is Obadiah.”
The Gypsy Queen Page 7
