The Gypsy Queen

by Samuel Solomon

  She fell unconscious.

  Volga loomed over her, rage and evil in his eyes.

  “I would not have guessed that the black riders of Jedikai would employ a dirty gypsy girl,” he remarked, grabbing her hair. “What the hell are you doing in Kaffa?”

  Volga dragged Yana’s limp body into the camp, towards his tent.

  _____________________________

  The Gypsy Queen- CHAPTER 12- “pinned”

  Yana awoke to the sound of her own body crashing into a table. Dazed, she looked around. The tent was lit with oil lamps, and Yana lay in the dirt, excruciating pain throbbing on the right side of her head. In fact, she realized, that table hurt really bad too. She tried to get her bearings.

  She was alone with Volga.

  Yana tried to push herself up. Volga saw her stirring, as he slid a big knife across a stone, dragging the blade to sharpen it. He watched her while he worked the stone.

  “I am going to teach you what we do to gypsy slaves. You are not broken, because you were not yet a slave. You will be broken,” he said.

  Yana panicked. She began to scramble to get up, to try to run. Volga grabbed her by the neck and threw her back down as though she weighed nothing. Yana ached from the pain, but the panic had only worsened. She looked about quickly, looking for some way, some plan. The only way out was blocked by Volga.

  “When I am finished with you, I will have each of the men come in here and do as they will, with you. Whatever they want. They will be angry with you for killing their friends, I’m afraid. I am angry too, but I should be thanking you. You came right to me... and now I don’t have to pay the men you killed!” he said with a hearty laugh.

  Yana leapt up again, trying to make for the entrance, trying to dart past the huge slave trader somehow. Volga struck her down, swinging his fist at her head, and missing just enough to strike her shoulder. It was effective; Yana crumpled to the ground again.

  Volga pressed his face in close to Yana’s, and spoke in a voice so sinister it gave her chills, the deepest fear she had ever felt.

  “If you try to run again, gypsy, I will slide this knife into you. I will hold you down, and slide it in slow. You will feel it, but you will not die.” Yana’s eyes were wide with fear.

  “Then, I will pull it out, and let you watch your own blood spill out. As your blood spills out, I will slide the knife into you again. You will feel it, but you will not die. You will watch the knife as I push it in.” Yana was silent with pure terror.

  “Then,” Volga said, “I will slide the knife down here,” he said, sliding the knife between her legs, letting her feel the cold metal and sharp edge move up her thigh. “You will feel it,” he said, “but you will not die. No, not yet...”

  Yana was horrified beyond reason. She believed every word he said. She could have no reaction except horror. She held still, hoping he would set her down. If she couldn’t escape, she would have to kill him. She looked around, desperate for some kind of weapon. There was none.

  Volga cast her into the far corner of the room. Still sharpening his knife, he took a swig of his drink, and a big bite off a piece of meat he had been enjoying when Yana showed up.

  Like a wild animal, Yana crouched in the corner, trembling with fear and fury. She would have to kill him, or she would have to make sure she died trying. She could not live in a cage, and could not dream of the horrors these men visited on innocent people.

  She waited for the right moment, as he sharpened his knife. She dove for him, trying to shove his hand so that the knife he held would plunge up under his chin. She used all the surprise and strength and agility she had, and gave a tremendous thrust.

  Volga was surprised; she had more fight in her than he suspected. The knife did stab into his skin, drawing blood, but not doing any real damage. His eyes grew wide as he gripped her neck, having caught her in mid-flight before she could get the leverage she needed. She struggled harder than a fish in a net, gasping for air.

  “I hoped you would try again,” Volga said. “I am going to make you pay for your killing.” He thought about it for a few moments. “I think I will just give you a taste, first. I am not going to kill you until every man in the camp is finished with you. But a little blood won’t kill you.”

  Volga tossed her on the ground, this time setting his massive boot on her. He crouched down, and set more of his body weight onto her. She fought to get free, but he was easily three times her weight. She was pinned.

  Volga took his knife, and used it to pull back the fabric and expose her bare stomach. He saw it heaving up and down, and his eyes narrowed, as he could hear her breathing, and feel her terror. He dragged the point of his knife across her skin, to add to it.

  Then, he began to push the blade into her. She screamed, and Volga cursed himself for forgetting, and put his giant hand over her mouth. He liked the scream, but he wanted to feel her scream into his hand. He gripped her face and pulled it up so she could see what he was doing. He pushed the knife into Yana’s midsection, very slowly. The blade pushed into the skin, and blood sprang forth. Yana did scream, and Volga kept his hand there to absorb it. He slid the blade into her a little further, maybe an inch or more. She couldn’t move, and she couldn’t breathe. Her chest began to heave desperately and she could feel her consciousness slipping away, as she saw the blood trickle down her side.

  “Unnnhhh!” Volga grunted loudly. He rolled over, off of Yana.

  Bastion stood over them both, wearing nothing at all.

  Volga slid with a thud onto the ground next to Yana, two knife handles protruding from his back. The blades were hidden, driven all the way deep by Bastion’s fury. Bastion shoved his body away and fell to his knees, pulling Yana closer, looking her over. He hurried to tend to her wound, pressing into it with the corner of her cloak to control the bleeding.

  Yana began to weep. Bastion was getting a wrap and pulled a segment of Yana’s garment off to dress the injury so she could move. Yana’s weeping turned into hard sobs, as she tried to release the fear that had flooded her. The sobs caused her pain in her side, making it a more agonizing release. Bastion finished the dressing as best as he could, and then set himself on top of Yana. He let some of his weight rest on her body, offering whatever comfort he could. The comfort of his presence was all he had. Yana’s jerking and heaving chest slowed after several minutes, and Yana gained some clarity.

  She raised her hands above her head and pulled Bastion’s face down to her, to kiss him. She took in the reassurance of his kiss, kissing him harder, like she was hungry for it, and in her profound joy that he was there. Bastion finally leaned back to check her wound again.

  “Bastion,” Yana said, “why the hell are you naked?”

  “They took my clothes!” he said with a laugh. “I wanted to get dressed, but I thought I should stop by first.”

  “So you just come to me unannounced, wielding blades, stark naked? Is that what it’s come to?”

  Bastion was relieved to see her mischievous grin.

  “I’m afraid so. I am a notorious scoundrel, it would seem,” he said.

  “Not as bad as some,” Yana said, her thoughts turning serious as she looked towards the tent entrance. The camp was quiet.

  “Tuvia saved us,” Bastion said.

  Yana laid back and let out a deep breath of gratitude. Tuvia’s job was to go to the cage where the black riders were being held, and give them the tools they needed to break out. She had not been sure if he would make it; he was in very bad shape. Yana had forgotten him entirely when she was facing Volga just minutes earlier. Everything happened so fast, as she replayed their assault in her mind.

  “You rest here,” Bastion said. “I will be right back,” he said, departing. Yana looked over at the giant body laying motionless next to her, and that feeling of dread made her close her eyes. She drifted back in her mind to the feeling of Bastion, lying on top of her, absorbing her anguish. She loved that man. Her hand wandered down to her wound, where she pr
essed on it, trying to see how bad it was.

  Bastion came back to the tent, this time fully dressed. He began gathering up some of the documents that were strewn about Volga’s table. Nathaniel came in and helped, not saying a word. He took the documents and departed, and Bastion came to Yana.

  “We need to get you up. We are leaving Kaffa, leaving right now,” he said. Yana tried to comply, getting up slowly. Bastion knelt down and scooped her up, carrying her in his arms, as she let out a moan of pain.

  “What... what happened out here?” Yana asked.

  “Tuvia brought us the lock kit, after you caused all that trouble. We got free and stormed the last few traders that you missed.”

  “I missed nothing, Captain,” Yana insisted. Indeed she had not. Every arrow had hit clean. “If I just had another few minutes, I’d have gotten them all.”

  Bastion had to smile at that. The girl had talent.

  The black riders were moving quickly to get the captives freed and onto Volga’s ship. They had seen the action too, and were thanking the riders profusely, slowing down the process of getting them all on the ship.

  Yana wrapped her arms around Bastion’s neck as he carried her. It hurt, but she did not care.

  “We made it,” she said. “We did it. We saved everyone.” Bastion did not reply. He hustled her onto the ship, stepping across the short plank onto the deck. The captives were piling on board, grabbing whatever they could, and the black riders were doing much the same.

  “Where is Tuvia?” Yana asked as Bastion carried her. “I want to thank him. He saved us all.” Bastion looked grim.

  “Tuvia died,” he said. “He got to the cage and collapsed before we could even get free to help him.”

  Yana could feel her face twist and her chest tighten as the tears were coming again. What a terrible cost, she thought, to lose him. Sacrificing his life for his Captain, his leader, and a bunch of strangers.

  “He did save us all,” Bastion said. “So did you, Yana.”

  Bastion set her in a small bunk on the main deck. This ship was larger and nicer than the one they had sailed to Kaffa on. Most of the freed captives milled around the main deck, and Bastion addressed them.

  “We must be underway now! I need every able body on the oars to get us out of the harbor. Once we return to Jedikai we will give each of you an armed escort back to your homes and families. My men are in charge! Do as directed and we will all be home soon! Go, go, go!”

  Bastion and his men directed everyone down below to the oars, except for two aged women that were not well enough. The boat began to move out of the harbor. Bastion brought the two women in to Yana, in the small bunks where he had set her.

  “I want you two to look after Yana. She has a knife wound in her side, but it doesn’t look too bad. Can you help her?” Both the women nodded. Bastion left without another word, and returned with supplies. He spilled them out onto the floor, holding too many things in an awkward load. Bandages, food, everything he could find. He left Yana there with the two women, and took the helm.

  The ship was not directed to open sea, but along the coastline. A few miles up, they came upon the Panzar, secured where they had left it, at an empty beach. Bastion went to Nathaniel.

  “I want you to get on board, kill the trader we left down below, and set fire to the ship, as quickly as you can,” he ordered.

  “Yes sir,” he said. Nathaniel removed his cloak and some of his clothing, and dove into the chilly sea. Bastion watched as Nathaniel swam up to it, climbed up a mooring rope, and boarded it. Very soon he saw him running across the deck, and then he stood at the edge. He lit a lamp and tossed it on the deck, igniting all the oil he had spread. He jumped down to the little rowboat dinghy tied to the Panzar and rowed back, as the ship engulfed in flame.

  Bastion looked above and waved a signal, and the sail blossomed and opened as it was released by his man on the mast, and Nathaniel climbed aboard on a rope as Bastion swung the ship about, finally headed west for Jedikai.

  Bastion looked out to the horizon, gratified that they had accomplished their mission, and grieved for the loss of his man. He had lost two men the night Yana saved them in the gulley. Soon, he thought, we will honor them and their sacrifice.

  Nathaniel approached him, wrapped in black, using his cloak to try and get warm and dry.

  “Well done, Nathaniel,” Bastion said.

  “Captain, there was a problem,” he replied.

  “What problem?”

  “The ship is burning, clear enough. But the captive, down below- he was gone,” he said.

  “Gone?” Bastion asked.

  “Escaped. No sign of him.” he confirmed. A troubled look came across Bastion’s face.

  “Do you think he survived, Captain? Does he know who we are?” Nathaniel asked.

  “For all of Jedikai,” Bastion said, “I hope not.”

  Bastion left Nathaniel at the wheel once they were at sea, headed into clear skies and open water. He went to look in on Yana.

  “How is she?” he asked, inquiring of the women looking after her. “She is well,” the older one said. “We gave her a poultice for the wound, and we found some lavender oil that will help her sleep. She is eating, and that is good.”

  “Bastion,” Yana called out. Bastion was already coming to sit with her.

  “How are you, little gypsy?” he asked. Yana was eating some bread that the women had given her. Yana kept chewing, instead of answering. She motioned with her finger to come closer. Bastion drew in closer. She motioned closer again, and he moved in closer, becoming curious.

  Yana leaned up suddenly and punched Bastion in the arm as hard as she could. Bastion took the blow and leaned backwards. It didn’t really hurt, but it certainly surprised him.

  “That,” she said, “was for throwing that bread on the floor in the cantina and making me eat it!”

  Bastion broke out into laughter, recalling how well she had sold the act of being his slave girl. He thought about how furious she must have been while she ate, not able to say anything. The thought of it made him laugh even harder, and Yana began to laugh with him. Doing that just to fool with her was the funniest thing he could remember, and he laughed until his eyes watered.

  Yana pulled him into a kiss, as he tried to settle down, and kissed him sweetly.

  “And that,” she said, “is for dropping by unannounced, naked and armed.”

  “It was my pleasure, young gypsy,” Bastion said. “You,” he added, “You are my pleasure. You did good.”

  Yana’s mind wandered quickly where she did not want it to. She knew she would still have to leave the kingdom, after she got back to her caravan. She thought she might see the King once more, to satisfy her promise to him, and to try and plead the case of the gypsies. It would be better for them if the city folk would show them more respect as a people.

  For the moment, Yana had a dressed wound, a full belly, and a sleepy head... and the company of a man she had a swirl of emotions for. Admiration. Fear. Lust. Adoration. She expressed them all, without words, kissing him once more as they sailed towards Jedikai.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Degonyat was a tall and fearsome man. He looked through the trader camp with a look of disgust, kicking debris out of his way. He was angry, and he wished he could kick all the bodies out of his way too. He wondered how many there were, stroking his beard.

  He looked in the tent, where Volga laid on his side with two knives buried into his back. He shook his head. Volga had always done a good job staying out of trouble, he thought. Degonyat did not know of anyone who was after Volga, but slave trading was a profession that created enemies, and he knew that very well.

  He walked back outside, looking for clues, as were some of his men. He saw one of Volga’s boys with an arrow shot directly into his mouth. He reached down to try and tug it out. Pulling harder, he set his foot on the man’s head for leverage. The barbs of the arrow held, and he found himself tugging around the dead man’
s head, so he gave up. Seeing his dilemma, one of his own men brought him another arrow just like it- bloody, but at least not wedged into a head.

  Degonyat peered at it, trying to remember where he had seen such an arrow. There was no other evidence of who could have done this thing in his town. The traders were all killed, the captives were all gone, and so was the ship Volga had arrived in. He stewed on that a while, getting more and more angry with every breath. That was his ship. Degonyat was head of the entire slave trade in Kaffa, master of the auctions, and everyone answered to him. Every trader paid him a tributary tax on their profits.

  Volga, his underling, had run afoul of the wrong people. A thought crossed his mind. There was only one other time he had seen a slaughter like this, an expert assassination. Some feared them, but he thought that if they existed at all, they were cowards, killing in the night, instead of with a good army like his.

  “Degonyat,” a man shouted. It was his second-in-command, Bari. He was dragging a man along with him, a man dressed in rags. They hurried up the path to him.

  “This man,” said Bari, “he saw them. He saw the ones who did it.”

  The man spoke up immediately. “They set fire to the Panzar, and took your other boat! They captured me and held me but I escaped. They burned down Tatu Castle too! I saw them when they overtook us there.”

  Degonyat looked at him fiercely. “They burned down Tatu?!” he shouted. Burned my trade ship, stole my flagship, took all my slaves and killed these men?

  “This... this is an act of war! Nobody steals from me! They are going to pay,” he growled with conviction. He looked at the arrow in his hand again, and looked at the man in rags.

  “Tell me,” he said, “who did this.” He already knew the answer.

  “It was the black riders of Jedikai,” the man said.

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