The Gypsy Queen

by Samuel Solomon

  She looked back at the water. Still, her aura vibrated to an unknown rhythm, the same little hum that she felt with Bastion. The scar on her wrist burned hot. Then she felt very silly. She raised her hand up to take off Bastion’s mantle. It must just be the colors from that cloak he had left, that was throwing so much color.

  Except, she was not wearing it. It was over on the bench of her wagon.

  She looked back into the water, watching Bastion’s aura surround her. She smiled, as tears graced her young face once more. Bastion had infused her, inspired her, and accepted her. The aura in the pool told the truth.

  She was his.

  She made peace with herself, there at that pool. Finally, she knew what she had to do. She knew how to get free.

  Yana tended to herself, that night. She ate well, from Bastion’s provision. She finished her hair, and set her clothes just right. She let her horse drink deeply from the waters of Jedikai, and drank of them herself. She settled into a fire, warmed by more than just the flames. Her horse stood near her, as if to stand guard, picking and eating little stalks and plants at leisure.

  She watched the fire awhile. It reminded her of her and Bastion. Bastion, the stones. Yana, the fire. The stones contained the fire.

  Yana played her harp, pouring her heart out into the night sky. She sang a little, in Romany, the language of her youth. She fed the fire, and brushed her horse, enjoying the simple things of nature in a childlike way. When she was content, she retired to her wagon, and set out the softest bedding she could. She laid in it, thinking of her darling boy, the King. She slept soundly into the night, as well as she ever had before.

  Yana awoke the next morning, setting her things in order. She enjoyed a light breakfast, and wore her finest garments, setting wildflowers in her lovely hair. She stroked the long, flowing mane of her horse, and made ready. When she was set, she climbed aboard, and stroked the rune-shaped scar on her wrist, with love in her eyes.

  She snapped the reigns, and directed her horse to the city gates.

  Entering the meadow, Yana decided to get out and walk. She led her horse by the bridle, the rig following behind them. She talked to her horse in Romany, praising her with words of love and thanks. Kuta had been good to her. She took in the morning sun, enjoying a serenity she had never felt before. She took her time, but still, the gates loomed large as she neared them. She drew upon her love for Bastion, to give her courage.

  She hailed the gatekeepers, who were already on their way down to see her. Pook and Gumi shuffled outside, and approached her. They knew of the trouble, and were at a loss of what to say to her. Being at a loss for words was rare for the curmudgeonly old watchmen. Yana pulled a telescope from her garments.

  “I took this telescope from you men, when I first entered the city. It is yours, not mine.” She handed it over, and Pook received it.

  “I am sorry for stealing from you,” Yana said. “I will never do so again. I hope you will forgive me.” The old men finally found a word or two.

  “Thank you, Yana,” Gumi said. “May you know honor.”

  “You should not be here,” Pook said. “You should run, before you are found out.” He wanted to help her somehow.

  “I am found, already,” she said with reassurance. She stepped up to them and kissed them each on the cheek, much like she had when she had first enchanted them. “Thank you for watching over the King,” Yana said, and departed their company. They watched as she rounded the bend.

  “Now we both have a telescope!” Pook said, grinning. “But I’m keepin’ this one! It’s better!”

  “That one is mine!” Gumi argued. “That one was mine before!”

  “Oh, it was not!” Pook argued, as they ambled back inside, jostling and fussing amongst themselves.

  Yana walked to the livery, the stables where she had found Bastion in her time of trouble. The stable boss came out, and the boy Yana recognized as having taken care of Kuta, when she left her here before. She handed the reigns to the boy, and nodded to them both.

  “Please,” she said, “I want you to give this horse and wagon to Mille, the court jester. You know of her?”

  “Yes, my lady,” the boy said.

  “You will make sure she gets this?”

  “Yes,” the boy said. “I can take it to her.”

  “Thank you,” Yana said. “Tell her that now she can go anywhere she wants to.” She remembered that Mille had said she didn’t have a good horse of her own. Now she did.

  Yana walked the short distance to the palace. For all the miles she had traveled in life, that short walk was her longest.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “No,” Otta said, explaining to Bastion, “the meeting will work better tomorrow. The citizens you want to deal with must all be there,” he said.

  “Will that work if we have to meet that ambassador, too?” Bastion asked.

  “We can do both,” Otta said. “Do you have your speech assembled?”

  “I have my points written,” Bastion said. “Will you look it over?” he handed the paper to Otta. His uncle looked it over, doing his job with the King, administrating the kingdom’s business.

  “Sire!” a guard called out, from the doors of the throne room. Otta answered him out of habit.

  “What is it?”

  “Miss Yana wishes an audience.” Bastion jerked upright, getting up out of his throne. He reeled, forgetting his wounded leg. Otta caught him, and righted him, handing him a staff.

  “What?” Bastion said. “That cannot be.” The guard poked his head in.

  “Shall I send her in, Sire?” Bastion and Otta looked at each other.

  “Aye,” Bastion said in disbelief. Sure enough, Yana walked through his doors, and entered his court. Yana walked in and set herself directly before Bastion, kneeling at his feet.

  “Oi, King Bastion,” she said, keeping her head hung low.

  “What are you doing here, Yana? You mustn’t be here!” Bastion said, feeling panic arise in his chest.

  “I am here to surrender myself to my King,” she said.

  “No, no,” Bastion agonized out loud. “You cannot be here!”

  “You said yourself, that I could go wherever the hell I want,” Yana said. “This is where I want to go. This is where I want to be. Right here at the feet of my King.” Yana continued to kneel, but her voice was strong. Bastion looked at her in shock.

  “I told you that you would be hanged, if you came here,” he said.

  “Aye, your majesty,” Yana said.

  “I told you I cannot undo it!” Bastion said, his panic getting worse.

  “You did tell me that, Sire,” Yana agreed.

  “Have you come here, to your own death?” Bastion asked.

  “Aye.”

  “No! No! This cannot be! This.... no! I will not have it!” Bastion shouted, as he began to pace the room. The thought of Yana hanging dead from a rope was a horror that struck fear in him. He could not be asked to do such a thing.

  He could not kill his beloved little gypsy.

  He would not.

  “King Bastion,” Yana said, standing up. “Whether I hang or not, I will still be gone from you. I will not live a life, gone from you. I will not live a life of guilt, having betrayed my beloved King. Whatever I must do, to make it right with you, I have come to do. If it requires my death, then so be it. As long as I am restored to you.”

  Bastion paced with his staff, as he looked at her. She looked so very, very beautiful.

  “You cannot ask me to do this,” Bastion said.

  “I ask nothing,” Yana said. “Do as you will. You are the King.”

  “Then run! Flee from here! Go, and be free!” Bastion said.

  “I cannot. I can never be free, ever again, except at your feet. Only with you, am I free,” she said. Otta finally spoke up.

  “Yana, you ask of your King something you must not ask,” Otta said.

  “I ask of my King, to be my King. He accepted the charge, to do his
job. I know Bastion to be a man of excellence. He does his job, even if it costs everything,” she said. “At least he will live out his days never in question about my love for him.”

  Yana’s heart was grieved, to see Bastion in conflict. She did not want to hang, but it was far better than to live a life of guilt, shame and heartbreak. After she had tasted the honor that Bastion had given her, nothing else would do. This was the only way to gain honor once more.

  “Nooo!” Bastion screamed. “Run, Yana! Run!” he tried to pull on her, and drag her towards the door. She allowed him, but as he released his grip a moment, she ran back to the throne, and cast herself to the floor in front of it, kneeling. Bastion limped back to her, and grabbed her again, pulling her away.

  “No, Yana! No! Please do not do this to me!” he dragged her partway across the floor, falling backwards himself. Yana dragged herself back, and knelt before the throne. Bastion dragged himself across the floor awkwardly towards her.

  “No, Yana, I love you, I love you,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. Yana looked him in the eyes.

  “Ya tebya lublu, my King,” she said. Never had she looked so naked, as when Bastion gazed into her eyes. There was no guile. No fear. No dread. No pain. Her love for him shone in her eyes, impaling Bastion with the most intense love and agony of his life.

  “I will never run from you again,” Yana said. “I belong to you. My heart belongs to you. It always has. It always will. I am sorry I failed you. I know that if I had more time, you would have strengthened me, so I would not fail.

  “But see, Bastion,” she said. “You have already strengthened me thus. You must be strong too. If you love me, you will restore me to you. If it must be at the end of a rope, I will accept it.”

  “No!” Bastion raged, getting up. “I will not do this!”

  “Yana,” Otta said. “This cannot be undone. You have killed the King’s enemy, and you have saved the King’s life. For that, you may walk out of here in exile. But you have committed treason. If you do not walk out of here right now, there will be no going back.”

  “Aye,” Yana said. “But I have already lost my life, if I have lost my King.”

  “You want me to order your hanging?” Bastion said, in shock.

  “Do as you will, my King,” Yana said. “Do as you must.”

  Bastion was horrified beyond sanity. Otta looked at him, waiting to see what he would do. It was Bastion’s greatest, most frightful test. He looked at her, as she knelt before his throne. His stomach churned in despair. He wanted healing for her, and happiness. Not this.

  Not this.

  No longer was it what he wanted. What he wanted was to make sure she got what she needed. He had to be sure not to fail her. He spoke to Otta, without looking away from the precious gypsy who knelt before him.

  “Prepare the gallows,” he said, the worst order he could ever give.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Yana walked outside in shackles. Soon, she would be truly free. She entered a small courtyard on the back side of the palace. It was not to be a public hanging, as Bastion would not disgrace her that way. There was a small gallows, and a man there dressed in black. She wondered if it was someone she knew, one of the black riders perhaps.

  Bastion and Otta were there, and the Chamberlain. Yana was afraid, and tried to draw on Bastion’s strength for courage, as she had many times before.

  “Please lover,” she turned to him, “kiss me goodbye.” Bastion could not bear it. He wanted to collapse, and cry, and scream, and fight. Yet he was King. He had to keep it together somehow. He held her face and kissed her. He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her forehead. Tears blurred his vision so much, he could see little. He released her, and the guard began to walk her to the steps of the gallows.

  “Wait!” a man shouted. “Wait!” The old magistrate came hustling into the small courtyard, having gotten the news of Yana’s arrival.

  “Quiet,” Otta told him. It was the most somber of events, not to be interrupted.

  “No,” the magistrate said. He turned to Bastion. “There is another way.”

  “HALT!” Bastion ordered, to the guards. “What way?”

  “Treason is the only charge that cannot be pardoned,” Otta said.

  “Yes, yes, that’s true. Ancient law. Good law,” the magistrate said. “But it is possible that the sentence be commuted.”

  “Commuted?” Bastion said. “What do you mean?”

  “The sentence can be commuted,” the magistrate said. “It could be years in the dungeon. Or, it can be lashes, for instance.”

  “What is the minimum sentence for this crime? The subject has offered mitigation. She killed the enemy, she preserved the King, and has surrendered willingly. What is the minimum sentence for her treason?” he pushed urgently. The magistrate did not hesitate.

  “Ten lashes,” he said. “Ten lashes with the whip.”

  Bastion looked at Otta, and then at Yana.

  “If Yana receives the ten lashes, the treason could be satisfied?” Bastion asked.

  “Yes, your highness,” the magistrate said. “It could satisfy the charge.”

  “Release her,” Bastion commanded. The guards hurriedly complied.

  “Yana,” he said, “you can still walk out of here. Run, and never return.”

  “I will live no life, unless I am restored to you. I shall not run,” she said.

  “You are willing to receive this sentence?” Bastion asked, desperate. Yana set herself at his feet once more, kneeling before the King.

  “Do as you will, with me,” Yana said. “I am yours.”

  “Will you receive it now?” Bastion said.

  “I will do as you wish, my King,” she said. “But please- command me. I am afraid, but I will do as you command. Please have mercy, and be swift.”

  “Yana, I command you to submit yourself to receive your punishment, for the charge of treason. “

  “Yes, my Lord,” she said, still on her knees.

  The men quickly made adjustments, and arranged for what Bastion had called for. They brought out restraints, and attached them to a thick stump in the ground, there in the courtyard. The man in black held a large, menacing whip.

  “You must undress,” Bastion said. Yana obeyed. She stripped down, letting her gypsy dress and garments fall to the ground. Bastion watched her, as she moved deliberately and efficiently. She stood before him, wearing only a small garment around her waist, and the wildflowers still in her hair. Her bare breasts showed her vulnerability, just as well as her bare back.

  “Please, my King,” she said, “Restore me by your own hand.” Bastion intended to. He took the whip from the man, and excused him and the other guards. Bastion and Yana remained, with Otta, the Chamberlain and the magistrate as witnesses. Bastion led her to the post, and she knelt before it.

  “You may do this without any shackles, since you have come of your own will. I will restrain you, if you wish it,” Bastion told her quietly.

  “Bond me,” Yana said. “I need your bonds.” She would not allow herself to disappoint the King again, and she knew the bonds would help her. Bastion took the leather restraint, and secured it around her neck. He hooked the small chain to it, and hooked it to the post. He bound each hand with a leather strap, and hooked them to the post with a chain as well.

  Yana knelt, her eyes closed in reverence, as though she were in a sanctuary. She was determined.

  Bastion trembled. He did not want to do this. He did not want her to be hurt at all. He had no choice but to do this, no matter his reluctance. He would prefer to take the lashes himself. He could not.

  Bastion leaned in close to her. Yana could sense him.

  “My love,” she said, “I am afraid.”

  “Have courage,” Bastion said, gripping her hand. “I need you to have courage and endure.” Bastion wondered if he himself had the courage to do it.

  “Yes, my King. I will do as you say.” She kept her eyes shut. Bastion set a leather
strap in her mouth, around the back of her head.

  “Bite down on this,” Bastion said. “It helps.”

  Bastion stood back, and took a look at her. Even now, in betrayal, in bonds... she had found a way to be more beautiful than he could imagine. He hefted the whip. He was expert with it, but it was a cruel whip, with a jagged edge.

  CRACK!

  Bastion felt the weight of her body, as the whip stung it. Yana jerked in pain, gasping from it. It was severe.

  CRACK!

  Yana whimpered as her body shook. She wanted to flee from the acute pain. She was grateful for the restraints. Bastion’s bonds were preventing her from failure. They were saving her life. She remembered when Bastion had ordered her, on the ship, to tie herself to him. He had saved her.

  CRACK!

  The whip drew up a massive welt, layering across the other two. Yana screamed into the leather gag. The pain was blinding. Tears leaked from her eyes, as she clenched them shut.

  CRACK!

  The whip opened her skin, and she began to bleed. She howled and sobbed, jerking hard against the chains.

  Bastion could not bear the sight. He wanted to save her. Release her. Set her free. Anything, but this. Instead, he had to do his job. He had to give her what she had earned, both in failure, and in courage. He would not deny her that.

  CRACK!

  That lash opened her skin again, laying a line of fresh blood open across her back. Bastion wished that someone could rescue him as well. Yana screamed at the strike. Her mind was a blur of pain. She was sobbing uncontrollably.