Violya

Chapter 16 Gwrlain

16

GWRLAIN

Finya pulled her sword, and her four warriors behind did the same. She positioned herself ready to fight.

But there was no one to fight. The Trogrs remained at ease. It was a time of rest – it was almost always a time of rest. They conserved their energy. Gwrlain’s body had forgotten how it felt to shut down after expending energy. He ate more with the Peqkians, had adapted to their being awake and moving for longer periods.

Gruack ignored Fin’s drawn weapon. She sung. The melody swept over Gwrlain and heightened his senses, as if a great gush of ice-cold water had been splashed over him. He swayed at the words that cut to his core. It was pure and it elated his being. The fine fur shivered and tickled his skin as it stood on end.

When Gruack had finished, Gwrlain could sense the Peqkians bristling next to him. They were unsure what to do, impatient for something to happen. But Trogrs didn’t rush their lives. Greetings, in the Peqkian’s concept of time, were lengthy. He would explain later.

Gwrlain sung and his mother swayed happily as he had done. Then his old father, with effort, propped himself up on an elbow, and faintly sang the same song as his mother had. Gwrlain welcomed it in his being once again. He replied with a song that affected his father in the same way. Daneil lowered himself back onto the birds’ nests and sprawled contentedly. The same was repeated with the second female on the rock platform.

When the greetings were complete, Gwrlain turned back to the Peqkians. Fin still had her sword drawn, but it was pointed down.

Gwrlain stuck out his tongue and could taste utter bafflement in Robya’s odour.

“When we are born, we are given two names,” Gwrlain explained to the scholar. “One is a spoken name, such as Gwrlain, and the other is a song. The song is unique to each individual and is created by the mother at birth. We sing our own name-songs whenever we please and greet each other by singing theirs.”

“Interesting,” Robya said.

“When Terya was born, I gave her a name-song because Ramya couldn’t.”

“I see.”

Fin scowled. “We are getting distracted. Why are your parents alive, Gwrlain? Where are our Peqkian women?”

Before Gwrlain could answer, Gruack spoke. “Your mission was a success, son. You bring us more women to mate with. But so few. Where are the rest?”

Robya, who understood, jerked away from Gwrlain and moved closer to Fin to translate in her ear. The warrior raised her sword again.

“Mission? What mission, Gwrlain? We are not here to mate!” Fin sprung forward and pointed the sword at Gwrlain’s neck. “V told us to trust you, but everything you’ve told us has been lies.”

He sighed. He raised his arm and gently moved the sword away. Any show of aggression now would see every Peqkian dead. That was not what he wanted.

The second female stirred and slapped the rock she reclined on. Around her, on the flat rock beneath the mound, Trogrs roused. One climbed onto the rock platform and took the baby from her. A second came up behind her rubbing his erect p***s. She manoeuvred her body onto all fours and he entered her from behind.

Whilst he thrust, she turned to Gwrlain. “Brother, I need to get pregnant again. I’ve only had male babies. I must have a female. Time is running out. Mother is pregnant again. She has not born a female since me. There have been no more female babies since yours. We sent a swift. The other females have all died in the time you have been away, their wombs spent.”

“Brother?” Robya said.

“That is Lulac,” Gwrlain said to the scholar.

The Trogr grunted as he ejaculated and pulled out. He made way for a second Trogr, who entered Lulac. Behind him stood a line of males, waiting to have s*x with her. She would receive male after male until her womb quickened again with child.

“I am getting old and tired, son,” Gruack said. “I fear this will be my last pregnancy.”

“Let it be female,” Gwrlain said in unison with his mother and sister and every Trogr nearby.

“But we have hope, Mother. One of the Peqkians is with child,” Lulac said as a third Trogr thrust away.

“Let it be female,” Gwrlain chanted again with those around him.

A line of Trogrs had formed up next to his mother. But not to procreate. She lifted a finger and they started forward. One by one they placed gifts at her feet such as nests, a few drops of salamander blood in birds’ skulls, rock carvings of babies and birds. They sung her name-song before walking away and joined the queue to mate with Lulac.

“What is going on?” Robya, exasperated, grabbed Gwrlain’s arm.

He reacted harshly and regretted it immediately. He emitted a deep hum that shook Robya off her feet. She collapsed on the birds’ nests that covered the floor in a crackling heap. Her body convulsed.

Fin raised her sword and lunged at Gwrlain. Her warriors positioned themselves to attack at her command behind her. From deep in his chest, Gwrlain produced the same hum that had floored Robya, what Zecky had called his death-rattle. Within seconds all the Peqkians were flattened, convulsing on the floor. The noise having no effect on the Trogrs.

Fin gritted her teeth and fought against the force, attempting with all her might to come at him on her knees. He was impressed by her strength and persistence. He upped his vibration by the tiniest fraction and she fell back, her body rattling and her sword falling from her fingers.

“Are there any matches?” Gruack said. She hadn’t moved from her position, and was in no way alarmed by the proceedings. Trogrs continued to drop offerings at her feet. Lulac continued to receive seed.

Gwrlain stopped his vibration and the Peqkians groaned on the floor. Fin attempted to stand, but her entire body wobbled. Gwrlain knew it would be a while before they recovered.

“Did you not get my swifts?” Gwrlain said.

“Perhaps,” Gruack said with a languid turn of her head. “I do not recall.”

Gwrlain’s skin flushed momentarily. He had sent a swift ahead with a message: ‘Treat me as if you hate me. Resist my entry, do not allow us easy passage. The Peqkians are clever. Our plan must change.’ But Gruack either hadn’t received that message, had forgotten its contents, or – most likely – had ignored it altogether. What did Trogrs care about Peqkian cleverness? Peqkian strong wombs, however, those they cared about.

“We have been expecting your return with many Peqkian women to link with and breed. When you did not return, our situation became desperate and we sent males to the trading point to attempt to link with Peqkian women there. It worked. Five linked,” Gruack said.

Gwrlain nodded. HeHHe kneeled next to Fin and Robya. Both Peqkians still writhed on the floor, attempting to regain control of their bodies after the vigorous shake. He could sense Fin’s intense anger.

In Shella, he said, “Listen. Be calm. I was sent to link with a Peqkian woman. The woman I linked with happened to be your ruler. I loved Ramya. That is true. When a Trogr finds a mate, we mate for life. We made a baby, a female baby. Our species joined. The Peqkian women were not kidnapped, they came willingly. They linked with Trogr males. It happens instantly. We do not force ourselves on females, that is not our way, we honour them, they are precious in our culture.”

“What… is… link?” Robya stuttered as the aftermath of the vibrations surged through her body.

“Every being has a unique vibration. When your vibration is perfectly in tune with another’s, they sing together. Ramya and I shared this connection. You will only ever find one other with a matching hum. I will never love another again,” Gwrlain said.

His head dipped as he remembered his soulmatch and his baby. Terya’s name-song came to his mind and he longed to sing it. But later, he would remember his daughter later.

He continued, “Many Trogr males would’ve sung out their songs to the Peqkian women at the trading point in the hope that they would link.”

Fin gritted her teeth and pushed herself up to sitting. “So this is a trap?” She spat out at Gwrlain as she slowly got to her feet. “You’ve lured us here to use our wombs?”

“No. You came here of your own free will. Your ruler sent you.”

“If any male cave creature so much as comes near me I’ll spill the cockface’s innards,” Fin replied, her fingers finding the hilt of her sword.

Robya coughed and spoke in his language, so that Fin wouldn’t understand. The scholar’s voice still quivered. “So, from the moment we stepped foot in Lauago the Trogrs would’ve been attempting to link with us, to see if one of us shared their vibration?”

She was clever, this one. “Yes. Clearly none have been successful,” Gwrlain replied, sadly. He had hoped that one of these females might’ve linked with a Trogr, but it wasn’t to be.

Robya’s eyes widened. She reached a shaking hand out to the captain. “They will not touch us, Fin,” she said in Shella.

Fin considered the scholar and Gwrlain sensed her rage shrinking to sit beneath the surface of her skin, still hot but not molten.

The captain turned to Gwrlain. “Where are our women? Take us to them. Now.”

The other Peqkians were also recovering and starting to stand once again.

Fin picked up her sword and sheathed it. She glared at him. “Don’t ever do that rattle thing again, understand?”

He didn’t reply, and silently led the wobbly Peqkians away from the main cavern of Lauago and along a tunnel with a gradual incline.

“We’re heading back towards a cave entrance,” Robya said. “The air is getting fresher.”

“Thank Sybilya. Your city stinks, Gwrlain,” Fin said.

Gwrlain ignored the warrior. “Correct, Robya. The Peqkians and their mates live in the near-dark where there is enough light for the women to see by.”

It wasn’t long before they came upon a small cave hollowed out in the mountain.

Gwrlain hummed to picture the scene. Fin and Robya gawped.

Leading off this hollow was another tunnel that was lit by daylight. A few steps and it opened to the outside. And surrounding the hollow were small openings that had been carved out of the rock to house a place to sleep and a small area to sit. Within the hollow was a small fire, the smoke lazily drifting out the entrance tunnel. Bustling around this fire were five Peqkian women and five Trogr males.

Some were cooking, some were sewing, some were learning songs and teaching each other their language. Some were coming and going from the tunnel carrying wood or water in buckets. It was a happy, bustling, lively setting.

As the residents of this little hollow noticed they had guests, and Peqkian guests at that, they jumped up and came forward.

“Welcome, welcome!” one small and smiley Peqkian woman said. Her face glowed and she bloomed with joyful good health. “What news from Peqkya, of Melokai Ramya?”

“You are truly here of your own free will?” Fin asked.

“Yes, of course. We fell in love with Trogrs whilst working at the trading point,” the woman said.

“What is your name?” Fin demanded.

“Freya,” she said frowning at the warrior’s venom.

“Freya, warriors died trying to save you and these women. It was understood you were kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped? Died?” Freya repeated, scrunching her forehead.

Fin leaned in close to the woman and stared closely at her eyes. “Are you under some spell? In some kind of trance?”

“No,” Freya said. “I’m blissfully happy. This is my soulmatch.” She beckoned forward a Trogr who came to her side, put his arm around her shoulders and rested a hand on her belly. Freya kissed him sweetly on the cheek. “I am pregnant,” she said to Fin.

“Zhaq,” the warrior captain swore and spat on the ground. “Warriors are dead. Peqkians, your own kind, died coming after you.”

“I did not know this.” Freya turned to her Trogr and, in basic Troglo language, said, “Is this true? Why would you kill these warriors? We came willingly.”

The male dipped his head and replied in heavily accented Shella, “We did not want to lose you, we were protecting our bond. Those who have not experienced the link, cannot comprehend it. They wanted to take you away from us.”

“We would have explained that we were happy, told them we wanted to stay,” Freya replied.

The male simply shook his head.

Freya turned her attention back to Fin. “I’m sorry that women died,” she said in Shella, dipping her head.

“We are here to take you home,” Fin said. “To rescue you.”

Robya put a hand on Fin’s arm and gently shook her head. With the other hand she indicated the little cavern. “They are home.”

Freya nodded and the Peqkian women around her clutched at their Trogr partners.

“It is a beautiful thing,” Freya said. “Not every one of us will link with a Trogr. I didn’t realise, but thousands of males sung to me before one melody thrummed in my entire being. Spoke directly to my core. There were hundreds of females working in the trading point. Only us five linked. We all just thought that the Trogrs liked to sing, we didn’t realise it was a love chorus. They were singing for love.”

Fin tutted, but Freya persevered.

“Once I heard the song, I stopped what I was doing and walked towards it. Towards him. There was an instant attraction. We made love that night, and every night since.”

Fin rolled her eyes.

“Is this what happened with Melokai Ramya, Gwrlain?” Robya said.

“It is.” Gwrlain’s white skin tinged a sallow yellow with sadness.

“We believed that if our Melokai could take a Trogr for a soulmatch, so could we. We didn’t think it would be perceived as kidnapping,” Freya continued. She rested a hand on her swelling belly.

The captain hissed, still disbelieving of the power of the link.

“We have much to tell you, Freya. Ramya is no longer the Melokai,” Robya said.

Freya’s hand went to her mouth and her Trogr male caught her as she staggered. “Oh, Sybilya save us. Come, sit. Let us bring you food, and we shall talk.”

“And we thought you were the trouble from the east,” Fin laughed a few hours later.

She lounged on a smooth rock in the area that had been named ‘Peqklo’ for the Peqkians who lived here with their Trogr soulmatches.

In the warrior’s hands was an empty bowl, once brimming with birds’ nest soup prepared by Gwrlain. He had given the same soup to everyone in attendance, it was his famed recipe. But for the warrior, he had added a little something else. A few sprinkles of the mildly euphoric, and immediately relaxing, blood of a rare spotted salamander.

Gwrlain wasn’t proud of his actions, but her aggression would get her killed. She needed to calm down, to accept the situation. The Peqkians had no idea just how powerful Trogrs were. Fin had experienced just a small taste back in Lauago.

She had sniffed at the soup, seen everyone else eating it and tucked in. Robya sat straight-backed and knees crossed furiously writing in her bound parchment journal. Fin’s four warriors crouched strategically around the outside of the cave. They, too, ate the soup, but would not strike unless their captain ordered it, or their captain herself was threatened.

Fin was lounging in much the same way as a Trogr. She even attempted to sing when the Trogr males started up their melodies. The five Peqkian women had helped Gwrlain to serve the soup, until Fin ordered the three serving peons that had come with them to do that job.

“We like to serve our soulmatches,” Freya had said, lovingly stroking her linked male’s face. “We are treated as goddesses; they do everything for us. But we like to care for them too. It was strange at first. But they’re not lowly peons, they’re more like equals.”

“Do not insult us,” Fin had seethed, and the peons had been ordered to distribute food, tidy and clean.

Gwrlain replied to Fin in Shella, “We could still be the trouble.”

“No, you’re no danger. I mean, you can do that hummy thing, but there’s only a few thousand of you. If you came face to face with a Peqkian army, outside these caves, you’d quickly be overrun.”

Doubtful. His death-rattle, at its weakest, had stunned her. At its strongest, and joined with the hums of other Trogrs, it would flatten an army. But they’d need to be stood quite close, perhaps a few hundred paces away for the vibrations to reach. And Trogrs could only produce the death-rattle for a limited time before having to refill their lungs. And then, usually, the spears were used.

The Trogr hunters had perfected their attack when prey was located. They hunted in packs of three or four, depending on the size of their quarry. They would hum together in a continual blast that stunned the target. At the point the prey was wracked with the shakes and frozen in place, the hunters came in with spears to kill. If they continued to hum, the prey would simply burst apart. No good for eating. And picking scraps off the rock was tedious work. Would that happen with a human? They are larger than our usual prey...

“Let us hope that will never happen, Fin,” Gwrlain said to appease her.

Fin snorted. “If only we had some of that pitfire juice, eh, Robya?”

The scholar blushed, heat rising from her cheeks. “That was one time, Fin, one time. The only occasion I’ve ever been drunk. I don’t wish to ever repeat it.”

The warrior laughed and fought against her drooping eyelids and the sleep that Gwrlain knew would now be clawing at her.

She looked around the cave drowsily, taking in the hazy scene. Her eyes flicked open with urgency and she sprang to her feet, surprising Gwrlain. Her warriors threw down soup bowls and stood to attention behind her.

“Where are the peons?” she said and eyed Gwrlain.

He sensed the suspicious tinge back in the warrior’s scent. He was amazed she had got to her feet so quickly. The strength of this woman continued to surprise him. But then, Ramya’s force and determination had always impressed him too.

Gwrlain hummed to picture the cavern. Robya also looked for the peons.

“Silence,” Fin shouted, and the Peqkian women nudged their Trogr soulmatches to stop their singing.

As the noise settled, a faint grunting could be heard from along the tunnel that led back to Lauago.

Fin gestured to her warriors, grabbed a lantern and took off down the tunnel with three in tow, leaving one to keep watch over Peqklo. Robya set down her pencil and parchment and ran after Fin. Gwrlain close at her heels.

“Zhaq.” Gwrlain heard Fin swear up ahead as he caught up with her.

She stood at the opening to a small cave off the tunnel pathway. Her arms were folded. Robya’s eyes almost popped out of her head.

“Lulac,” Gwrlain said with surprise.

His sister sat astride one of the serving peons, rutting him hard. In her hand she rubbed another peon’s erect p***s. The third peon was lying to one side, catching his breath, his p***s flaccid.

The peon on the ground grunted as he ejaculated. The one whose p***s Lulac held stared at Fin, attempting to wriggle out of Lulac’s grip. But she held him firm.

“Brother, your presence here has lessened their erections. Please leave,” Lulac said, shifting to allow the peon underneath her to move away.

“What are you doing?” Gwrlain said.

“It works both ways, brother, you males can breed with female Peqkians, and I can breed with Peqkian males. We must save our species. No Trogr male is capable of planting a female in my belly, so I am harvesting the seed of these males in the hope that they can. They were willing.” Lulac guided the peon to stand in front of her by pulling at his manhood. Seeing that his p***s was now soft, she took it in her mouth to work it back to life, gripping his buttocks so he couldn’t move.

The peon stared at the group in the doorway, pushing at Lulac’s shoulders, attempting to get free. The other two huddled together, eyes downcast, in the furthest corner of the little cave.

Robya translated Lulac’s words for Fin. The warrior glared and her hand twitched toward her sword.

Gwrlain filled his lungs. Lulac was a Living Goddess. He would hum and hum until Fin burst if she tried to touch his sister.

Fin laughed, slicing through the tension.

Doubled over, she clutched at her belly and guffawed so intensely that she almost lost her footing. “Your sister should wait to meet our Pleasure Givers. These are the runtiest runts. Peqkian women would not touch these peons. Of course they are willing. I doubt they’ve ever had a woman. If all she’s after is their seed, and no pleasure, then she can carry on. Look at their little faces, this is the happiest they’ve ever been.” Fin pointed at the peons. “Pleasure this female Trogr for as long as she requires, as often as she requires.”

The peons vigorously nodded.

“If I hear any complaints from her, the usual punishment will apply. Well, what are you waiting for? Get yourselves ready again. Gwrlain, tell your sister that we gift her these peons to pleasure her and service her until she has no more need of them.” Fin headed back to the cavern, a smirk on her face.

“They are yours, Lulac, may their seed bring forth a daughter for the Trogr people,” Gwrlain said.

Lulac didn’t reply, she was too busy pulling the peon whose c**k had been in her mouth to the ground so she could straddle him. She flicked a hand at Gwrlain as she grinded. Behind, the two peons rubbed at their p*****s, ready to service Lulac again.