Violya

Chapter 2 Violya

2

VIOLYA

V led her warriors and the Jutes toward Riaow, approaching from the South Road and following the path of destruction caused by the Drome army.

On the outskirts of the city they were greeted by warriors and one sent a clevercat ahead to find the warrior Laurya, who V had left in charge. They rode slowly down the wide, tree-lined road that ran directly to the Melokai’s enclosure and army barracks at the centre of the city.

They passed destroyed dome-shaped wooden huts, the colourful facades now blackened with thick soot. Most of the woodcarvers’ quarter was in ruins, the wooden buildings reduced to ash. Statues of past Melokais were mutilated beyond recognition, and trees that had stood for thousands of years had been scorched to stumps. The air was choked with a smoky, rotten tang. A smell that would linger stubbornly for a long time.

They passed the turning onto the circular Tatya Highway, the road in which V and her warriors had roused the Riats to fight back against the invaders. Large dents gouged the earth, no doubt from the galloping hooves of their ponies.

The heavy snowfall of weeks earlier had given way to light flurries, more typical of this time of year. The grey, overcast day bore a sharp chill but the ground was still too warm for the snow to settle. Snowflakes fluttered, the bright white flecks a stark contrast against the charred city.

Six weeks had passed since the Drome invasion and the bloody aftermath of the battle. The corpses and gore had been cleared, and the city rang with the hammering of nails and the clanging of tools. The bustle of resolute activity. Riat women wrapped up in furs rebuilt huts gutted by fire, clearing away debris and putting their city back together. The women directed peons in goat-hair overcoats, who followed instructions with heads down and voices low.

Cats dashed from the maze of back alleyways and streets that sprawled off the main thoroughfare. They meowed as they jumped up at the animals. V’s horse snorted as the felines weaved in and out of its legs, mewing up at V.

The Riats stared as the procession passed, eyeing with suspicion not only the Jutes riding their large shiny beetles, but V and her warriors too. The betrayal of Peqkians against their own was still raw. The once-trusting Riats now wary.

A woman walked alongside V. “What’s your name?”

“Violya. V.”

“I saw you and your warriors as you rode through the city calling us out to fight. And you chased the cammers out. You saved us. You saved Peqkya. We’ve all been talking about the red-haired warrior.” The woman dipped her chin reverently.

She stepped back and shouted to all those around her, “V! V and her warriors and the pygmies have returned!”

Cheers rose from the women nearby and more Riats came from the backstreets to whoop and clap and wave at them.

“They’re called Jutes,” Fin told the woman as she passed.

“V and her warriors and the Jutes have returned!” the woman shouted again.

Soon the chant was taken up by the woman’s companions and, as V and her procession moved deeper into the city, the noise brought residents forward.

Onlookers lined the street, all shouting V’s name and cheering.

“I’m no hero,” V said to Lizya, who rode alongside her.

“Well, I am,” Lizya said with a huge grin. She waved back to the crowds, bowed and pumped her fist in the air.

“Isn’t this remarkable,” Brin said, riding his beetle behind them. “You Peqkians have some strange customs. Do you always welcome each other home from adventures as such?”

Lizya guffawed. “Not always.”

Brin copied Lizya’s movements and flourished his three-fingered, claw-like hand at the crowds.

V glanced over her shoulder. All her warriors smiled and waved, following Lizya’s lead. The Jutes mirrored Brin’s movements.

It felt odd to V that her actions should be celebrated, that she had become known to the Riats. I am a warrior, I protected my country, I did my job. But she raised her hand tentatively, smiling at those who caught her eye.

The noise of the cats and the crowds was overwhelming as they approached the Melokai’s enclosure. The gates, that had remained open for as long as V could remember, were now closed. Being open had aided the attack on Melokai Ramya. The warriors standing guard identified them and the gates slowly opened. V and her procession rode into the courtyard. It had been cleansed of all signs of the battle.

The warriors within stood to attention and stable-peons ran out to tend to the horses. V dismounted and headed towards Laurya, who stood waiting for her. They clutched each other’s hands, bumped their chests together and slapped each other on the back in welcome. V stepped aside to allow Lizya, Fin and Daya to each greet the warrior.

“Welcome back,” Laurya said.

“The cammers are out of our country,” V said. “We’ve left warriors at the border to guard the landslide road and the southern stretch, and replaced those who Ashya killed to ease the Drome army’s entry.”

Laurya nodded. “Riaow is secure, all fires tamed.”

“Come, let us get some food, and discuss,” V said as her stomach grumbled.

Laurya led them through to the warriors’ mess hall, gave orders to the kitchen then returned to sit opposite V as the warriors and Jutes took their seats.

“The bodies of Ashya, her traitorous warriors and the cammers were dragged and dumped in a pit outside the city, covered with dirt to rot and feed the worms,” Laurya said. “Our own dead were given a warrior’s burial in the square. The pyre burned for many days, the ashes of those we loved scattered through the country that loved them. The huts we can rebuild, but the House of Knowledge was ravaged. The stone crumbled as the mortar melted.” Laurya paused her report as crispbreads and pots of pickle chutney were brought out by serving peons and placed on the table.

V smiled. “My favourite.”

“I know,” Laurya replied with a wink.

Daya pulled a plate towards her. “Any food is my favourite, right now.”

As V ate, Laurya continued. “A week or so ago we captured a group of Dromedars hiding in the forests by Inaly Lake. There were nearly one hundred of them. Incredible that they had evaded our notice until then. They made a stupid mistake and we captured them. They surrendered immediately, begged for mercy and we have them in our prison. There was one who led them.”

“You should’ve butchered them all,” Monya blurted and then looked intensely at a bowl of chutney.

“Laurya did the right thing, Monya,” V said. “We could learn something from them, from this leader who kept them hidden. They could prove useful.”

Bowls of steaming spicy chicken soup were placed on the table.

“Ah, now this is my favourite,” Lizya exclaimed and leaned over the table to plant a smacking kiss on Laurya’s forehead.

Laurya winked again.

“What is this?” Brin asked, holding up a brimming cup.

“Wine,” Lizya said. “Probably like water to you after that pitfire juice.”

Brin took a sip. Grimaced and then grinned. He glugged back the rest of the wine in one go. One hundred Jutes around the hall did the same. More wine was called for.

“What of the rebellious peons?” V asked.

“Most died in the battle. Some immediately after as an angry mob of Riat women hunted them down. Two hundred survived, including one of the leaders. They’re in the prison too. It’s pretty cramped down there.”

Brin turned, vomited on the floor behind him and then continued to drink more wine. The Jutes were getting raucous and rowdy. Their unified movement fracturing as they became intoxicated.

“They love to drink,” Fin laughed and clapped Brin on the shoulder who burped. “It’s an honour for them to be drunk. You should’ve seen them go at it on pitfire juice in Majute.”

“Speaking of Majute, the scholar and trader that you sent for arrived back from Mlaw yesterday. Safe and well.”

“Good,” V said, thankful for their safety.

“Amya,” Laurya called.

A ginger clevercat came bounding from the back of the hall where other clevercat messengers idled and cleaned themselves. Amya was larger than average, about the size of a large goat, and she jumped onto the table in front of V, sending empty dishes flying.

The clatter woke her pet caterpillar with a start. The size of a kitten and just as soft, Emmo had been fast asleep in her favourite spot around V’s neck. She stuck out four of her ten berry-red feet and squeaked her annoyance at the clevercat.

V petted Emmo’s orange head. “Now, now, girl.” She pulled a crumpled pitfire leaf from a pocket and gave it to the caterpillar to munch on.

“This is your new clevercat, V,” Laurya said. “Figured you were going to need one now that you’re in charge of the army.”

In charge of the Peqkian army? V’s stomach lurched as it did every time she remembered her position. “Well, for now at least. Until they appoint a new Head Warrior.” V turned to her messenger. “Amya, find apprentice scholar Robya and assistant trader Jozya and ask if they’ll come to the warrior’s mess hall.”

The ginger cat mewed her understanding and jumped from the table to another hiss from Emmo.

Serving peons cleared away the plates and brought out baked apple with honey. Fin dove for the nearest bowl with a delighted gesture to Laurya.

“So, what happens now then?” Lizya said rolling her shoulder and grimacing at an old injury.

“Melokai Ramya’s old councillors have been running the show, but everyone’s waiting for blessed Sybilya to call a Melokai Choosing Ceremony,” Laurya replied.

V could not feel Sybilya’s presence; hadn’t felt it now for many weeks. It worried her. As soon as time permitted, she would visit the Stone Prophetess’ hut and check on the great lady.

“So, V, did you do the…” Laurya mimed shooting blasts from her hands, “again?”

Lizya laughed and slapped the table. “No, she didn’t. And we’re all bloody waiting for it. Starting to think we imagined it to be honest.”

“V,” a voice shouted from the doorway cutting through the rowdy Jutes and chitter of the cats.

There stood a tall, willowy woman, wilting under all the attention now directed at her. In front, was a short, slight woman with beautifully pronounced feline features.

“Oh, V!” Jozya, the assistant trader, shouted again and held up her arms. She attempted to wade through the writhing mass of cats to get to V.

V jogged towards the women, the cats parting for her and mewing as she passed. She pulled Joz and Robya into a tight embrace and led them to some chairs.

Robya sat and clutched her hands in her lap. Emmo crawled down V’s arm and then jumped into the lap of the apprentice scholar. Robya smiled and stroked the caterpillar.

Joz was as animated as ever, her arms flying about as she babbled, “Oh, V. What on earth has happened? One minute we’re venturing into Majute, the next I hear my profession leader and my fellow assistant trader are the instigators of a rebellion against our dear Melokai Ramya. Rivya and Toya! I honestly cannot believe it. I didn’t suspect a thing.”

“I don’t think anyone did,” V said.

“Riv had such a strong relationship with the Dromedars, but for trade,” Joz said. “Not to make war. I mean, she was friendly with one of the ruler’s many concubines, Jakira, and often stayed with her when we visited. And Jakira had a son, he was always sniffing around our trade delegations and leering at our warriors. Silly, vain boy. But he was someone important. Oh, wait…”

Joz’s hand flew to her mouth and her eyes widened. “Riv was friends with Jakira and she’s the Crown Prince of Drome’s mother. They must’ve cooked up the plan.” Joz’s lips clenched shut and her entire body shook with anger. “How could she!”

“The Crown Prince of Drome is called Ammad el Wakrime,” Robya said quietly.

V’s magic bristled at the name. The knot in her chest constricted. I will have my revenge. But first, Peqkya.

“Yes. That’s it,” Joz shuddered. “Are you well, V? There are rumours going around that you have The Sight! That you used magic.”

V smiled and opened her mouth to reply but Sybilya’s sudden, urgent voice filled her mind. “Come now,” the prophetess said, “bring the councillors.”

V rode a pony ahead of Melokai Ramya’s surviving councillors: Head Scholar Chaz, Head Speaker Zecky, Mother of Mothers Naomya and Head Teller Omya. Hanya, Ramya’s Head Courtesan, had died in the battle. The warrior Lizya brought up the rear.

Gogo, the Head Warrior who V had loved, was noticeably, painfully absent – murdered as part of the traitorous Head Trader Riv’s plot. Where is Riv now? Hiding in Drome with that worm prince, I expect.

No one in the party said a word. V had allowed herself and her returning warriors to relax in the mess hall, but the fresh wound of the invasion had yet to close. The pain of Melokai Ramya’s death was still raw. Each was alone with their thoughts as they travelled through the city.

They reached the Mount of Pines and started to climb, passing under the blue arches that wove up the hill marking the path to the Stone Prophetess’ simple wooden hut at the top. The paint was shearing off in clumps now, the wood of the arches cracked and rotting. The deterioration was stark compared to V’s last visit, and she dreaded what she would find in the hut.

The cats were unusually silent, watchful, cautious. They kept their distance but tracked the group’s progress. All knew Sybilya would call a Melokai Choosing Ceremony.

As was customary, the previous Melokai’s councillors would have their tongues removed. The councillors she travelled with had made the oath; knew they would relinquish their titles at the end of their tenure and be muted. Sybilya cautioned that those who had tasted power were reluctant to surrender it, but without speech they could not corrupt the minds of others. To keep power distributed evenly and ensure no stagnation, new councillors were chosen with each new Melokai, usually every decade.

V’s purpose was to keep the councillors safe whilst they attempted to rule the country until a new Melokai and council was chosen, and Lizya was here to ensure their protection.

At the summit, they dismounted. Lizya waited outside with Emmo as V followed the four councillors into the wooden hut. It stank of cat excrement and dirt. The air was stale, the pine scent from the trees bullied out by decay.

By a slow death.

Sybilya was now almost stone. She sat, as she had for the past three hundred years, on a wooden tree stump. Straight-backed, hands resting on knees. Her huge feet and legs had turned to stone many years ago, and it had been creeping to her hands when V last saw her.

Now, the only part of the prophetess that was not stone was her face, but it was edging past her hairline and along her jaw. Her once glorious, long red hair was now completely grey.

The councillors fanned out in a half circle in front of the prophetess. V positioned herself behind them and to one side. They looked respectfully up at Sybilya, eyes wet with tears, faces drawn and lips downturned at her obvious demise.

The great lady blinked slowly. Her face strained with the effort. Her little, wrinkled mouth creaked open and she attempted to form words. Instead she emitted a faint huff. She tried a second time but could not even muster a stirring of air.

Sybilya’s presence filled V’s mind, and as the councillors stood more upright, V understood it had also filled theirs. The Stone Prophetess could no longer form physical words.

“Welcome all,” Sybilya said in V’s mind. Her voice was frail, the words drawn out with long pauses. “It is time for a new Melokai.”

The councillors nodded; they were all resigned to their fate. They’d known the end when they had taken on the title.

“Councillors, I release you from your oaths.”

The councillors gasped, cast sideways glances at one another. This declaration meant they would keep their status and their tongues. Relief swept through the hut like the gust of wind that precedes a storm.

“You served Melokai Ramya well. You will serve the new Melokai as she sees fit.”

The councillors lowered their heads in agreement.

“Now. We must have a new Melokai.” Sybilya paused as if mustering the energy to continue. Eventually she said, “There will be no Choosing Ceremony. For I have chosen.”

Shocked murmurs rippled between the councillors.

“Violya, come forward.”

Faces turned towards V. The eunuch Chaz beckoned her forward.

Wide-eyed, she stepped in front of Sybilya. The councillors moved to either side to give her space; the weight of their gaze heavy upon her.

V stared at the prophetess and then down at her feet.

“Violya, do you accept the position of Melokai of Peqkya?”

Is this really happening? Could I refuse? “Yes,” V mumbled.

“And you understand at the end of your reign your tongue will be taken, and you will be banished?”

“I understand.”

“This oath is binding, Violya.”

“I am bound, Stone Prophetess.”

With a great effort, Sybilya purred, a soothing, contented sound. “Go,” Sybilya said after a while. “I will speak now to the Melokai.”

The councillors bowed low and exited the hut.

When they were alone, V spoke, “Sybilya, I am no Melokai, I am a warrior. I do not know how to rule a country.”

“You will make the right decisions, V. Believe in yourself. Trust your instinct.”

Sybilya’s presence trickled away like water through fingers and V grasped at it desperately. She needed the great lady to soothe her self-doubt, to bolster her courage.

In a faint but firm voice, the Stone Prophetess said, “Peqkya will never be the same again. Customs must change if the nation is to survive. Customs must change…”

V waited for more, longed for another word, but Sybilya’s presence had retreated into her stone body.

V stumbled from the hut in a daze. Outside, she took a long, deep breath of the crisp air.

Lizya was mounted and holding V’s pony. The warrior waited for V to mount and then said, “What was that all about? The councillors look like they’ve seen a cat fly.”

“Zhaq,” V said. “I’m the new Melokai of Peqkya.”