Melokai (ITHOTM Book 1)

Chapter 3 Ramya

3

RAMYA

The Melokai was rattled by the shocking words from Sybilya and for the first time in her twelve-year rule she cancelled a public assembly in order to hold an urgent council meeting. She was sure her people would understand, considering the circumstances. She couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the prophecy anyway.

Ramya sat with her body in its neutral position after years of warrior training – alert but unmoving, conserving strength. Her right hand rested on the hilt of her sword, the other on the grand table that was carved in the likeness of Peqkya, depicting settlements and natural landmarks. Sun streamed through the window and reflected off the polished wood, setting the council chamber aglow.

The noise of warriors grunting and steel clanging drifted in from the barracks training ground. Usually a soothing sound, now it irritated her. I was expecting to be told my time is up... But not only am I still in power, I have a prophecy to deal with – the first Sybilya has spoken in hundreds of years.

Ramya watched her Head Scholar. He hadn’t left her side since they’d returned from the Mount of Pines. He paced back and forth, tapping a white finger to his muttering lips. Chaz had been born with mottled black-and-white skin and, through a handful of pale spots on his head, white hair grew stark against the black. He had been identified as having The Sight with one white patch over his right eye in the exact shape of their country, but he had no magic in him.

He was destined for other things. From childhood, he had been determined to be a scholar, excelling at his studies, but one thing stopped him. It was an honoured job for women and peens weren’t taken into the scholar profession. So, Chaz gelded himself in his tenth year, believing this would demonstrate his unwavering passion for the job to the Mothers, and if not, then he’d die of blood loss anyway. He cut off everything between his legs, hobbled into his pen-Mother’s office and threw the flesh in her fire before collapsing in a puddle of blood. He survived. An exception was made to the ancient rules and at fifteen he took the scholar profession assessment. Not only did he pass, he achieved higher marks than his fellow female students, and he was trained as a Scholar, eventually to become head of the profession and Ramya’s councillor.

The Melokai’s other six councillors sat around the great table. Relieved that they weren’t about to become mutes, they were now all talking at once, the usual decorum forgotten.

Only Head Teller Omya stayed quiet, listening. She sat perfectly straight with thin lips pursed and fingers interlocked on the table. Her tightly plaited hair was coiled up to a neat bun and pulled at the skin on her hairline.

Ramya held up her hand and the room fell quiet. “I appreciate this is a shock, but we need to approach it methodically. I want to go over everything. Chaz, please refresh our memories as to what lies to the east of Peqkya.”

“Yes, my Melokai.” The eunuch swept over to where the Eastern Melioks were carved on the table, placing his hands over the peaks. “To the east is the cave nation of Troglo. The Trogrs descended from humans, adapting to live in the colossal network of caves under the eastern length of the Meliok mountains. No Peqkian has ever passed through these caves. In the time of Melokai Annya, five hundred years ago, attempts were made to facilitate a trade route that ran east from Riaow into the lands beyond. Going over the avalanche-prone peaks proved impossible so the decision was made to go through the mountains. Four small openings were found, and exploratory groups ventured in to map the natural tunnels aiming to find an exit on the other side and, if not, to excavate one.

“However, this plan also failed. Most Peqkians who entered those dark caves never returned. The few who did told of the brutal destruction of their groups by strange creatures that looked like us but could see in the dark.

“Melokai Annya sent in the army. We had the numbers and the fighting skills but the creatures had the advantage. They knew the caves, every tiny crevice, and excelled in the dark. They rendered our warriors useless by extinguishing lights, led them down maze-like passageways to be ambushed, or left them to wander, lost, until they died.

“The Eastern war went on for four years and after terrible losses, Melokai Annya changed tactic. She called a truce and set up business with the cave creatures themselves. Trade terms were negotiated and borders agreed. And since that day, we have had a mutual understanding with the Trogrs. Both nations stay inside their borders and Peqkian merchants can buy and sell at one designated trade point, in the twilight zone of the largest cave opening.” Chaz pointed to the location on the table.

Hanny cleared her throat. She was Ramya’s Head Courtesan, the one councillor a Melokai was permitted to choose, the others having been elected by their honoured professions. Ramya’s only close friend, Hanya was the epitome of Peqkian beauty, with her perfect feline features and voluptuous curves. She asked, sweetly, “What do we trade with them?”

Ramya’s plump Head Trader Rivya twisted an extravagant, garish ring around a fat finger and said, “We give them vegetables, spices and grains, stuff they can’t grow in the dark, as well as cloth and Fertilian salt and they give us the delicacy that is known as swiftlet nests, which they harvest from their caves.”

“Ah yes! Bird saliva from the east, I’ve eaten that before,” Hanny proclaimed, looking around at the others, glossy ponytail swishing. Her long hair was not coarse and curly like most Peqkians, but smooth and straight, and she styled it with a heavy fringe that fell just past her eyebrows.

“Indeed,” Riv said. “It makes us a lot of money when sold to the Ferts, who prize it for its rarity, its unique taste and perceived benefits to the body.”

“But what lies to the east, Chaz? Past Troglo?” Omya’s first words at the meeting were sharp and she turned her face to the scholar, scrutinising him through eyeglasses propped on her severe nose.

Chaz’s expression changed from animated to downcast. “I… I do not know what is farther east, no Peqkian has ever got that far, and no being has ever come to us from the lands east of the Melioks. Regrettably, there is a gap in my knowledge.”

There was a brief pause as the council considered this.

“Thank you, my Head Scholar, for that excellent summary,” Ramya said. “I think the next question is, what trouble do they pose us? Please, speak freely councillors.”

Ramya regretted the instruction as soon as it was out of her mouth. Her councillors all spoke over each other again, even Omya voiced her opinion.

The Melokai listened for a few moments and then raised her hand. “At this stage, we watch Troglo closely, for any hint of what trouble is brewing and try to pre-empt any issues.”

Ramya turned to her Head Warrior. “Gogo, please increase warriors along the border with Troglo, send out discreet scouts to watch all four cave openings, and send a spy with Riv’s traders to monitor the Trogrs. Also, set out a strategy for a possible invasion.”

Gogo grunted. A prominent vein throbbed from the woman’s forehead to earlobe on her lumpy, bald head. Hating the inconvenience of hair, Gogo had used potent pills from the chemists to destroy it when she first started her warrior training at ten years old. Her body was now completely hairless.

Ramya continued, “Zecky, map out a plan for managing an infectious illness in case the Trogrs are suffering from some kind of virulent disease that might spread to Peqkya.”

Heavily pregnant with her sixth child, Head Speaker Zekya huffed and tutted as the bump got in her way. Zecky hated being with child, and she hated peons, but loved to be pleasured by them. Sybilya had forbidden the chemists from inventing any kind of potion to prevent conception as babies safeguarded Peqkya’s future. The Head Speaker furiously fanned her hot face with a wedge of parchment sheets. She placed them on the table, jotted a quick note and then continued to fan.

“Riv, look at your trade routes and merchants to redirect our products elsewhere if they intend to cease trading with us.”

The Head Trader acknowledged the order by reorganising her heavy frame on the stool.

Omya tutted. “That would stop a steady income and impact our finances.”

Ramya said, “And that is why, Omya, I’d like you to consider how we could replace any lost income.”

The Head Teller frowned.

Ramya looked to her Head Scholar. “Chaz, you mentioned that each year the soil here in Peqkya is warmer than the year before and there is less winter ice cover on Inaly Lake. Can you investigate if this change has triggered a shift to the Troglo cave environment that is forcing them out into the open. Also examine a possible evolution of the species, if Trogrs can now tolerate sunlight.”

Her Head Scholar mumbled his agreement.

“Kafya, please can you ensure we are teaching Peqkya’s children the latest information on Troglo, so our future warriors, thinkers and administrators are fully equipped with this knowledge.”

“Certainly, my Melokai,” Kafya, the Mother of Mothers, said in her gentle voice. Her kindly smile, stooped back and soft bosom always promised a warm embrace and Ramya instinctively smiled at her.

“Now, let’s move on to the second part of the prophecy—” Ramya began but a knock at the door interrupted her. “Enter.”

Bevya, her clevercat messenger, jumped up on the table and then placed her two front paws on Ramya’s shoulder hissing in her ear.

“My Melokai, I can confirm, assss requessssted, that dinner issss ready.”

Ramya sighed. “Yes of course. I will be there shortly. Thank you, Bevya.”

Bevya meowed and darted out of the room. Ramya addressed her council. “We will retire for the day and pick up early tomorrow. Thank you all for your guidance, it is well appreciated.”

***

“More wine, my Melokai?” a serving peon asked.

Ramya held her cup for him to pour. She had gulped down too much already but couldn’t stop, still unnerved by Sybilya’s words. Even the dancers, musicians and delicious food couldn’t distract her. She made brief conversation with her courtiers and was relieved when they sensed she was not in the mood to chat, politely excusing themselves from her presence. She sat drinking and half listening to Peqkya’s best pipe player.

She turned to Chaz, who was sat silently brooding to her left. “Chaz, can the Trogrs see in the dark?”

“An interesting question, my Melokai,” he gushed, clearly pleased to be given an opportunity to talk about a topic he was well versed in. “Trogrs are a fascinating species. They spend most of their time in utter blackness so evolution got rid of their eyes and heightened their other senses to ‘see’ their surroundings. They emit a noise into a space and analyse the echoes that bounce back. Their large feet and hands feel reverberations in the caves and they tell each other apart by smell and by ‘tasting’ the air. Extraordinary really—”

“Freaks,” Gogo seethed as she passed behind them on her way to her seat after leading an evening training session. The Head Warrior’s torso and defined arms were crisscrossed with scars from years of instructing warriors. She was sweating and, on her collarbone, fresh scratches dribbled blood where a lucky warrior had managed to land a strike, moments earlier. “You should not admire them, Chaz.”

Chaz’s white Peqkya patch flushed red around his right eye. “Well, I don’t admire them exactly. I admire evolution. As well as not having eyes, the species also…”

But Gogo stalked off and didn’t listen to his reply. Ramya watched her sit, tear off a chicken leg and start gnawing at it. Gogo’s clevercat arrived and spoke a message in the Head Warrior’s ear. With a grunt, Gogo stood and stomped from the hall, chicken leg in hand.

Across the table, a peal of laughter from Ramya’s Head Courtesan Hanny caught the Melokai’s attention. The job of the courtesans was to entertain high-ranking women. Courtesans lived in their own apartments, free to do as they wished and could refuse a call if they so pleased. Hanny was entertaining Captain Denya tonight, a respected warrior. “Denya is such a hard one to please,” Hanny always quipped to Ramya when they were alone, “but once she’s warmed up there is plenty of fun to be had!” The courtesan noticed Ramya’s gaze and winked mischievously.

A flash of black-and-white fur startled the Melokai. Bevya jumped onto her shoulder. “My Melokai, I have an urgent messssage from Gossssya.”

Ramya nodded for her clevercat messenger to continue.

“There issss a prissssoner that you mussst sssee immediately. Come at once,” Bevya recited the Head Warrior’s message.

“Odd. Why would I want to see a prisoner?” Ramya asked, knowing that Bevya could not answer.

The cat tilted her head. “Gossssya told me it issss urgent, my Melokai.”

“Tell her I am coming now.” Ramya watched Bevya leap off the chair and run with her message. The Melokai stood, waited for everyone in the dining hall to stand and bow to her. She bowed in return and then left the table. The warriors guarding her followed behind.

She found Gogo waiting outside the small, mostly empty, prison wing.

The Head Warrior swallowed her mouthful of chicken and threw the bone on the floor for the cats. “My Melokai, my warriors guarding the eastern border have brought a prisoner here. They rode as fast as they could. The detainee came willingly and is, so far, well behaved.”

“Who is this prisoner, Gogo? Why have you called me away from dinner?” Ramya snapped, and then immediately regretted it. She was horribly impatient when drunk.

“It’s a Trogr, my Melokai. A cave creature. We will need a scholar who can translate.”

Ramya stared at the warrior in disbelief. Trouble from the east. So soon. “Bevya!” she screeched, “get Chaz here now!”

The messenger’s whiskers twitched and she darted off on her errand. Ramya tottered up and down the corridor, trying to walk off the wine, flinging a hand out to the wall every few steps to steady her. The Head Scholar arrived.

“My Melokai,” he panted.

“Chaz, there is a cave creature in our prison! Gogo, tell us everything.”

Gogo cracked her knuckles. “Five days ago, at first light, my border guards captured a male cave creature. He was deep in our territory, a long way from the caves, in direct breach of our truce with Troglo. It appeared he had been beaten. The warriors started to move him to a holding cell but as the sun touched his skin, it burnt and started to smoke, and he screamed. So, they kept him in the shade. The freak did not struggle as they bound him and came willingly to the capital. This is the first time that a Trogr has come so far west. It is suspicious. He is a spy. I will torture him for information.”

“Before you torture him,” Chaz said, curiosity etched across his face, “have your warriors tried to communicate with him?”

“Of course.” Gogo scowled. The lack of brows and lashes making her eyes bulge. “But he speaks his language and we speak ours. That is why you are here, scholar, to translate.”

Chaz’s chin hit his chest. He glanced at Ramya.

“Please take us to him, Gogo,” she ordered. “Let us glean as much from him as possible before we use torture.”

Chaz clapped his hands. “What a learning opportunity! I cannot wait to write today’s entry in The History of Peqkya.”

“And I cannot wait to kill the thing,” Gogo rumbled.