Melokai (ITHOTM Book 1)

Chapter 2 Ferraz

2

FERRAZ

Ferraz stood in a bucket of cold water in the centre of his gloomy cell, scrubbing his body. Although the window shutter was closed, a bitter breeze circulated. His room was five paces by five paces, with a bed against one wall and a wash area against the other. His loincloth, robe and cloak were folded neatly onto one shelf under the tiny window. He had few belongings. He patted himself dry with some rags and then rubbed scented oil into his skin, ignoring his shivers. He dressed and welcomed the warmth of his fur cloak.

Ferraz lit his candle, took his razor blade from the shelf, carefully shaved his scalp and massaged the oil there too. He trimmed his beard with sharp lines and smiled at himself in the mirror. His dazzling blue eyes sparkled back and his thick lips parted to show his straight teeth, perfectly aligned with his small nose and square jaw. Dimples in his cheeks set off his fine face and he winked at himself in appreciation before blowing out the candle.

Tonight, she will call me. It has been three days since her last release, and I need to be in peak condition.

He had spent the morning honing his physique in the training yard, focusing on endurance, strength and quick recovery. Ferraz had mastered the art of performing at an exceptional standard every time, in quick succession if required, and this was why he was Melokai Ramya’s favoured pleasure giver.

The PG lay on his bed with hands clasped behind his head and a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He had worked hard to get here and was proud of his status. He remembered his pen childhood vividly. His earliest memory was being lectured by the Mothers.

“There is no use for useless peens,” his pen-Mother used to say. “There are two reasons that peens still exist, to pleasure women and to produce babies. If we could continue our race by ourselves, we would. We only allow a small number of peens to pass into peonhood so you need to excel in a profession or you will be ended.”

A string of peons gave talks about what they did, but until the day a pleasure giver arrived, Ferraz wasn’t sure what was for him.

The PG had told them, “You need to be skilled at one thing. s*x. You need to pleasure every woman every time and each woman is different. If you fail, the customary death sentence awaits. Your c**k is cut off, stuffed in your mouth and you are rammed on a pole in the marketplace and left there to bleed, die and rot in shame. If you have an unwavering commitment to learn about women and remember what they desire, then you should consider this profession.”

From that day on, years of tuition from PGs had ensured Ferraz wasn’t ended on his fifteenth birthday, unlike so many of his pen-mates who failed their peen usefulness tests. He had been given the PG assessment of entertaining a courtesan and he pleasured her so intensely that she called for her friends to sample him too. Four women had vouched for his skills and he had been welcomed into the PG set. Nearly twenty years ago now.

He started by servicing the low-ranking courtesans and notable women from various professions. He built a solid reputation and was soon in demand among the high-level women. But he wasn’t satisfied. He asked other PGs what the highest of them all, Melokai Ramya, enjoyed and gleaned information whilst pleasuring her courtesans. He memorised every word so that when the time came to please the Melokai, he would be ready.

Nine years into his career as a pleasure giver, he came to Ramya’s attention. She had called for him along with four of the best PGs and six of the most accomplished courtesans. But there had been a glitch.

Ferraz laughed out loud in his cell at the memory.

He was paired with Hanya, one of the Melokai’s favoured courtesans, and was not required to go anywhere near the Melokai. Ferraz administered his most trusted moves, but Hanya was bored by it all. And the Melokai’s attention was drawn by the couples enjoying themselves. Not once did Ramya look their way. So Ferraz stopped and asked, “Tell me, what can I do to please you, Hanya?”

“Finally, you ask me,” she had chided and then told him specifically what to do.

He obeyed and, before long, Hanya’s noisy ecstasy drew Ramya to them. The Melokai clapped her hands, thrilled. Then, as quickly as Ramya had appeared, she moved off to watch another couple.

Half a year passed before Ferraz was called to Melokai Ramya’s chamber again, and he had started to lose hope. But this time, it was just him. And he had brought her pleasure, multiple times. She continued to call him and he never disappointed her, reading her mood and providing what she required.

Fifteen years into his career, and five years earlier, he had become her exclusive PG. He had to be available at all times for the Melokai and no other woman was permitted to have him, including the courtesan Irrya, who had been in love with him.

Over the years, he had fallen for Ramya and done everything he could think of to make her fall in love with him. He believed they were a good match, although he knew deep down that it wasn’t a profound love, and probably not love at all, but he had to call it something. Ramya barely spoke to him, but he serviced her so proficiently that she hadn’t called for another peon in five years. He was attracted by her power rather than her personality and certainly not by her face. Ramya was not the prettiest kitten in the litter. I make up for her ugliness with my beauty.

She still dismissed him with a brusque “Go”, a flick of the hand and no eye contact. He always promptly left so as not to disturb her. However, two nights ago, before he retired from her chamber, he had dared to approach her and kiss her head gently. His courage had paid off. She had looked up at him, confused, but for an instant there was a hint of warmth, before she turned back to her papers. He deemed her reaction to that kiss, however small, as a good sign. She is softening towards me. I’ve become more than just a c**k to her.

Ferraz leapt from his bed at a bang on his door. Light trickled in as it opened wide and there stood the washer-peon, come to collect his bucket. Ferraz picked it up and took it to him

“Any news?” Ferraz whispered. Court PGs were shut off from the outside world, always on call for the important women they served and not allowed out of the PG quarters. Gossip reached them late.

The washer-peon glanced down the corridor for the set administrator. She was occupied, talking to one of the warriors who guarded the PGs. He leaned in to Ferraz’s cell and whispered, “Women be declarin’ more peons as their soulmatches. Tis very fashionable of late. A lot of peons ain’t happy with their lot, there’s plenty of disgruntled talk n’ us washers be plannin’ a protest—”

“Peon,” yelled the set administrator, “hurry up and get out of here. I’m fed up of your stench.”

With a wink at Ferraz, the washer-peon grabbed the bucket and darted off. Ferraz shut the door and glimpsed the outline of his face in the dark mirror. Soulmatch.

Women had been pairing since Year Zero, but it had become acceptable in Melokai Ramya’s rule for women to partner with one peon if he was to their liking. That woman would declare the peon as her soulmatch and move him into her home, marking him as off limits to other women for the rest of his life. Pleasure givers were designated for the Melokai and her court, but otherwise women could select any peon for s*x and he could not refuse. If the peon proved unsatisfactory, he faced the same death sentence as the PGs. But now peons could say, “I am sorry, mistress, I cannot pleasure you for I am soulmatched to…” and this tiny seed of power had caused ripples of excitement through the peon population.

Ferraz narrowed his blue eyes. I have work to do… It is not enough to be Melokai Ramya’s favoured PG, or for her to love me, she has to declare me her soulmatch. Then I will be safe for life and can live out my days comfortably and without fear of a horrific death.

And my son… Being Ramya’s soulmatch will help me to protect my son.

His child with Ramya was three years old now, blue-eyed like his father, strong and handsome. Ferraz had been illegally watching him since birth and if discovered, the PG would be executed. I’ve doubtless made children with other women but this one has the blood of the most powerful woman in Peqkya coursing through him. He is worth the risk.

By chance, Ferraz had watched his son’s birth. Ramya had gone into labour whilst he serviced her. Medics were called and, in the commotion, he had shrunk into the shadows, forgotten. The first cry of his little boy almost broke his heart with love.

Ferraz never had any opinion about the Peqkian custom that dictates, ‘No baby will ever know it’s parents and no parents will ever know their baby,’ until Ramya had borne this peen. The baby was taken, moments after birth, like every other, and put anonymously into a pen to be cared for by the Mothers until fifteen when they entered a profession. Ferraz’s baby would have the same start in life, the same chance to prove himself on his own merit. He could not rely on bloodlines or prestigious parents.

But my son does have a prestigious parent. In the time of Xayy he would’ve grown up to become the Melokaz, as the Xayy male rulers had once been called. He would be the most powerful male in the nation and not a lowly peon. Ferraz thumped the wall and his mirror rattled. He steadied it quickly, not wanting to draw the set administrator’s attention.

Be grateful, peons are treated a little better now than before. In the thousand years since the Xayy armies were turned to stone by Sybilya, the attitudes to peens had softened in Peqkya, although the penalties for disobedience remained severe. Female and male babies were now nurtured together by the Mothers and given the same early education, but the peens still had to prove their worth to the nation. The girls, of course, were exempt from these trials.

A jolt of fear made Ferraz’s legs tremble. Even now, my body still remembers. He had been petrified about being ended and lived each day in fear of failing the tests. In the early years of her rule, Melokai Ramya had reduced the peen cancellation quota, allowing more peens to pass into peonhood. But my son will still have to face the same terror... When I am Ramya’s soulmatch, I will find a way to save him from the usefulness test.

A gong sounded. Ferraz left his cell and stood, silently, in the corridor with all the other PGs emerging from their cells, facing in the direction of the set administrator. She looked down the line, satisfied all were accounted for, and led them to the PG communal area.

After lunch, the PGs lounged in their designated room. Here they stayed all afternoon and into the evening, ready to be called.

Ferraz sat alone. Ramya will be exhausted after her public assembly as usual, and in need of tenderness. I will sate her and then I will whisper, “I love you, soulmatch,” in her ear. Will she be brave enough to declare me her soulmatch officially? Yes. She will be the first Melokai to do so, and she likes to be the first to do things. And I will be the first PG to be claimed.

A fluffy white cat jumped onto his lap and dropped a ball with a bell in. He picked it up and threw it. The cat bounded off, grabbed it between sharp teeth and sauntered back to him, presenting it to him like a gift.

He threw it again and listened to the other PGs chatter on. They boasted about which courtesans they had been with; who had been selected for deflowering ceremonies; the gossip they had gleaned from warriors; and the women they might service later.

Ferraz watched them openly with arms crossed and a smug, amused look on his face. He had no need to contribute, he was the Melokai’s PG. The cat returned and he threw the ball. But the fluffy thing ignored it and curled next to him. I wonder what it might be like to attend a court dinner. No peons were allowed apart from the eunuch Chaz, who had been in Ferraz’s childhood pen. The PG grinned. When I’m Ramya’s soulmatch I’ll get to go! I’ll be the first whole peon.

Late into the night the first messenger clevercat came to request two pleasure givers.

“Mistressss issss wanting two. Wild,” the sheep-sized clevercat hissed and the set administrator beckoned to two burly PGs and signed them out. They left with the messenger who mewed her approval.

After that the messengers came thick and fast, as the women started to return home and the PGs filtered out to answer their needs. I will be one of the last to be called, the Melokai has much to do and many people to talk to. But every time a messenger came and Ferraz realised it wasn’t Bevya, the Melokai’s black-and-white clevercat, a creeping doubt clogged his mind. Perhaps she wants her courtesans tonight...

Before long, he was on his own in the communal area. The set administrator put her head in her arms and fell asleep on her desk. The cats deserted him to find a nook to settle in, but Ferraz refused to leave and go back to his cell. I will be called soon. She will send her messenger for me soon.

That night the call from Melokai Ramya never came. It would never come again.