Melokai (ITHOTM Book 1)

Chapter 6 Ramya

6

RAMYA

Ramya woke eager to interpret the prophecy.

“Go.” She pushed at Gwrlain’s hefty body so he would get the hint that he was dismissed.

But he didn’t get out of bed, instead he nudged her back.

“No. You need to leave!”

Gwrlain’s cheeky grin made her pause. His hand closed around her wrist and brought it to his face, kissing the tips of her fingers and leaning his face into her palm. The tender moment was shattered when he pushed her and she rolled backwards off the bed, tangled in the sheets.

The Melokai sprawled on the floor. I’ll destroy him. She scanned the room and pinpointed where her nearest dagger was, kicking off the sheets to get it. As she was rising, the Trogr leaned his head over the edge of the bed and grinned again.

A surge of playfulness doused her warrior reflexes and she threw back her head and laughed until her sides ached. He thinks this is some kind of game. There is no menace. For the first time in many years she felt like a carefree child and forgot the stresses of ruling a country. She pulled at the white giant and he didn’t resist, tumbling on top of her.

A few hours later, Ramya was woken by Bevya pawing at her ankle and mewing. For a fleeting moment Ramya was confused. It dawned on her that she was wrapped up in Gwrlain’s arms and still on the bedsheets on the floor. She felt ridiculously content.

“Your council issss waiting, my Melokai,” the clevercat hissed.

“Zhaq,” the Melokai swore and scrambled up. Gwrlain sat and hummed as she pulled on her clothes and strapped on her daggers and sword.

“Tell them I am coming, Bevya. And then send some food up for Gwrlain and find him some more suitable clothes, not those of the PGs.”

The cat dashed from her chambers and Ramya followed close behind, but as she reached the doorway she turned back, ran to Gwrlain and kissed his forehead. He made a move to stand. She placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down.

“Stay here. I will be back soon.”

Grabbing her cloak, she ran through the corridors and burst into the council chamber. Her councillors ended their conversations abruptly and all turned to look at her as she fumbled with her stool and hurried to seat herself. She was flustered. She had never been late for anything.

“Let’s begin, shall we,” she managed and then flung her cloak around her shoulders and swallowed down the excited frisson that bubbled between her ribs. Her councillors continued to stare, Gogo struggling to mask an expression of utter contempt. Hanny winked at her. “Tell me of the wolves,” Ramya exclaimed, desperate to turn their attention from her. She felt undone. “Chaz, say something!”

The Head Scholar frowned at her and then cleared his throat. “Yes, of course, my Melokai. We are here to discuss the second part of Sybilya’s prophecy, ‘A wolf will claim the throne.’ I believe a good place to start would be to discuss which throne, then to discuss which wolf and then to decide what is meant by the word ‘claim’. I believe that the throne Sybilya refers to is ours, as she is most concerned with Peqkya, but it could also be the thrones of any of our neighbouring countries, or perhaps even the wolf throne itself.”

As the councillors debated this, Hanny stood and glided over to Ramya. Without speaking, the Head Courtesan raked her fingers through Ramya’s short hair, teasing it into place. Ramya watched the mouths of her councillors move but could not focus on the conversation unfolding around her. Snippets found their way into her ears but her head felt as if it were full of thick honey. Images of Gwrlain clouded her mind. Hanny adjusted Ramya’s cloak and then sat back on her stool, a twinkle in her almond-shaped eyes.

Concentrate. Ramya curbed her thoughts. She rearranged her body in her warrior’s stance and said, “Wolves… We have not had any sightings of wolves for many years, correct?”

Her Head Scholar replied, “You are correct, my Melokai. The last recorded sighting was in the time of Melokai Tatya, three hundred years ago, during the Wolf Expulsion. When we cleansed their kind from south Trequ valley in order to push our north-eastern border to the far side of the Melioks.”

Ramya nodded. Chaz started to ramble, and Head Speaker Zecky chattered over him. Ramya’s skin tickled with a memory imprinted there. Gwrlain’s arms around me, like a warm cocoon. The frisson started to bubble again. She fidgeted on her stool, as if she was sat on hot coals. I want to get back to him. She placed her hands on the carved table and, interrupting her councillors, said, “Well, I believe the best course of action is to take precautions to stop any wolf from getting anywhere near our throne. If they are nowhere near Peqkya, then they cannot claim it. Agreed?”

“Well, yes, my Melokai,” Chaz said.

“Excellent. We keep a close eye on the northern border with the wolves, track everything and stay alert. We put the same preventative measures in place in the north as we have in the east. Agreed?”

Ramya’s councillors mumbled their assent.

Ramya stood. “Please continue to discuss the finer details, if you must, but my orders are clear. I thank you for your counsel.” She hurried out of the council room as fast as she had entered and did not look back.

A fizz of excitement swelled in her as she opened the door to her chambers. Gwrlain ran to her, picked her up around the waist and swung her in a circle, smiling and laughing at her return. No one has ever been that happy to see me.

That afternoon they wandered the city streets with one of Chaz’s translator scholars and three warriors. Ramya pointed out various landmarks and quarters, explaining carefully through the translator the history and meaning. Gwrlain listened intently and Ramya enjoyed teaching him. She introduced him to curious Riats who crowded around the strange foreigner.

The Melokai took him out on Inaly Lake and from the boat, she indicated Sybilya’s hill with the snake of blue arches. Gwrlain could not feel Sybilya’s positive, kind presence, like every Peqkian, and Ramya vowed to organise tutors to educate him in her Sayings and on the Peqkian way of life based on her philosophies.

After, they visited various Riat businesses and workshops, where – much to Ramya’s delight – Gwrlain cheerfully tried his hand at weaving goats’ hair, wood carving, playing the Peqkian pipe, as well as painting ancient symbols.

That evening they ate dinner in her chambers and lounged happily by a crackling fire.

The Trogr spent another night in her bed and the following morning Ramya taught him the daylight dances. She organised for two baths to be placed side by side. He bathed in hot steaming water that sunk into his skin and left him soft to the touch. She lounged in milk, whilst reading him poems from the latest collection by her courtesan Irrya. Although she knew he did not understand the meaning, the flowing rhythms of the language read aloud was like a song and he listened, rapt.

As they dressed, he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her to him. He positioned her so that she stood in front of him, his hands holding her hips. He put his mouth to her belly and sung the sweetest melody. It made Ramya’s entire body tingle. He rested his forehead on her belly, murmuring in his language.

“What are you doing?”

He smiled up at her, knowingly.

As Chaz’s history tutor taught Gwrlain, a few paces away Ramya sat with her Head Scholar and Head Speaker, Zecky. Both her councillors stared at the Trogr.

“My Melokai, have you not considered he is the trouble from the east?” Zecky said. Her chunky horse rider’s legs were crossed, as were her thin arms, and she swept her waist-length, rope-like braids over one side of her head and then back to the other side as if her hair infuriated her.

“Of course I have,” Ramya snapped. “But he shows no signs of aggression or deceit. He is a guest of Peqkya.”

“Guest! The peon was a prisoner two days ago, my Melokai.” Zecky snarled at the word peon.

She was a staunch supporter of ‘keeping peons in their place’. In the early days of Ramya’s rule, Zecky would pluck a peon who took her fancy off the street to rut and then declare him unsatisfactory to watch him face the customary death penalty. Ramya had forbidden her to continue this unnecessary, callous habit and Zecky had never quite forgiven the Melokai, insisting it was her right.

“The peon should be in the PG set, not in your chambers,” Zecky added.

Ramya’s breath stalled in her lungs, her anger was knocking. She kept the door firmly closed and her voice softened. “I am keeping a close eye on him.” She noticed Chaz and Zecky exchange a fleeting glance. I don’t care what they think, he is charming and entertaining and, for now, I’m enjoying his company. She changed the subject. “Zecky, I won’t be attending the public assembly later today. Chaz, I’d like you to go in my place.”

Chaz pursed his lips. Public assemblies were held in the grand assembly hall and could be attended by any Peqkian woman. It was where they discussed issues collectively, such as community facilities, new housing required, appropriate punishment for any disobedience, profession succession and various other things. They were long events, usually tedious but occasionally entertaining and, on the rare occasion, such as when Glendya the weaver had presented her new technique, inspiring.

Zecky tossed her rope braids to the other side of her head. “Are you leaving me to deal with the washer-peons’ issue, my Melokai?”

“Yes, Zecky, but confer with Chaz first on the best course of action.”

“What issue?” Chaz said.

“The stupid washer-peons refused to work in protest at their conditions. They believe that they should be allowed to wash every once in a while,” Zecky sneered.

Chaz’s eyes widened. “I see, that is troublesome.”

Gwrlain laughed at something in his lesson and Ramya glanced at him. “It was peaceful, Chaz, nothing to worry about. Perhaps grant them a wash once a year in the public baths.”

Zecky shook her head. “But that will only make every peon demand a wash once a year, and the public baths are women-only. They need to be punished, my Melokai, and brutally, to deter any peon protest again.”

“Well, I’m not sure I agree—” Chaz said.

Ramya sighed. “Councillors, enough. This is something you can discuss at the public assembly without me.”

“My Melokai, you have never missed a public assembly. Are you sure this is wise?” Chaz said.

“Exactly, Chaz, I have never missed one! I have dedicated twelve years of my life to running the country, caring for the Peqkian people and the world around me. Peqkya is a prosperous and safe nation that runs smoothly because of my rule. You two, and my other councillors for that matter, can manage without me for a little while, you are all meant to be at the top of your respective professions after all. The prophecy is in hand and if I’m needed urgently, then send for me. I’m not going anywhere; I’m just taking a little time off.”

Chaz opened his mouth to argue, but Ramya cut him off. “You and Zecky will attend the public assemblies without me until further notice. You are both dismissed.”

Later, Ramya and Gwrlain rode horses in the forest. Gwrlain had never ridden before and had an enigmatic influence over the beasts who whinnied and yielded when he touched them. He also basked in the adoration of the cats, with two or three fighting to doze in his lap the moment he sat or lacing between his ankles if he stood still for long enough. When he hums it sounds and feels like their purring. The cats’ love for him is a good sign.

Whilst they were in the forest, Ramya decided to introduce Gwrlain to archery. Peqkians enjoyed shooting birds with arrows. The smaller the better for a challenge, and Ramya was a skilled archer.

“You pull the string back like so, aim like so and…” Ramya let go of the string and the arrow hit the target – a sparrow in a low branch of a nearby tree. It squawked and dropped to the undergrowth.

Gwrlain balked. “No!” He pulled the bow from her hands, flinging it on the ground. A torrent of words spilled from his mouth in his guttural, ugly language and he pointed at her and then at the tree. Ramya glared at the translator for an explanation. I have never seen him so angry. Her hand twitched towards her sword.

Gwrlain finished and the translator gabbled in a hurry, “Birds are sacred in his culture, my Melokai, like cats are sacred for us. He is upset that you took a bird’s life.”

“I understand. I’m sorry.” Ramya let go of her sword and stroked Gwrlain’s cheek. He nodded.

He held out his palm and made a high-pitched squeaky sound. A swift swooped in and landed on his palm, chirping as if telling him an important message. He beamed at Ramya and tried to get her to hold the thing, grabbing for her wrist. She refused, taking a step back from him and shaking her head. I don’t want that dirty thing in my hand!

He then whispered back to the bird in his guttural language, too muffled for the translator to hear. The bird’s little head jerked as if listening. He stroked its feathers and it took flight. Towards the east, Ramya noticed and she stared hard at him, her brows furrowed.

Gwrlain’s face was full of wonder and his arms were outstretched to the sky, exalting in the bird’s flight. Ramya’s forehead slackened. The direction the swift flew off in was by chance, it is not anything sinister.

A blissful week passed and Ramya set off with Chaz and her warriors to visit Sybilya. At every step the horse took away from Gwrlain her heart constricted.

“My Melokai, you are enjoying the company of the Trogr?” Chaz asked.

“I am.” Ramya had never felt so attached to a male, or to any woman for that matter. He holds some kind of influence over me. He is not like the PGs, he has a strong will and is not afraid to show his emotions. Gwrlain was not dull like Ferraz, who was good at s*x but nothing else, and the Trogr constantly surprised her. He was more like an equal. This must be what women feel when they declare a peon as their soulmatch.

“You favour him as I favour the PG Martaz, my Melokai.”

“I do.”

“I am pleased for you, my Melokai. Truly. It is wonderful to find such a connection.” Chaz shifted on the horse.

“There is something you are not saying, Chaz. Out with it.”

He cleared his throat. “It is this, my Melokai. Will Sybilya be happy for you? Will your councillors? Will your people? You should take care, not all will approve of this match with a cave creature. Or appreciate that you are distracted from rule.”

“I am not distracted!”

“As you say, my Melokai.”

She kicked on her horse and moved in front of her Head Scholar. I can do both, rule and love. He’ll see… everyone will see.

A second week passed, then a third, and Ramya fell deeply in love with Gwrlain. The Trogr learnt enough words for longer conversations, and they discovered each other’s past, the complex experiences that had made them who they were now.

“Farming my work,” he told her one evening as they curled up on her sofa, in front of the fire. “I managed team to grow and find food. Not responsibility like you. You are very important. My responsibility to team and to feed my people.”

“Then you had a great responsibility, Gwrlain, for without your leadership, your people would have starved,” Ramya replied.

“Maybe,” he agreed with a shrug.

“I’m sure they miss you. Why did you leave?”

She felt his muscles clench.

“Who your mother?” he asked, avoiding her question.

“In the pen my Mother was Kafya,” she said. “She was warm and encouraging, always insisting that I could do anything I wanted. Some Mothers are cruel or cold but Kafya was fair and nurtured her charges to get the best from them rather than use force or fear. She taught me how to control my temper. She treated the peens and the girls the same, as long as we all behaved. She believes that peens are essentially good. Yes, they can become selfish and power crazed if allowed to, but as children they could be taught humanity. Kafya rose in her profession from managing that pen to become the Mother of Mothers, the one who oversees all the Mothers in the land, and became my councillor. And although I now rule over her, she will always be my mentor and an inspiration. Who is your mother, Gwrlain?”

“Her name Gruack. Beautiful. Laughing always. There for me. Taught me bravery and belief in myself. Died horrible death. Miss her.” Gwrlain’s body tensed again and a purple colour blazed under his skin. He clamped his mouth shut.

She hugged him. “Why did you leave? Did something happen to your mother?”

He wriggled out of her embrace and stood a few paces away with his back to her, arms crossed.

Ramya wanted to know the truth of how he came to be in Peqkya. To be able to tell her councillors that he was not ‘trouble’, not some kind of sinister infiltrator. “Trust me, like I trust you. Tell me what happened. Why were you banished?”

“No.”

Angered by his cold shoulder, Ramya stood and positioned herself in front of him. “Tell me what happened.”

He turned so his back faced her again.

She grabbed his arm. “Zhaq, Gwrlain! Tell me, what are you hiding?”

“No!” He shoved her away.

She stumbled, the force surprising her. He stomped back to the sofa and took up some parchment, writing out the letters of the Shella language.

In the deep of night, he crawled into bed and curled himself around her, pressing his chest against her back.

He whispered, “I’m sorry. I will tell you in time. You are my soulmatch, Ramya. Am I yours?”

Ramya hesitated. It is true, I do want to spend the rest of my life with this male. But my time is running out… soon I will no longer be Melokai and will be banished from him. For as long as I have left, my everything is Gwrlain and will always be Gwrlain.

“Yes, my love. You are my soulmatch.”

He gathered her up, holding her tight and planted little, rapid kisses all over her.