Chapter Ten

  To The Queen!

  The emerald-green forests of Ayodh rolled by as Julia, Helena, and the ladies of the court rode along in a long procession of carriages. Queen Ella had arrived in Kanmak. Recovered from her illness, the common sort that afflicted many newcomers to the colonies, she had made the long journey up the Yuna River by steamship. The queen had been laid in bed in a palace in Bankut, recovering until she was well enough to travel. She had finally arrived to join her husband shortly after the creature, the yali, had killed so many men, including members of the court, and had nearly killed her husband, King Victus, as well as her brother and several cousins, who had attended the hunt. She had demanded to see the beast, which still lay in the field where it had been killed. All the ladies of the court joined her, along with their many servants, attendants, and guards. The day was fair and hot, but puffy clouds filled the sky, giving shade, and a light breeze blew. A bend in the road took Julia’s breath away as the creature came into view through the carriage window.

  John had described it to her after he had returned. Rumours had swirled about a vast creature and the damage it had wrought. Many had scoffed at the descriptions. But looking upon it, Julia felt they had not done it justice. Twice the size of an elephant, they had said. It was bigger than that. Three or four elephants, perhaps. It was no longer a majestic creature, however. Men had cut off its head, presumably to mount it as a trophy for the king. Still, the vast carcass lay draped across the land, a dead giant from some legend, slain by great men of myth. Nevertheless, it was not some storybook thing. It was real, here before them. Even in death on its side, its body as tall as the trees.

  Helena gasped as she saw the thing and put her hand to her mouth in horror. Rathma sat quietly in their carriage. When he saw the beast, a small noise of shock issued forth. It was the first sound that he had made the whole trip. Rathma, Mar’s Dravani manservant, had been left behind by the sorcerer. Mar had offered the services of his servant to the Drydens. The sorcerer did not want to bring his servant to war, and Julia needed someone to help her with John being on campaign. Rathma was the ideal choice. He was an ever-silent, watchful guardian. John had said he trusted Rathma like no other servant. He had initially been Havor’s servant, had been captured during the massacre, and then sold with the other surviving natives as a slave. Furthermore, he was a good fighter, having protected and fought alongside Havor and her husband on occasion. She was somewhat put off at her servant being a man, not a woman, but John had repeatedly assured her it was not a worry. She supposed she should count it a victory that she had any servant after the fights between them on the subject. John had been intractable until now.

  She and Helena all but stuck their heads out the window of the carriage as it rolled along, watching the enormous dead beast as they approached. She saw that the body was that of a massive but still lithe feline, like a lion, though it was pale. She supposed the paleness was expected since it had been dead for days. It was also painted with the script of the temples of the East, which she had seen many times before when visiting holy places while growing up in the colonies. It was the holy script from Ayodh to Gulud, which lay at opposite ends of the subcontinent.

  When they got closer, she could see that off the side of the road was a vast swathe of destroyed tents, carts, and trees that had been snapped at the trunk. The land was gouged as though a giant’s plough had furrowed the earth. Ahead, Queen Ella was stepping from her carriage. She stared up at the great yali, her expression a mix of awe and terror. The two feelings often went side by side, Julia felt.

  The coach driver opened the door, and the ladies stepped down onto the long grass. Ahead and behind them, more coaches stopped, and the ladies of the court stepped out to view the great dead yali. Together, they wandered up in a crowd and stood before it gaping in astonishment.

  “Rathma, can you read the letters painted on it?” Julia asked.

  The dark servant’s silken voice replied, “A little, but I am no priest.” His voice was soft, halfway to a woman’s.

  “What does it say?” Helena demanded.

  “I believe it is a blessing. I cannot read it all.”

  “Who painted it?” Julia asked, looking up at the vast carcass.

  “Priests. Yali are gentle protectors until they are provoked. Priests cared for it, likely for generations. They protect their mandir, their holy place. Perhaps the King’s hunting party awakened its wrath, or the mahouts flushed it from the forest. Who can say?” Rathma’s voice had a touch of sadness to it as he spoke.

  “You speak as if this was not a great monster?” Helena’s tone was dismissive.

  “It was not,” Rathma replied firmly.

  Helena scoffed, “Yet it killed so many.”

  “It was a peaceful protector until provoked,” Rathma repeated.

  Julia was surprised that she could see the Dravani servant’s point. The creature looked fearsome, and without its head, it also looked grotesque. It would have seemed a monster to Julia, too, but it had a garland of flowers about its neck and was lovingly painted with the holy script of the land. It might have seemed a gentle beast when seen in repose at its temple. That its people loved it was clear by how they adorned it. She longed to see one alive and in its peaceful state.

  “Is there somewhere that we could see a living yali?” Julia asked.

  “I do not know Ayodh well, but I know of two in Dravan. They are rare. This death is a great tragedy.”

  As they slowly approached the great creature, Julia noticed a droning noise that grew louder as they walked down the line of carriages following the other ladies. Then, as they drew near, the sound turned into a low and repetitive chant, and she saw a crowd of people seated among the trees watching near the edge of the forest. Those at the front were dressed in white robes and chanting rhythmically, bowing forward in time with their incantations.

  “Who are those people?” Julia asked.

  “The priests are those that cared for the yali. The people are the villagers from nearby who have come to see. They have come from far and wide to pay respect.” Rathma explained.

  Every so often, one of the villagers would cry out and wail in agony as they looked on. Julia saw how the people cried. She saw a woman watching, who was wearing an infant in a sling and holding another child's hand. Tears streamed down the woman’s face. Her child looked on impassively at the queen's procession and her ladies.

  Then they were there, next to the corpse. Julia looked up at it. “How did anyone survive this?” She asked softly, “Let alone kill it?”

  An unfamiliar voice with a Free Cities accent sounded behind her, “Men are capable of great things when we set our will upon them.”

  She turned and saw a priest standing there. Priests in Vastrum were rare. The old gods of the West were dead. The man was old, though not quite elderly. He was balding on top of his head with short-cropped white hair around his head. He had a neatly trimmed white beard, tan skin, and bright blue eyes that sparkled. He wore a great robe that was covered in brightly woven Styranic Runes.

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  Julia and Helena curtsied to him. Though the gods were dead, the priesthood still held respect.

  “You are Lady Belfair unless I miss my guess, which makes you Lady Dryden, yes?” The priest bowed his head to them.

  “You have us at a loss, sir,” Helena replied.

  “I am Schema Jost.” He was a monk, and Schema was his monastic title.

  “A pleasure,” Helena said, offering her hand as if the priest should kiss it.

  He looked at her hand strangely and did nothing. It was a breach of etiquette, Julia knew. If anything, young ladies were supposed to kiss the priest’s ring, not vice versa. Helena smirked as she pulled her hand back.

  “Mr. Jost, that is quite a monster, don’t you think?” Helena asked. She emphasized Mr., ignoring his title.

  The schema ignored her disrespect, “Indeed. Quite a specimen. Seeing such grand displays of divine power in the East, makes one wonder at the mysteries of our own gods, does it not?”

  “Wonder what?” Helena replied, “Our own gods are dead and gone.”

  “Are they, now?” The priest replied, “Seeing the power of this, a mere divine servant, I have to wonder…”

  Helena laughed, “Sir, you cling to your religion like a drowning man! Our gods have been silent for centuries.”

  “Did you see them die?” The priest asked.

  “Proof of their death exists in every old church in Vastrum. Shards of their death are held in reverence throughout the country. I have seen them. We all have. Furthermore, they are silent. If they lived, we would see proof, as we do here.” She gestured to the yali.

  The monk smiled knowingly, “Perhaps the world is not all as it appears, child. Mysteries abound!”

  “Away, Monk, cease your prattling and leave my ladies in peace.” A woman’s voice snapped.

  The monk backed off several steps and bowed deeply. Julia and Helena turned their heads to the voice. The queen stood before them. She wore a simple black silk dress and held a parasol to shade herself. A slender silver crown encrusted with emeralds sat upon her black-haired head. She had soft pale skin, grey eyes lined with black, and bright ruby-red lips. She was very beautiful and much younger than her husband, King Victus. Furthermore, she had a regal bearing that the king lacked. Julia instinctively dropped into a deep curtsy.

  Queen Ella nodded to her and bade her rise.

  An older, middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a forehead wrinkled from furrowing stood nearby. He was the queen’s secretary. He introduced them, “This is Lady Belfair and Lady Dryden.”

  “Ahh, my young ladies who were rescued from the clutches of the Vuruni pretender.” Her voice was sweet and light, dancing in the air, “It is a great pleasure to meet you finally.” She smiled faintly.

  The smile from the queen seemed the greatest honour she could have bestowed upon Julia. She felt herself smile back, “It is an honour to meet you, Majesty.” Julia felt herself say. She felt awestruck being before the queen herself.

  “Walk with me, won’t you?”

  “Of course, Majesty,” Helena answered for both of them with a curtsy.

  The queen then turned and began walking down the length of the yali. She walked slowly but with confidence. She did not turn to look back at them, clearly expecting them to follow. The ladies hurried to follow. They waited for her to speak as they walked. She was taking her time, inspecting the beast.

  “I would ask you of Vurun,” Queen Ella said as they walked, “I have heard many things from many people who were not there.”

  “What would you know, Majesty?” Helena asked.

  “Were you harmed?”

  “No, Majesty,” Helena answered quickly.

  “That is good…” The queen began to say.

  Julia interrupted, “We were not, my queen, but many were. The wives…”

  It was the secretary of the queen’s turn to interrupt Julia, “You must not interrupt the queen, Lady Dryden.”

  “Oh, it’s quite all right, Aberlour. I wanted the truth, and she was telling it to me. Do not interrupt her again. Please continue, Lady Dryden.” The queen’s voice was soft and gentle.

  “The noblewomen were protected, Majesty, but the women of the sepoys, the wives of the soldiers, they were sold as slaves. Many were… “ She sought a word that would suit the moment and be appropriate for the queen to hear.

  “Raped?” The queen asked. The word sounded vulgar from her lips.

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  “It is always the women and children who suffer most in war, is it not?” The queen asked idly as she stared at the great dead yali beside them. She reached out and put a hand on the great paw of the beast, which was nearly as tall as her. “Gods below,” She whispered, “I, too, wonder how the hands of man could slay such a thing. Yet here it is, slain by hunters.”

  A large number of people from the village who were standing at the edge of the wood now started to creep forward. They were pointing at the queen and her retinue. They were still too far to hear their words, but Julia could tell they were interested in the queen. More of them were moving forward.

  “My queen, we ought to head back to the carriages.” Her secretary, Mr. Aberlour, urged softly, “We are attracting a great deal of attention.”

  “Very well. I have seen what I came to see.”

  “You ladies will ride with me.” She honoured them greatly by allowing them to ride with her back to Kanmak. Usually, the honour would be granted to the daughters of dukes, royal family members, or her ladies in waiting.

  They began to walk towards the line of carriages and horses. The crowd of Ayodhis began to come quickly. Someone shouted in Vastrum, “Queen! Queen!” The crowd was pushing, and the villagers, of which there were hundreds now, broke into a jog, coming towards the women of the court.

  “Aberlour, do something.” Ella hissed.

  Her secretary shouted, “To the queen!” and a group of Huzite sepoys jogged forward in a line to block the way. They wore the black and tan uniforms of their home country. Only a thin line of Huzite soldiers stood between the crowd of villagers and the Queen’s court. Julia’s heart began to beat quickly. She saw the woman with the children reaching with her hand past a soldier who was pushing her back. “Queen!” The woman cried. Julia did not know what she hoped for—a blessing, perhaps, a favour, a coin, or just the chance at touching greatness. “Queen!” the people shouted as they pushed at the soldiers. There were so few soldiers and so many Ayodhi villagers. Julia felt panic rising. She remembered how the natives rioted before the revolt in Vurun. More were coming now from the other side of the great dead yali. A few guards and servants formed a line to try to shield the queen from that side.

  “Faster, Majesty,” Aberlour hissed.

  All the women hiked their skirts and quickened their pace as they hurried back to the carriages.

  A small group of sepoys from Huz pulled out lathi sticks. One of the tanned soldiers, an officer, swung and connected—a cry issued forth. The officer swung again and again. The crowd parted. Julia could see where he had connected. Red welts marked a young man who had received the lashing. The soldier raised his stick and charged. Folk from the villages fell back where he threatened with his bamboo lathi stick, but they surged elsewhere. The line of soldiers broke on the left, people pushed past and engulfed the soldiers, and pandemonium reigned.

  “To the queen!” Aberlour shouted again, and louder.

  A group of Vastrum soldiers, the Queen’s guard, appeared from nowhere. Men in crisp black, white, and red uniforms with sharp swords and polished steel helms stepped in and crowded in around them, forming a protective circle and facing outwards. One of them held a sword that reminded Julia of her father’s, now her husband’s, Styranian blade. It hummed with power. The crowd of people pushed forward. “Queen!” they shouted, reaching out hands, “Please! Queen!”

  Only the blades of the Queen’s guard kept them at bay. The queen, Julia, Helena, and Aberlour were loaded into the royal carriage. Julia looked around and did not see Rathma anywhere. Her servant had disappeared in the chaos. There was no time to look. The door closed, someone hit the side of the carriage, and they were off. The crowd shouting and crying and pushing behind them.

  “Aberlour, what of the rest of my ladies?” Queen Ella asked as they left.

  “The guards will protect them.” He said.

  Julia looked at Helena and saw she doubted the words. Queen Ella looked out the window and back at the chaos. It was impossible to see what was happening.

  “They only wanted to see me,” Ella said softly as the carriage sped away. The way she said the words made Julia realise how young the queen was—as young as Julia herself. Her naivete surprised Julia, but then, she had not seen Vurun.

  “I have seen such crowds trample and kill, Majesty.” Aberlour's voice was grim, “Even those beloved to them. A man can be left to do as he pleases. Men are dangerous and must be ruled. A mob like that? It is a fire that cannot be tamed, my queen. We ought to have brought more guards with us. I apologize for my error, Majesty, and I beg forgiveness.”

  The queen only nodded to her secretary in a way that said the mistake was forgotten.

  “My manservant was left,” Julia said softly as the carriage bumped along the road.

  “That is a shame. I’m sure he will be able to find his way back,” Aberlour said coldly.

  Julia knew that Rathma could handle himself. She wondered whether that was true, though, that he would find his way. It was a long road home in a dangerous land, and as Aberlour had said only moments before, a mob was like wildfire. Anything could happen to Rathma or anyone else left behind. The rest of the way back to Kanmak, they rode in silence. Julia stared out at the trees and baked dry farmland that rolled on and on. Only when they were coming back into the walls of the cantonment did Julia begin to feel safer. When they left the carriage, the queen retired to her quarters to rest. Julia did the same, going to her small cottage. She walked straight into the bedroom, laid in bed, curled up, and cried, wishing John were there to hold her, or even just Rathma to sit outside, anyone to keep her safe in this damned country. Anyone at all.