{This is highly unfinished, lol. It started out as a novella idea, that seems to be growing into a full length novel. Yes, I switch from first person to third person, I haven't rewritten the beginning yet. I'm not claiming this story is great, I actually think it's highly lacking, but I'd like some feedback. And yes, my main character has the same name as this character, but this is not her story. I just really like the name. ^_^}


The Rebellion of Syhoitta or The Reign of the Nakkur

~The Creation of the Elanim, the Nakkur, and All Other Beings of the World~

In the beginning of time, there were two beings: Gurat, God of Light, and Fetat, God of Darkness. Both were brothers unto each other, born from the astral surplus when this realm, Tyi, was created. Within the breast of Gurat a swirl of bright, transparent shards of star formed, creating a pure heart of love and kindness and good. Unlike his brother, Fetat received the black waste from the star, causing his heart to twist into an indiscernible form of hatred and evil. As history has often shown us, there was more darkness than purity, and therein lies the fear the world was born into. Though equal in magick, Fetat reigned in strength and ultimate destruction. Gurat, wary of his brother, secluded himself on the far side of Tyi, hoping to keep Fetat’s demented dreams from entering his own pure mind.
Gurat and Fetat were the only human-like creatures on Tyi, and they both sought to create others like themselves. As there were no females, it fell upon the duty of the animals to help create wandering, thinking, discerning beasts on Tyi. Fetat, ever calculating, was cautious about creating numerous races like him, and wished only for one perfect kind to be his descendents. Gurat disagreed. He felt the more diverse the realm the better it would be for all created. In order to do this, he had children with various animals, among them the deer, the wildcat, and the monkey. During the next half-millennium, Gurat continued to form his creations until nearly all of the animalistic characteristics were bred out of them. Among these ‘purest’ species were the humans and elves.
It was before the humans and elves were created, however, that Gurat found that some of his children were unsurpassable in beauty and intelligence. Though they retained the ears, tails, and markings of their animal ancestors, these traits only added to the abundant splendor of the race. They were the first he claimed to be perfect as they were. He named their order Anim, a shortened version of the word ‘animal’ as tribute to their wildlife ancestry. He bid the Anim to go and make peace with the world and live happily, viewing him as their creator.
Over many more years, after the perfection of the human and elf, the Anim intermixed heavily with the elven race, creating the common specie we know today: the Elanim. Some feline ears elongated, becoming almost pixie-like, others left as they had been for their animal ancestors; their lean forms were enhanced by the elven blood, their bodies near weightless, giving them greater agility and speed than any other kind on all of Tyi. Though no fur graced their countenance, they regularly retained exquisite markings upon their wrists, giving them a distinct, woodland ‘creature’ disposition.
While Gurat’s glorious array of children harmoniously lived upon Tyi, Fetat spent these years watching the remaining animals, weighing their skills and habits, searching for the most impure of them all to make his own children. Finally, he chose the boar, its hideous visage and soiled lifestyle paired with it stubbornness a well-formed creature that could work well with darkness. He had a litter of twelve and from these, he chose two daughters. Those daughters he took and with them had two more litters. Finding the original litter too pig-like, and the two after far too human, he destroyed the initial litter and brought the other two into the woods; Fetat had to make them more fearsome. He brought the females from these two litters, a total of seven, and mated them with a bear. After killing off the males and their boar featured mothers, he continued the process of bear, boar, and human intermixing, creating gigantic humanoid beings. With tusks jutting from their lips, massive hands and feet, and Fetat’s muscular body and black heart, he had made the most sinister of all races; he had created the Nakkur.
Releasing his creations, Fetat watched as they plundered Tyi, destroying all villages they came across. Standing between seven and eight feet in height, they towered over Gurat’s children, striking fear into their humble hearts. It wasn’t long, however, until the need for a revolt became clear to Gurat’s children. Rising up, the Elves with their longbows, the humans with their swords, and the Elanim with both, the peaceful creatures of Tyi brought havoc to the ensuing Nakkur and over many weeks shut them into a small corner of Tyi where they would stay behind great walls of stone, never to venture out into the open again.
It was then that diplomacy surfaced, and the races eagerly divided the world into countries and towns, allowing distinct cultures and languages to flower. Twelve nations were created. Years passed in quiet and peace as the nations worked together to form a harmonious Tyi. Sesdinasy, the country created and maintained by the Elanim, saw the rise and fall of ten magnificent Kings. Thousands of Elanim were born and died, great castles were constructed and forest torn down, dirt roads were created, diplomats rose to prominence, and a time of plenty settled upon Sesdinasy. But, though all was silent, the Kings were not ignorant to the fact that, just beyond their southern border, a great stone wall separated their humble people from the wrath and evil that was the Nakkur. Armies were made, swords and bows created, and schools of defense formed, for in the back of their minds the Elanim, as did the rest of Tyi, knew that one day the Nakkur would break free from their prison, just as they had risen in rebellion against the Nakkur’s terrible destruction.
They had to be ready.


























~The Story of Syhoitta~

We scampered back and forth, righting silverware and lighting candles. The humungous length of the table forced a dozen or more of us to work on it in order to have it ready in time. Our busy scuttling about and snapping of commands produced shrill echoes to ricochet from the towering ceiling and cause the red-yellow flames of the primitive candles to shudder with each passing reverberation. At a sudden moment, a great cry arouse from the middle of the room. One of our kind, an Elanim, stood upon the table conducting the hoisting of the candle-bedecked chandelier.
The Elanim on the table had the slender legs and arms of an Elf, taut with obvious strength, but having run the kitchen for so many years, had gathered a potbelly that stretched the tan fabric of his simple tunic. Besides this one gluttonous aspect, he was a handsome man complete with hard brown eyes and chin-length golden curls spiraling about his erect rabbit ears -- a spotted maze of brown and white. His bunny-like features gave his hard eyes their most alluring facet: a sense of lovability.
However, Ribobal, for that was his name, rarely gave anyone the chance to think him affable.
“Dunskin, keep your hand on the rope, you buffoon! Are you trying to make the imp-begotten thing fall? Honestly, Torita! Pull a bit faster, would you? It will be morning before we’re ready!”
And while he scolded and cursed those raising the chandelier, he kept a tight eye on the rest of us: “Fenine! Get your dirty fingers away from that pheasant! You, Albensine, take those forks away and polish them; I don’t see even a hint of shine on those! We have less than five minutes, scrap-heads, let’s move!”
With that being said we rushed about in even more haste and confusion until the movements almost became a dance; spinning left to avoid being trampled by a roasted duck, setting a glass here or there before you’re forced to dodge right, a candle swerving around you to decorate the elaborate display, and then nearly forced into the table as one or two meat-headed Nakkurs come barging by.
My job was to have the Great and Astounding Lord’s personal goblet polished, cleaned, and filled to the top-most brim with Hogshoof Liquor. My hands, wrapped in cloth, rubbed about the cup in furious circular motions, adding shine to every nook of the bedecked object. It was, pray, a few minutes before His Greatness was to march into the banquet room, son in tow along with, as usual, a number of slender virgins of mixed races (most likely cast from their homelands) flirting at both Nakkur’s sides. The polish I had so handsomely used smelled sweet of earthy tones, but I knew if I allowed the shine to rest upon the chalice, I would be punished. For, although the smell was of home, the taste of it upon the tongue was sickening.
I tossed the tarnish stained cloths from my palms and took up another, perfectly clean one. I was careful, taking my time wiping all about, mostly concerning myself with the neck and rim. The white cloth soon turned a brown-black; I was done.
“Out, you lice-laden scoundrels, come on; out!”
I snapped my honey hued eyes towards Ribobal, he was yelling at us once again. Running a light array of fingers through my coarse dirty hair, I dropped the rag and moved gracefully to the other end of the table, stepping under the angered gaze of Ribobal. He watched me haughtily, tapping his foot as if I was holding up the entire procession. I gathered the jug of Hogshoof in both svelte arms and rushed to His Lord’s seat, taking heed to fill His cup completely to the very brim.
Ribobal’s ears perked high as his brown eyes swiveled to view the doors the Great and Astounding Lord would enter through with his Ultimate Splendor, his son. It was but Ribobal and myself still within the room, the bunny-like Elanim standing on the table and I at the Great Lord’s chair, pouring his beer.
The Elanim jumped off the wooden structure and grasped me by the neck, hulling me out of the room with such speed our forms seemed to mesh in such a way I could hear the snickers from my kin as they watched the comical scene, Ribobal forcing me past the doors and slamming me into the opposing wall as the Great and Astounding Lord came roaring with laughter into the banquet hall. I sheepishly smiled at the older Elanim, shoulders slightly bent and head lightly bowed. He offered an enraged snort and stalked off towards the kitchen. There was a small audience of my fellow servants, all with brows cocked and eyes peering incredulously at me. I released an uncomfortable giggle, wringing my hands behind my back.
“Just like you, Syhoitta, always coming close to being placed in the Great Lord’s whipping room but just able to scrape by without any injuries. I hope one day…”
My younger sibling, Fenine, cut off Sitron’s insult; “At least she’s smart enough to complete her chores before she goofs off, unlike most idiotic children, namely you, Sitron.” My sister, having traces of feline ancestry, like myself, twitched her ears backward in defiance, slender tail flicking back and forth in an effort to keep her anger at bay.
Fenine was much younger than I was, but had just as much courage. She idealized me for whatever odd reason; I never quite understood why she looked up to me so. However, it was nice to have someone stick up for me, which meant I didn’t need to worry about doing it myself. Fenine would have rather died than admitted to anything derogatory concerning her beloved older sister.
I flicked my wispy dark brown locks over my shoulders, smirking contently at Sitron before prancing my way down the left corridor, passing the dust-covered windows, pale shafts of moonlight peeking through particles of grime. This corridor led to a perpendicular hallway, forcing me to make a left or right. I skirted to the right, making my way to the kitchen knowing that my chores for tomorrow could possibly be competed now.
Slipping through the kitchen unnoticed I passed into the granary. Two Nakkur sat talkatively at the table placed in the center of the room, their pig-like grunts and whines showing their excitement as they conversed. I cleared my throat and watched as they jumped in shock, having never heard me enter the room. Attempting to inquire about my reason for being in the room, one of them spoke.
“Gwhy are gyou here, slaaave?”
“Beg pardon, sirs, but I have chores to do; sweeping.” I offered a forced bow.
They stood, unhappily might I add, and moved to the doorway, “Get to git, runt.” Narrowing my eyes in objection to the insult, the broad Nakkur released a chilling boarish, high-pitched whine and thrust the broom at me, which had been leaning against the wall right next to the door. My rough palms held the coarse broom handle as I swept the earthen floor below me. I moved mechanically, head bowed, not daring to stare up into the eyes of the two guards who kept watch. They were posted at the sides of the door, fat arms crossed across their chests, pig-like faces helmed in silver, chests adorned with breastplates, swords at their hips. I hustled the strands of wheat and dust out the opposite door, the broom scrapping loudly until all was outside the building. I turned to inspect my work. The guards did as well, grunting in their primitive language to one another. The one to my right nodded his head brutally and captured one of my arms in his iron grasp. He tugged me to the door, wrenching the broom from my grip and slapping it across the stone wall. He ushered me within the castle, dragging me down the dirt-floored slaves’ chambers.
My eyes met those of my kind, running about, shouting out orders for more beef or broth for the king, for blankets or pillows for his son’s chambers, for one or two servant girls to be placed in his room for later use. It was then I silently took in the area about me, noticing our degraded state with new eyes: we were dressed simply, our clothes mere rags of tan or brown, hair pulled back with burlap or let loose. Filth was our adornments, the reek of feces our perfume. We lived in poverty, but we had a roof over our heads and two meals a day. It was far better living and serving the gluttonous king than dodging the knights that patrolled the forests, searching for any of us to kill.
The brute passed me off to another of his kind who hustled me up the stairs into the kitchen yet again. He tossed me into the doorway, having me nearly cause Sallis, who carried a massive bowl of broth for the king to topple over. I muttered my apologies to the graying Elanim and made my way to the washbasin. I hurriedly rinsed my hands and took my position near . He split his dough in half without saying a word and pushed it towards me. I took the dough and began kneading. Minutes passed before I noticed his glance was upon me.
“Aye?”
“The king feasts with his son and his son’s friends. I doubt we will be done baking before midnight calls.”
“And if we are up until the sun rises, what are we to do? Toss down our dough and throw in our aprons to retire to our bug laden beds for sleep?”
bowed his head and grew again quiet.
“Forgive me, , I did not mean to snap.”
“But there is great truth in your words.”
I turned to look at him, allowing my hands a rest. He was much taller than I was, though around my age. He had large doe-eyes and strong arms. He seemed so youthful; he didn’t belong in a king’s kitchen, he belonged out in the forest scouting for orcs.
A sharp pain sizzled up from the back of my knee. My left leg caved in on itself and I fell to one knee, chin coming near to smashing against the flour-covered table I worked at.
“Get to work, slave,” came the guttural command and three stone-hard fingers grasped the collar of my dress and picked me back up. I glowered, but did not allow the Nakkur to see; though I was mad, I was not insane. To show such anger to a guard was enough to be hung.
I went to work on my dough, kneading fiercely, biting my bottom lip to keep from doing any ridiculous action against the guard. When the dough was as it should be, I passed it to Coralia and took more from , to begin the process over again. We worked in stillness for some time, my embarrassment from being punished settling in an awkward silence that crept in-between and myself. Flicking my delicate ears back, I attempted to find some way of breaking the quiet; I could see growing increasingly uneasy. Clearing my throat, I glanced at the dough he was working on, a slender smile slipping across my pallid lips.
“, you’ve been working on the same batch of dough this whole time; I think it’s ready to be passed off to Coralia.”
Laughing anxiously the Elanim gathered his work and handed the dough to the female, brushing his paws together to get rid of the excess flour. It was then that he seemed to remember something of great importance, for as he vigorously rubbed his palms together his eyes grew in size and he gazed at me with renewed interest.
“I spoke with,” he bowed his head, taking the washrag and beginning to clean our area as he lowered his deep voice, “Pikchota today.”
I had grasped my own rag and had begun slowly pushing the loose flour into a pile in the middle of the counter when I heard his name slid quietly out of the mouth of my fellow Elanim. Staring amazedly at the countertop below me, my cleaning movements became mechanical. “, when, where, and what did he say?”
“Keep washing,” the antlered man grunted. He took a hand and rested it upon my own, forcing me to work faster. “I saw him this morning, just before sunrise. He was bold enough to walk up to me at the fountain without any stealth whatsoever; the man was walking upright as if he owned the palace!”
“Shh! Keep your voice down. What did he say?”
His smile widened as the last of the flour was pushed to the floor below. I slipped my hand back behind me, pushing it into a hidden closet where a broom, as well as other devices, was held. Taking the wooden handle in my right hand, I grasped the edge of the dust pail and handed it to to use. He bent down, waiting for me to sweep. “He says he misses you and that he has important information he needs to pass on to all of us, but he wants you to be the first to know.”
Flexing my ears against my head, I took in a deep inhale of breath, releasing almost immediately in a worried fashion. What could Pikchota need to tell me? Certainly it was dealing with relations between the ruling Nakkur and the Free Elanim. A sigh escaped me, my mind drifting off to the man that had captured my heart: loving, energetic Pikchota. He was the captain of a small gathering of Elanim that had been successful in resisting capture by the invading Nakkur. The leader, our old ruler, King Ivonghur the Just, reports the findings of his spies to the Free Elanim who, in turn, find ways of relaying the information to those of us who are caught in the grasp of the enemy. If Pikchota needed to speak to me I needed to see him as soon as possible, our people might be in some kind of danger.
“Are you going to sweep or what, Syhoitta?”
Blinking in slight confusion, I realized I had nodded off into my own little mind for a second. Offering a tender smile, I began finishing my chores, “When am I to meet him?”
“He’s been waiting for you in the forest just outside the fountain area all day; he said whenever you have time to go out there…”
“It will have to be tonight. I’ll need a reason to venture to the water fountain; any ideas? This information sounds important… I need to get out there now…”
smiled, “I figured that’s what you’d say. We have planned for your departure already. You are to be leaving in a few minutes for a trip to the garden to fetch ‘moon turnips’ that will be used in a stew for The Great and Astounding Lord.” At this, he spat on the floor. Annoyed, I swept up the spittle as best I could, watching the dust mix with the bubbling liquid and turn into mud.
A sudden, monstrous clang rose from the hallway. Many of the working Elanim perked their ears at the sound and rushed to the doorway, peeking around the wooden frame to eye the goings on. In the whirlwind of noise and movement, handed me a basket and started shoving me out of the kitchen, muttering into my ear, “This is your cue, good luck!”
I exited as cautiously as possible, noting the large mess of broth spilled throughout the hall. A deliberate tactic to get the Nakkur to rush about cursing those that had spilled it and then grunt at those nosey enough to poke their heads around the door and watch. The bulky creatures ambled towards the catastrophe, slipping on the liquid as they went along, some of them actually slamming their backsides against the wall in hopes of keeping from completely falling on their faces.
I made my way silently to the granary room again. It wasn’t much to open the door, only a few creaks to worry about as I pushed the massive lock up and out of the way. I looked straight ahead as I scrambled through the darkness, my form dodging in complete chaos to keep from bumping into the moonlit barrels of wheat. The illumination was granted by two pleasantly sized paneled windows directly beside the door. As I neared them, I outstretched my slender palm and turned the knob, allowing myself to enter out into the garden.
An array of herbs, for medicinal and spicing purposes, lined the edge of the stone fortress and encircled the gorgeous fountain in the middle of the courtyard. I took enough time to close the door behind me thoroughly, and then headed out past the roses and tulips, ducking under the dogwood that had been planted but two days before, and skidded to a halt in front of the spewing fountain. My heart was racing; I wanted nothing more than to see the tabby-cat hued Elanim slink from the woods as if he held the world in his palms. Nevertheless, I collected my thoughts. Nakkur could be anywhere; I had to act as if I truly was doing something productive until Pikchota found that there was enough safety for him to come out of hiding.
Bending down, resting on one knee, I began pulling turnips from the ground, careful not to dirty my hands or dress. It was but a few minutes before a soft rustling to my right caught my attention. Naturally, I wanted to spring towards it, but knowing that it could be just some forest beast scampering by, I kept my hopes low trying to keep them from being ultimately dashed. But, I was wrong. A booted foot stepped over a large blueberry bush, and then out came another. His legs were clad in deep brown tights; a silky green tunic was next visible, the hems coming to the middle, a long strip falling to his mid-thighs. He stood with his head cocked at an angle of prideful joy, eyes squinting at the maiden below him. His hands at his hips, long cylindrical tail resting simply behind him; he seemed the exact image of a confident hunter.
Slowly, to show some self-control, I stood up, letting the basket drop from my hands, turnips tumbling to the ground. But, no matter. The pale stripes of moonlight fell on both of us, illuminating sections of our forms in motionless wonder. He held out his hand toward me, his head coming to a neutral position, a tender smile replacing his confident smirk. Eagerly sliding my hand into his he pulled me to him, wrapping his arms about my body, embracing me in sweet silence. The moment seemed to last for an eternity, and yet, all at once, was but a mere speck of time. He lovingly stepped back to examine me, his red-brown eyes taking in my entire being. The only note of excitement emanating from him was his flicking orange-yellow ears.
“It’s been a while.”
A fresh smile broke upon my face. It was simultaneous; we both leaned in, our lips dearly linking in a soft touch; it was no doubt in my mind that we had both been dreaming of this exact moment since our last meeting, some four months beforehand.
He lingered in that position for some time, and when he finally broke free, released a happy sigh. “I regret to say, Syhoitta, that I have not come to say sweet words to you, but have in fact come to tell you of trouble that our spies have been informed of.”
I frowned. Normally we would at least lie with each other before he expressed his news, but if what he had to say was more important than being together, it was important indeed.
“Please, Pikchota, be brief, so that we may spend time together.”
He stiffened, sadness marking his features, “I cannot stay tonight, dearest. Something terrible will happen tonight…please, let us sit.”
We took seats upon the edge of the fountain, the water spurting forth creating a kind of otherworldly music upon the pool below and the marble edge. I took his hand, knowing that he wanted to have as much physical contact with me as possible, but was too embarrassed to say so. Though a magnificent hunter and charmer, outward calling for physical interaction was often up to me. A prideful young male, Pikchota was one to be all guts and glory in public, but a tender and sweet lover in private. It was his dashing hunting skills and his private smile that I fell in love with, but I found both gone from him tonight. Something was honestly disturbing him.
“As you know, the lands to the north, east, and west are currently refusing to acknowledge the take over of the Nakkur ruler and are even threatening to aid those Elanim still in the wild. This has proven to be a very touchy subject for Dji’toul and his proclaimed heir. They want the other nations thinking we wanted them to take over.”
I snorted, wiggling my nose in absurdity.
“I know; it seems highly unlikely that will ever happen, unless Dji’toul’s plans are carried out with effectiveness tonight.”
“Tonight?” I breathed, eyeing Pikchota fearfully.
“I would have been here sooner to give you the information beforehand, but ran into a serious army of Nakkur. My team and I had little choice but to allow only myself to sneak past and carry on.
“Sy, listen to me. All of our female Elanim are in danger. It is up to you to protect them.”
My ears plastered themselves against my hair as I bowed my head in submission.
“No, Sy, don’t grow soft now. This is something you must do. We’ve found out that Dji’toul will gather the females tonight and have his son pick a future queen.”
In shock my jaw dropped. I was so astounded that I could think of nothing to say. A Nakkur with an Elanim? Preposterous.
“They will use the marriage to show the bordering nations that life between the new ruling species and the old are in harmony, more specifically so by producing an heir.”
“You are telling me,” I said quietly, “that one of ours will be taken as a forced wife?” Nodding slightly Pikchota closed his eyes in depression. “Is there… a specific Elanim they have in mind?”
“No, it will be determined by beauty, the king wants his son to have a pleasurable night with the girl, not feel like he’s being forced into the marriage himself, and anatomically; Dji’toul has spoken with his physicians. To produce a child that is partially Nakkur within an Elanim’s body is a dangerous task, hip girth will be involved in choosing the female.
“Please, Syhoitta, don’t look so grim. We have some positive news as well. The prince is thought to be less like his father and perhaps able to be manipulated into following the fight for the Elanim.”
I went quiet again, breathing through my nose thoughtfully. A light yawn escaped me as a moved closer to him, resting my head against his shoulder. It was wonderful to have such information, but to have it on the night of the event? When would it happen? No doubt soon, by the moon it seemed like near the time the king and prince retire to enjoy their beds. If it were so close at hand, how would she relay the message to the others? She certainly won’t have enough time, what good could possibly come from her being the only one to know of the pig-faced idiots’ plans?
She found his fingers tracing her jaw line, a soft smile issuing from him. Kissing her forehead, the Elanim rested his head upon her shoulder, “I’ve missed you, Sy.”
Chuckling, she nodded, stroking his bangs away from his face, “And I have missed you, Pik. I just wish you hadn’t come with such dreadful news.”
Picking his head up, he stared at Syhoitta momentarily, as if trying to figure out a puzzle. He brushed her hair away from her face as she had done for him, placing his hand behind her neck, drawing her into a deep kiss, both of their eyes closing at the instant of connection. Leaning forward, it took nothing for Pikchota to have her lying against the cold marble of the fountain, their forms completely enwrapped together. She giggled softly, nuzzling his cheek with her nose, sighing happily.
“I thought you said you couldn’t stay with me tonight?”
“Sadly, I cannot.” Pikchota rose, readjusting his tunic playfully. He bent forward, kissing his love’s forehead on last time before offering a slight peck on her lips. Teasingly wrapping his tail about hers, the two embraced warmly, speaking quiet words of love into each other’s ears, laughing and chuckling softly. It wasn’t until Pikchota jolted into a sitting position that Syhoitta regained her composer.
Clearing her throat, she kissed his ear, “What is it, love?”
In a wispy motion, the feline-like man slipped away from the fountain, inching towards the woods as silently as he could, bright reddish eyes glaring in anger. His visage changed only momentarily as he mouthed the words “I love you” and then darted into the forest, making but a single rustling noise and a few sparse green leaves tumble to the ground by her feet.
Thumping could be heard near the castle walls; the Nakkur had realized one of their slaves was missing. Syhoitta dove to the ground, slamming turnips into her basket as quickly as possible. She had to seem occupied, as if she really was picking the darned vegetables. Bowing her head, she continued the hasty movements until she heard a shrill cry sound from the woods. It sounded like some pig had caught its tail in a door. The high-pitched screech echoed noisily as Pikchota and the Nakkur causing the noise burst from the forest at full run. A second and third Nakkur guard followed its screaming brother, palms grasping solely for Pikchota, his slender form dodging in a zigzag fashion. Tearing into the garden, the feline claws dug deep into the earth, creating massive slashes in the dirt. Syhoitta screamed, springing into a standing position, knocking over her basket and allowing the turnips to tumble out yet again. A single Nakkur had made its way to her, dumbly groping the air in an attempt to capture nimble woman.
Pouncing onto the marbled fountain, Syhoitta dashed about the circular centerpiece and bound towards Pikchota, gracefully gaining speed, not bothering with the single Nakkur trying to work its way about the fountain as she had, nearly falling into the water several times. Once she had caught up with him, she placed a hand on his arm, speaking hastily, “You must go!”
“Round them up, Sy, I have my old slingshot in my pocket.”
Dumbfounded, she slowed down. A slingshot? Of all the instruments in the world, why a slingshot? Shaking her head in disbelief, she slipped a hand down to the floor, extending her fingers into the dirt, causing her body to swing about and run in the opposite direction. Nearly barreling into one of the soldiers, she pounced, landing squarely on his helm, and then jumped again, leapfrogging from one Nakkur to the next until she had smacked all four of them smartly on the head. Angered, the Nakkur switched tactics and shifted to retrieve the female. Running directly at the woods, Syhoitta found herself caught between a large oak tree, chest-high thorny rosebushes, and the encircling Nakkur.
She grasped the bark of the old tree, breathing deeply before she spun about, backing her shoulder blades against the rough trunk. She grimaced, not being able to see her lover anywhere, but she knew he was somewhere out there, waiting for the perfect moment to strike…
A whistling sound was the only warning before one of the massive bear-boar beasts went slamming into the ground. He was followed by two of his comrades, who were standing about in awe as to why their accomplice had suddenly fallen over and blacked out. By the time that three had fallen, the fourth was swiping at the air, trying to catch the stones that were being hailed from afar. Gritting her teeth together, Syhoitta launched herself upon the creature’s back and clung to its slick armor with all her might. Though a risky maneuver, shifting the Nakkur’s worry from the flying stones to an attacker attached to its backside worked perfectly. Grunting and squealing like a newborn piglet, the guard began swiping at its back, no longer worried about the stones flinging from Pikchota.
The Nakkur, angered and highly annoyed, swung his arm about, clutching Syhoitta’s tiny neck and pried her from behind him, hoisting her high before his face. She hung their, the scruff of her neck held in his meaty palms, but fell immediately afterwards, the beast falling over due to an oversized stone being whipped into his tusk-bearing mouth.
Landing squarely on her feet, she brushed off her brown-gray dress, the tattered edges caked with dust and grass from running about the garden. Smiling as Pikchota jogged towards her, she blew him a kiss, giving him a light nod to direct him away from her and to the forest.
“Better leave now before more come.”
“I’ll come back for you in two weeks, Sy!” And with that, the Elanim vanished into the dark wood.
Sighing heavily, Syhoitta made her way to her turned over basket, replacing the turnips for a final time. She wasn’t worried about the Nakkur lying about the garden, she was much too focused on what had happened before they had sprung a surprise attempted capture on Pikchota. Perhaps the true king’s, King Ivonghur’s, information was incorrect and the picking of a wife will be on another night. But no, very rarely had the King’s information been incorrect, better to be prepared and act as if it was tonight. But how was she to inform the other females? At this Syhoitta could only sigh and shrug and go back to filling her basket.
One rather large hand grasped her hair, pulling her to the ground. Letting loose a surprised gasp and a cry of pain, Syhoitta went tumbling to the floor, the Nakkur’s bulky hand continuing to pull her towards the castle mercilessly. She had pinched her eyes shut in pain, but now opened them to view the four Nakkur from earlier heatedly rubbing various spots on their faces as they marched her in through the granary, down the hallway, past the kitchen, and thrust her just outside the door to the banquet room.
Two guards were posted by the door, one on either side. One retained a spear while the other held a piece of thick twine. Grunting and growling at one another, the Nakkur that had found her retold their story to the other guards, who were in fact trying to keep from openly laughing at their fellow men. Once the chatter had died down, the Elanim was hoisted into a standing position with her wrists caught by two Nakkur, and twine was then wrapped around her hips, the single guard moving in close to view her waist and thighs, snorting with disgust all the while. Refusing to have such a dirty creature staring so closely at her, Syhoitta raised leg to project her foot into the guard’s face, but was ultimately surprised, and embarrassed, to find him dodge the attempt and rip her entire dress off with a simple tug at the seams.
She began flailing viciously as the door to the banquet room were opened, refusing as much as she could to entire the area. Her tail wrapped about the doorknob, holding her in place for a few seconds before the second entry guard almost sliced it off with his spear. Hissing and cursing all the way, Syhoitta was placed in line with half a dozen other female Elanim, ranging in age from barely able to have children to older women past their age to produce. Syhoitta was put at the end of the line with the rest of them, each completely unclothed and blushing in total embarrassment.
Behind each of them was a guard, whip in hand, waiting to crack its metal-tipped end on any Elanim that moved in a manner they felt unnecessary. Huffing loudly, Syhoitta eyed her overlooking Nakkur, anger swelling in her very stomach. With her mind attentive to the Nakkur behind them, she hadn’t notice the new king, his heir, and a number of selective generals and admirals in front of the line of Elanim. One can imagine the start Syhoitta had when the Great and Astounding Lord began to speak in Common Tongue to the whole audience before him.
Snapping her gaze to the king, Syhoitta sneered, hatred enwrapping her senses. He had taken the true King’s very garments and had them redone to fit his oversized body. She recognized well the gold and green shirt and pants Dji’toul wore, with a deep olive cape tied proudly at his thick neck. The cape graced the bear-boar’s ankles, accentuating the amount of girth they had. He strode back and forth before them all, his chest puffed out; almost to the point the golden buttons were going to pop off. He thumped his highly polished brown boots as he walked, thinking that such a walk made us think more highly of him. Indeed, he looked powerful, but behind coal-black eyes, one could see he was worried. Truly, the fate of his empire continuing without attacks from outsiders rode on this night. He rose a single plate-sized hand, rubbing it along the tusk that jutted from his mouth a curved up, deciding not to acknowledge the second tusk that pointed to his feet. He suddenly stopped in the middle of the line, turned, and faced the females.
“You are some of the lucky few,” he declared in perfect Common Tongue. Many of the Elanim glanced at each other, surprised that the king’s words were not heavy with out of place “gs” and guttural grunts. In fact, he spoke as fluently and easily as they did. “Through careful measurements we have picked you for a special task. Only one of you may be the chosen one, but you all have the wonderful opportunity of being ‘the one’.”
Some of the young girls’ ears perked up, thinking perhaps that this wasn’t a punishment, but something grander; perhaps the king wasn’t that bad after all. However, Syhoitta knew the truth and snorted loudly, and once she did all the young women nodded and glared at the king and his men, no doubt reminding themselves that he had taken over their country and had overthrown their gentle King.
Dji’toul muttered coldly, “I see,” eyeing those that gave him deep looks of hatred. “It is a shame that you do not trust me. I suppose I will have to pick the winning girl without having the chance to tell you the prize before hand.”
Markedly, he stepped to the end of the line opposite of Syhoitta, eyeing each girl in turn. The first was a very young girl, probably not even old enough to have children yet. Her ears, black against her blonde hair were fixed against her skull, and her black and white tail was shivering between her legs. The king glowered at her and barked at the Nakkur behind her, his anger falling short in his grunts to where he began speaking in Common Tongue:
“…young! Far too young! Are you that dull-headed of an imbecile to recognize this? Perhaps I should…” he cut himself off, falling silent in rage. He came to the next women. Syhoitta knew her personally; it was graying Torita, the old Elanim that took after a tortoise. Her pointed lips pursed as Dji’toul looked her over, webbed fingers slowly rising to her hips in defiance. Once her age was registered in the king’s mind he briskly stepped in-between Torita and the previous young one and smartly smacked the two Nakkur behind them. Growling hideously, he continued down the line, finding faults with each girl. They were either too young, or too old, or not pretty enough. By the time he reached the end of the line, when he reached Syhoitta, he was fuming with rage. Angrily, he stamped out from behind the line to face her dead on, his tusks inches from her relaxed lips.
“And you,” he growled, curling his lips back to reveal the dark yellow-brown teeth behind them, “why were you late?”
The Nakkur behind her prodded her arm with the butt of his whip, whining at the top of his lungs to his repugnant king. As he spoke, the king’s eyes went from him to Syhoitta, a sneer slithering upon his visage. He straightened himself after the soldier had quieted and chuckled, glaring at Syhoitta.
“My, my, haven’t we caused enough trouble today?” He stepped back and began pacing once again. “You were caught in the same vicinity as one of those damned Free Elanim; Pikchota, I believe. Yes, we’ve been after that damned spy for quite some time now, who would have thought he would be interested in a little bitch like you.”
Blood rushed to her cheeks as she clenched her fists, trying to keep from flying off the ground and slamming a coiled fist into the bear-boar’s nose. “I’m afraid I couldn’t possible be a bitch seeing as I have a cat’s tail and ears.”
“You will address me as ‘Your Highness’.” He stated coldly, making his tiny eyes into slits.
“I only address the true King by that title.”
He leaned forward, breathing whiskey and liquor down the girl’s throat, “Soon I will be recognized as the true king and then you’ll find yourself cleaning by boots with your disgraceful tongue.”
“Until then, you will be Dji’toul the Nakkur to me, and no one else.”
A smile burst onto the beast’s face as he began to march back and forth, “You have quite a lot of spirit in you, woman, especially for someone surrounded by Nakkur twice your size.”
“Size really doesn’t seem to matter, especially when I was able to aid Pikchota in taking down four of your lumbering guards in less than five minutes.”
“I see, well, let me have a true look at you, hm?” He gave a jerking nod and Syhoitta cringed in pain as the whip came down upon the backs of her thighs, “Come on, step forward.”
She did, pain shooting from the contact spot throughout her legs. She stared straight ahead, however, making no other grimace. Dji’toul advanced, eyeing her face for a moment then her chest and hips. He scratched his chin for a long time, gazing up and down in thought. Finally, he placed the hand that had been so constantly stroking his large chin onto her breast, grinning widely as she squirmed.
“Your markings are unique, feline. Ears and tail both marked with a pattern of a vertical slash and two large dots following. Your shoulders, wrists, and thighs are remarkably painted with stripes and spots; I don’t doubt that they’re real, as is what I’m holding.” He gave a slight squeeze, rubbing his fingers across her chest. “Bail’roukin, come here.”
It was at this time that all eyes fell upon the heir to the throne. Astonishingly, the barrel-chested Nakkur had been staring at the eastern wall this entire time, eyes glazed over as if he wished as badly as the females that he wasn’t part of this. Obediently, he made a sharp turn and came striding to the side of his father, looking at the wall through Syhoitta’s forehead. He was dressed smartly in a deep purple robe with accents of silver and gold, his boots of black leather, and his sword hilt – the object hanging at his waist – shinning brightly with delicately etched carvings about it and the sheath itself. His chest filled as he inhaled deeply, and slowly shifted his gaze from the wall to the Elanim before him, eyes locking onto hers.
“Yes, father?”
“What say you of this Elanim?”
He cleared his throat, refusing to glance at any other portion of her body other than her eyes, “I say whatever you say, father.”
Dji’toul gave a half-hearted smile, his palms going to his hips as he puffed out his chest more, “Would she please you, son?”
“If she pleases you, father.”
The fake king nodded his head approvingly, staring one last time at her hips, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Bail'roukin, I will say this then, she pleases me as much as a filthy Elanim can. You say she will please you if she pleases me, and therefore she must please you for she does please me. It’s settled then.” He gave one final nod, glaring at Syhoitta, “What is your name, feline, and don’t lie or I’ll have every last one of these girls in here beaten.”
“You needn’t have threatened the lives of innocents, Dji’toul, I am proud to state my name. I am Syhoitta.”
“Syhoitta?” Dji’toul spat in disgust, “Such an Elanimish name.” He stepped back, his voice booming as he made the announcement, “From now on, the future queen will no longer be named Syhoitta, but will bask in the glory of her Nakkuric name: Aps’Abak.”
“No!” Syhoitta shouted, “I refuse—”
“And,” Dji'toul boomed, silencing Syhoitta, “until Bail’roukin’s and Aps’Abak’s bedroom is completed, Aps’Abak, you will be working on the grounds with your Elanim brethren. I’m hoping to have you in decent shape for the wedding.” A chorus of gasps and “No’s” rang out from the other female Elanims. Syhoitta only glared at the beast, eyes in narrow slits. She retracted her hand as Dji’toul groped for it, but finally was forced by his monstrous hand to take his son’s. They stood there, grasping hands, her svelte fingers held firmly in Bail’roukin’s meaty palm. He looked at her with an apologetic expression, his face edged with sadness as well as despair. It struck Syhoitta with such force that she stared back at him, eyes almost suggesting worry for the Nakkur prince; he truly seemed sorry for the actions of his father that had occurred in the last few minutes.
Bail’roukin stepped forward, placing his other large hand atop their clasped fingers. He spoke gently, in a low voice for only her to hear, “Indeed, Syhoitta, I’m sorry for this, but I hope to make this as much of a pleasurable experience as possible for you: my queen, my wife, and mother of my children.”
She listened to him, noting the honest sympathy and kindness echoed in his humble voice. But although she was soothed, she saw him for what he was: A Nakkur. A creature that was hell-bent on overtaking the kingdom of Tyi in any way possible, even if it meant raping a woman to create an heir. She shook her head hard, gazing at the prince angrily, and whipped her hand from his grasp, spinning about on one foot as the rest of the Elanim were rushed out of the room to join the eagerly waiting eavesdroppers outside the door.
She pushed past the calls of “what happened?” and “is anyone hurt?” sounds of love and caring. She was in minor shock as to what had just happened. However, Pikchota had warned her. Yet she had never imagined herself in this position, it would happen to another girl, not her, she’s promised to Pikchota. No, not Syhoitta, never Syhoitta. But it was Syhoitta. She was chosen. Pikchota had asked her to be the brave one and relay the message of the Nakkurs’ plan to the other females, but she hadn’t had time, so now she again had to be brave and take on a role that no other Elanim may ever have. She had to bear the children of a beast twice her size, which she found completely unattractive, and that could have her hanged in a moment’s notice. Syhoitta felt sick.
Marching to her bedroom, she pushed the wooden planks open languidly, her weary body taken over by fits of tiredness. Running a little hand through her dirty brown hair, Syhoitta noticed that the bounce in her step from earlier had vanished. But she was too apathetic at this point to cheer herself up. She sat upon the edge of her bed heavily, tiny bugs jumping off the covers from the sudden movement, dust spiraling into the open air creating glamorous momentary wisps in the low moonlight offered by the dirt-spattered window to the left of her bed.
Sighing deeply, it took the feline many minutes to realize she was not alone in her own room. Across the way, seated in a sagging chair, was and to his right, standing stick straight, allowing his potbelly to poke out, was Ribobal, his bunny tail shifting noiselessly. Once Syhoitta had registered she had visitors, she immediately propped herself into a more dignified sitting position and smiled half-heartedly at them both.
“How did everything go, Syhoitta?” Asked in a depressed voice, suggesting he already knew something had not gone exactly to plan.
“I met with him,” she breathed, “and we spoke until he was ambushed by Nakkur. He escaped, thank the gods, but I was taken with some of the other girls to see Dji’toul.”
Ribobal nodded slowly, a long, bent ear flapping in front of his eyes. “Yes, after you made your little venture out into the garden some of our women were captured. So, what did Pikchota want? Was he trying to save your tail from being with those that were taken?” This last sentenced was dipped with anger suspicion, Ribobal’s eyes glaring at Syhoitta shortly.
“If it had been it didn’t work. No, he came to tell me the reason why Dji’toul was to see some of our women tonight, information that was given to me a tad too late, obviously. But no worries, what has been done has been done, and the events that Dji’toul has set in place matter to no Elanim but me.”
“And what,” Ribobal stiffly questioned, “are those events?”
Syhoitta didn’t know how to come out and say this. Should she play up the drama, saying she was to be burdened with the bearing of an unwanted child or try to lighten the mood by saying one of their own was moving into the power of royalty? Either way the men would be upset, just in different ways. Deciding to show both aspects of the picture, she took a deep breath and eyed , hoping for silent support.
“In many ways these events can be read as good omens and bad. I suspect, as we are all prepared for bad news, I should relate the negative side to you first.” She cleared her throat. “I have been chosen, due to looks and my natural hip girth, to bear Bail’roukin a child to continue the Nakkur’s dynasty.”
“Ridiculous!” shouted standing and slamming his chair aside, the near-broken wooden structure tumbling to the ground.
“This means,” she pressed on, trying to calm him down, a hand raised, “that not only will I be considered royalty, but will have access to inside information on the ‘king’, his whereabouts, his plans… , Ribobal, I am the best spy the race of the Elanim has now. Though this is a difficult situation for me, it is, at the same time, a complete blessing for our people.”
Both men looked at the female incredulously, jaws slightly dropped. Ribobal regained his composure first, closing his jaw and sticking out his portly belly. Flicking at his bent over ears in an annoyed fashion, he spoke harshly, “It was only a matter of time before this happened to one of us. But why, if you knew Dji’toul was to pick you, did you not save yourself and go with Pikchota? Certainly you don’t want this destiny, Syhoitta?”
“I didn’t know I was going to be chosen, Ribobal,” she muttered apprehensively, “I told you the choices were between me and a few others did I not? And even if I did know, I couldn’t leave Fenine here.”
“Your younger sister would have been just fine here with us.”
“No, she wouldn’t have.” Syhoitta stood, pacing a bit. “You know as well as I that Dji’toul would have had Fenine taken to the dungeons and whipped until she told him where I had gone off to; they know we’re sisters. It’s not a matter of my life; it’s a matter of hers. True, she can be rather annoying at times, but we’re all that we have left, and I told Pikchota I wouldn’t leave here until he had a residence for both of us, and he respects that.”
“It’s true, Ribobal,” muttered, “the guards would have beat Fenine to death unless she gave them Sy’s whereabouts.”
“I still say there could have been a way out of this whole mess!” The bunny-man shouted.
“And what?” Syhoitta snapped back, “Place the weight on someone else’s shoulders? Someone weaker? How about Fenine? Could she do this? No, she would die under the pressure. I can do this because I am strong, Pikchota issued me the task of informing the other females because of my strength and courage, and now, because I failed in that mission I see no reason why I shouldn’t replace it with the marriage. This is now my responsibility. Don’t worry; things are going to change just as soon as I can make them.”
“And what of Pikchota?” asked tentatively, “What will he say to this new mission of yours?”
“I pray,” Syhoitta sighed, “that he’ll understand and love me even after I have a Nakkur’s child.”
“When will he know of the happenings that took place tonight?”
“He said he’d come for me in two week’s time. I suppose that is when.” Syhoitta shrugged, knowing no other information.
Ribobal rubbed his stomach thoughtfully and grunted, waddling his way over to the door, “ and I will inform the others of Dji’toul’s plan for you, in the mean time, get some rest. You’ve been placed on grounds duty for tomorrow, though I’m not sure why.”
The Elanim groaned as the men left her room, knowing all too well why she would be out in the hot sun the next day.
~^*^~
The blazing sun poured over Syhoitta’s tender shoulders as she knelt, bent over, on the grass. Both knees digging into the soft dirt, one hand steadying her form, she scrutinized a single patch of grass, trying to decide if it was taller than the rest of the around it. It certainly was close in height. Finally, in exasperation, she brought the rusting scissors to the spot and snipped carefully, making sure only to take off what she needed. Cringing in light pain, she slowly sat back against her legs, her butt on top of her feet, as she massaged her throbbing hand. Looking about she noticed that she had finished half an acre in the past eight hours she had been working, all the grass behind her perfectly level with everyone else’s. There were five others spread out around her, each mumbling to themselves as they worked, trying to keep themselves company.
Resituating herself, she sat cross-legged on the ground, rotating her shoulders in a circular motion. She was tired, her body was cramping, and the heat of the sun seemed to wash away her ability to think in waves. It was only when she began to place her clamped hands over her head and stretch from side to side, that she noticed a large person making their way towards the group, something just as large following behind it. Syhoitta immediately flew back into her work, nose nearly touching the blades of grass she was dismembering. Her frantic movements ceased only when two booted feet stopped just in front of her face. She looked up, almost fearfully, and squinted in the sunlight. The man gazing at her was obviously a Nakkur, and well dressed. He had on silver and blue, with a rope held firmly in his hand. She cleared her throat, tossing her main of dirty tresses over her shoulders and stood, eyeing the beast in the face.
It was Bail’roukin.
He offered a light smile, Syhoitta catching him taking his first true look at her body. The glance he gave her was subtle and had no traces of lust or want, nothing demonic or disgusted; it was a simple, heartfelt smile. He nodded his head lightly in a semi-bow and then tugged the rope in his hand.
“I thought, perhaps…” He seemed nervous, a feeling that Elanim rarely saw in the faces of their overlords, the Nakkur. “A wedding present.” He mumbled, gazing at the floor, not daring to look at Syhoitta or the five other Elanim who were regarding the situation treacherously.
Stepping back to give more viewing room, Syhoitta took in such a sharp breath she almost fainted. Connected to the end of the rope, in full attempt to get away, was an amazingly black winged stallion. The horse tossed its head back, black mane whipping in all directions as it whinnied helplessly, wings folding and outstretching, beating into the wind. The Elanim watched in awe as the tiny swirls of grass clippings rose under the wings and disappeared, only to be recreated a few moments later. Bail’roukin was having little trouble holding the horse at bay, and silently stood there as Syhoitta gazed, dumbstruck. She immediately eyed its dark and powerful legs, its strong, sturdy back, and its unkept, uncut mane and tail. Jerking her eyes to the Nakkur, she spoke as if her voice was of great distance away.
“Is it wild?”
“Yes,” he said, a bit of pride swelling in his chest. “A group of them flew over the grounds three days ago, late in the afternoon, and I captured the head stallion… and decided to give it to you.”
Only when the stallion had made eye contact with Syhoitta did she snap out of her dazed state. She saw in the dark black eyes a cry for help it seemed she could only understand. She knew precisely what the wild animal was saying and it tore at her heart. Free me, let me go. My loved ones are waiting… free me… I am wild… free me... She grasped the rope from Bail’roukin, who believed her to be interested in mounting the stead. Instead, she ran past him, scissors cutting free the rope about the stallion’s neck. She grabbed a part of his mane, cooing at him to be still and calm. It only took a moment for Bail’roukin to notice what had truly taken place and that the deadly point of the scissors was suddenly directed at him.
A wild flash of fury had erupted in Syhoitta’s eyes, dancing with flame-like beauty. She hugged the horse close, able to hear its rampant heartbeat from its neck. “You dare to take a creature from the wild and harness it?” She growled, anger bubbling within her. “You are just like your father. What do you mean by this, Prince of Murderers? Like your father, you have forcefully overtaken something wild and have attempted to send it into slavery. What are you trying to show giving a slave a slave? No, no more of this, you will touch these beasts no longer!”
Giving the stallion a hard pat on the side, she kept her eyes upon the prince as the horse took off, blackened wings covering the beating sun for a second as it flew into the air, as free as Syhoitta wished to be. Bail’roukin, dumbfounded and confused, stared at his future wife incredulously, unable to speak. But this expression was quickly wiped clean as an angered facial appeared, eyes glaring into the tiny body of the Elanim. She gazed right back, their gaze meeting and holding for some moments, the tension rising to bursting levels.
Sharply, the prince turned on his heel, squealing and whining in high-pitched growls and oinks, two guards rushing towards him immediately. They gave a curt bow, bending from their waists, and the three of them conversed heatedly for a few minutes. As they spoke, Syhoitta let loose an angered breath and looked about, noting that the other Elanim had stopped all work and were staring in amazement at her. One of the young females dared to offer a smile and nod, as if saying ‘well done!’ Syhoitta was about to reply when the thumping of boots turned her attention back on her fiancé. He was leaving in a rather hurried fashion, fists clenched at his sides, rage seeming to swell from his form. She gave a pleased snort and spun about, intent on returning to her work, when the two guardsmen came towards the group of Elanim, grunting all the while.
“Gyet up, and gyo to the giiitchen,” one of them crudely remarked, eyeing the slaves indifferently. They all moved to rise, brushing their knees and clothing off, only to find the two Nakkur encircling Syhoitta.
“Nooot gyou, Princess Aps’abak, the grince has gasked that gyou stay beeehind and ginish everygwone’s gwork. Gyou have ungil suuundown.”
Syhoitta’s jaw dropped. How dare Bail’roukin force her to do such work! She growled angrily, muttering curses under her breath as she went back to her knees noticing she still had four acres of land to cut by herself and only six hours to do it in. Snarling at the slowly sinking sun, she bent low and placed her finger and thumb into the holes of the scissors and began to cut the grass.
~^*^~
Her entire body ached. She wearily drug her feet against the dirt on her floor as she made her way to her little cubby hole along the opposite wall of her bed; she had dried bread in there. Syhoitta’s stomach was screaming at her to intake some type of food, even if it was the breadcrumbs from two months past. She pulled the square door down with a jerk on the knob position at the door’s top, the opening sliding ajar with a hideous screech, creating a semicircle. She took the bread in her hands, closed the door, and scuffled to the edge of her bed, the pale moonlight from the windows streaming out just beside the mattress. She passed through the shafts of light noiselessly, except for the shuffling of her tired feet upon the dusty floorboards. Sitting upon the mattress, she paid no mind to the bugs and crawling things that oozed from the corners of her resting area; she couldn’t dare think on it for if she did she’d lose the ability to eat. So she simply stared straight ahead, nibbling mouse-like on the edges of her crusts.
Syhoitta pondered thoughtfully upon the previous weeks that had passed by since she had seen Pikchota and had been named the damned future queen. Since then she had cut the grass of all thirty acres of land nearly by herself, apart from for those three or four acres taken care of by the other grounds workers on her first day outside. She had also cleaned every horse stall, bathed each stallion, milked every heifer in the royal pastures, cleaned up after all of them, too, washed the laundry of every enslaved Elanim in the castle, clipped Dji’toul’s toenails and buffed his tusks, washed the dishes every night for the past five nights, and swept the entire castle. After having thought of all of this she no longer berated her body for feeling like it was about to fall into separate, tiny pieces all over the floor.
With a yank, she pulled off a sliver of black bread, chewing quickly to insure she would be able to swallow and get the horrible taste from her mouth. She watched with a tiny whimper as the crumbs tumbled from her parched lips and speckled her yellowed rags, her tail curling about her hips in order to offer some form of warmth. She felt dirty. She hadn’t had a true chance to wash yet, even though her fingers were soft pink from being submerged in bubbly water for the past three hours washing the dishes from lunch and the first course of dinner. Sweat had stained her brow; she almost felt like streaks of bright blue and red were splattered upon her temples from the tiny beads of sweat that had developed there from her strenuous work all day. This day alone she had swept the whole castle – she forgot that she had also dusted the rooms as well – and buffed Dji’toul’s monstrous tusks as he basked in the glory of some eight women of mixed parentage, all trying to keep their disgust hidden, but finding indulging in the king a better fate than wandering about alone in the woods. Syhoitta had scoffed at them mentally. They were whores, whether they openly admitted it or not.
She had stood there, a rag in both hands, and took polish to his greasy tusks and slowly began rubbing the shine back and forth, up and down the pointed objects until they shone like the breastplates of the knights in old wives’ tales. The female Elanim could hardly imagine it taking nearly four hours to polish a breastplate, and yet it took her that long to do two tusks. He had spoken all the while in a kind of slurred speech (for how else would he talk with Syhoitta tugging on his two longest teeth), played with the maidens’ curls, and fondled their shoulders and wrists. He had such odd fetishes, she noticed. He had begun to make comments concerning her, but Syhoitta promptly tugged upon her filthy rag, jerking his head forward, a sickening pop issuing from his neck, stood, and left. She flung the polish-rag over her shoulder and hurried out, her tail flicking in triumph behind her.
It wasn’t long before Syhoitta was awoken by a knock at the door. She hadn’t realized that she had drifted off until she jumped to a standing position, crumbs and bread falling to the floor. She paid no heed to the mass of roaches and bedbugs that swarmed the newly laid feast at her feet, but rather made her way to the door and opened it a tad, looking out around the corner to see who had come visiting at such an odd hour. Her eyes flashed heatedly and fell into slits as she gazed at the monstrous arms and highly bedecked chest of a Nakkur staring back at her, a smug look upon his face. Bail’roukin had come, his pride shown in the way his chest was puffed out like a rooster. He wrapped a large palm about the edge of the door, pulling it open a little more.
“I’ve come to speak with you, may I come in?”
“I’ve never heard a Nakkur ask permission to enter a slave’s room before,” she growled sarcastically. She stepped back, eyeing her residence for a moment; perhaps if it was dirty enough he’d get his father to give them better living conditions. She snorted at the thought knowing it to be ludicrous. She wrenched the portal open and gave a mock bow, ushering him in with a wave of her hand. The false prince waited for a moment before entering, clearing his throat, as if pondering whether he should really step foot into such a place.
“If you don’t hurry up I’ll slam this door and go back to sleep.”
The Nakkur raised himself to his full height and strode haughtily into the room, flicking his purple cape about as he surveyed the area, grunting and murmuring to himself, sliding fingertips about here and there to look at the amount of dust that was caked on to the furniture.
“It’s amazing to me,” he started, sarcasm dripping from the corners of his mouth, “You clean the castle so well and yet, your own room seems rather lacking in that area.”
Syhoitta eyed the man venomously, soft gold eyes peering powerfully into the beast. Her gaze seemed to unnerve him to the point that he gave an involuntary shudder and was forced to look away from her. His interest turned to the bugs crawling about his boots. He was truly taken aback at the sight of some two dozen cockroaches scurrying about, hunting for some new morsel to devour. He released a stifled gasp of surprise and reeled backwards, into Syhoitta and away from the insects.
“Oh, don’t worry about the bugs,” Syhoitta muttered, taking a seat where had sat but a week ago, “you get used to them after a while.”
“Do you,” the beast broke off, glancing at the Elanim,” do you all live like this?”
“My room is one of the better residences.”
There was silence for a moment, the Nakkur’s eyes taking in the hideousness of the Elanim’s living conditions, and the Elanim impatiently tapping her foot waiting for the Nakkur to speak. Finally, impatience won out against shock and Syhoitta broke the quiet, “And why have you bothered me tonight?”
Bail’roukin cleared his throat savagely, visage snapping into a look of pristine pride and power. He took three large steps towards her, his body no more than a few inches from her own. Syhoitta almost had to look straight up to view into his hard black eyes, and likewise Bail’roukin had to tilt his head at such an angle to gaze back that it hurt his neck.
“I’ve come to apologize.”
A sudden expression of surprise enveloped Syhoitta’s sitting form, but was expertly masked by curiosity. “Apologize for what?”
“It was I… who caused you to do so much work these past two weeks. I was angered with you because of the winged stallion incident…I made you clean the castle and milk the cows and do the slaves’ laundry… and pretty much everything else except for the yard work, that was my father’s instructions. However, I was the one that ordered you to do it by yourself… my father originally had you working with four others I believe.”
“You’re the reason why I’ve nearly fainted three times do to dehydration and have barely been able to walk because of such strenuous work?”
“…Yes,” he muttered weakly, gazing at his feet like a child in trouble. “I couldn’t have you challenge my authority, especially in front of other Elanim; I mean, you had a pair of scissors pointed at me as a weapon!”
“Damn right I did,” she snarled, standing. “You captured that poor creature and expected me to ride him like some domesticated pony. Didn’t you see what he was trying to tell you? Couldn’t you feel his begging?”
“Well…to be honest, no.”
The Elanim turned about in hopeless disgust, waving the Nakkur’s ignorance away, her other hand grasping the back of the chair, “You aren’t in tune with nature at all, are you?”
“I don’t see the importance of it,” he chuckled softly, “I sit down in the castle, order things about, get what I want… nature has nothing to do with me.”
“How can you be so blind, Bail’roukin?”
“I’m…sorry?”
“Never mind that,” she whispered, slowly turning back to view him, her saddened eyes penetrating deep into his body. “Is there any other reason why you came here tonight?”
“Yes. You…our wedding is tomorrow.”
A cold sweat broke out upon the woman’s entire form, chills running up and down her graciously curved body. She grew faint, the color washing from her face, leaving her a pale yellow hue. She leaned back and took her seat again, eyes blankly staring about the room. Bail’roukin quickly knelt at her feet, taking her hands in his own, watching the female’s face, “Syhoitta, are you alright?”
She didn’t answer, she couldn’t. Visions of the life she had planned on flashed before her inner eye. She saw herself and Pikchota dancing together under the moonlight on their wedding night, saw them carrying their first born to the King for honorary blessings, saw them growing old together, their children honoring them in battle and in knowledge, and saw them lying on their death beds, their natural light slowly diminishing until they both passed on, hands clasped in eternal love. Each vision vividly played within her mind, colors blurring as they moved rapidly about, whizzing along her inner eye. Now all hope had been dashed from her; emptiness embodied her. When would she see Pikchota again? Could she see Pikchota again? With such chaos rumbling through her mind it was only a moment until she fell to her knees beside Bail’roukin, a hand clamped hard against her mouth trying to keep from being sick.
“By Fetat, Syhoitta!” Bail’roukin grabbed her tiny waist in his huge hands, trying to sit her back against her feet. She resisted, placing both hands upon the cold dirty floor, blankly looking at the miniature dust bunnies under her.
She gave a giant shudder and a hideous gurgling sound, as if she were trying to be sick; nothing came up. She sat back carefully, eyes wild with fear and sadness, brown waves of unkept hair tumbling down her shoulders and covering her slender oval face. She pushed the Nakkur as far away from her as possible, hugging her bare arms about her.
“What of… what of my sister?”
He replied, “What of her?”
“If I am to be with you, does that not also make her royalty?”
“No,” he paused and offered a sympathetic smile, “She will continue to be a slave and you will no longer be able to have contact with her.”
This statement sent blood rushing to Syhoitta’s pallid cheeks, “I will see my sister when I want to; you have no control over when I see my family.”
Bail’roukin edged back some, noticing the growing angered tone in the Elanim’s voice, “I’m sorry, but you’ll have no contact with slaves after we are married.”
Her feline ears perked up as she drew herself up into a standing position, looking down upon Bail’roukin as he sat there, “I will see my people and speak to my people and even bed with my people if and when I chose to.”
“No, you will not.” Now the Nakkur stood up, glaring down at the woman from his massive eight foot height. He grabbed the female’s chin roughly in his palm, forcing her face inches from his own and to gaze directly into his eyes. She could smell the sickeningly sweet odor of some kind of liquor on his tongue, not much however, nothing like what she had smelt on his father. She could see the worry lines already etching their way around his eyes and forehead, how his skin was growing into a tanned leather texture, she could even see the dirt in the creases of his face. She gave a knowing smile, the corner of her mouth curling up in a kind of sarcastic grin as he spoke, “My personal slaves will come and wake you; you’ll be ready by early afternoon, the entire castle will be present so I hope you’re not afraid of crowds.”
“Crowds are fine with me, I just don’t like people who destroy half a race and enslave the rest.”
A snarl escaped the man’s lips, “Until I have slept with you, you will call me ‘my lord’, is that understood, slave?”
“I suppose.” Bail’roukin growled and clenched her jaw tighter, hoping to get the correct response from her. When this failed to achieve the desired result, he released her only to draw his hand back and send it flying across her cheek, sending her thin form soaring against her bed, her head knocking against the wall. She cried out in surprise, backing her form up against the vertical platform behind her.
“Say it!” He bellowed. “Say it now!”
She looked at Bail’roukin silently for a moment, gauging the mood he was in. Measurably she cocked her head to the side, slipping her tail about her abdomen like some kind of protective garment and muttered as softly and with as much malice as possible, “Yes, m’lord.”
Flicking his cloak back haughtily, Bail’roukin stormed out of her room, having to bend his head down to get his massive form out of the door. He grasped the doorknob in one hand, turned to glance at her for one more second, rage building within his prideful chest, and slammed the portal closed with such force dust and dirt from the ceiling went spiraling down to the floor.
There was little time between when Bail’roukin left and when came in, poking his lean face, ears and all, through the door. He had knocked softly and had let himself in after a moment with cautious manners. He cleared his throat when he noticed Syhoitta’s form sitting crossed-legged on her bed, eyes focused straight ahead as if in meditation. Slicking a palm over the front of his head and around his left antler, he shuffled inside the room, shutting the door soundlessly. He half-scooted half-walked up to the edge of the bed, placing a caring hand upon the tattered, threadbare sheet and softly called her name. It took many times for him to call her before she snapped out of her teary-eyed gaze and acknowledged his presence. When this had finally happened, when she finally noticed someone other than herself was in her room, she stared blankly at him, her tail and ears twitching measurably back and forth. He said little at first, only a few words here and there to try to get her to respond, but after nearly half an hour of the young feline simply staring at him, began growing worried and spoke deliberately.
“Come now, Syhoitta, please don’t make me go and wake up Ribobal, he’ll be so cross I bet he’ll make you clean the kitchen with a toothbrush.”
The woman snorted lightly, shaking her head slowly. This was the first deliberate movement Syhoitta had performed since had entered other than moving her eyes to look at him. The deer-like Elanim sighed a great sigh of relief now knowing that Syhoitta had the physical ability to respond, he had begun to worry that some form of paralysis had descended upon his friend. He gave a thankful smile and chuckled hopefully, pulling up the sinking chair across the room to her bedside. There was silence for many moments until she gathered the courage to speak of the events that had recently passed.
“It’s tomorrow,” she whispered hoarsely.
“What is?”
“The wedding.” She grew blank in the face, and then suddenly came out of her recession, “I was to meet Pikchota tomorrow night!” A look of horror slipped onto her visage, “What am I to do, ? While I am being married to that pig, Pikchota will be waiting for me out by the garden. I refuse to allow Pikchota to know that I am being wed as he stands not half a mile away from me.”
“You have little choice, Sy, I’m sorry,” he whispered, cowering beside her. He let silence settle once again before tentatively continuing on, trying as best he could to seem casual, “Now, I heard you scream earlier, what on earth happened in here?”
“That damned prince came in here to tell me we’re to marry tomorrow and I wouldn’t call him ‘sir’ or something so he hit me…I refuse to call that slime by any authoritative name!” She spat sloppily on the floor.
“He cares nothing for you, Syhoitta, you must understand that. He’ll mutilate you if he so desires.”
“Let him then,” she growled, her feline ears stretching up then flattening against her head.
“Don’t you understand, Syhoitta?” He started loudly, losing his patience with the girl as he tilted her head back to look upon her reddened cheek, a slight bit of anger and frustration lining his muscular jaw, “You must be cordial with him! You said yourself that you are the best spy we have now, if you are nasty to him do you think his trust will grow in you? For now, and for some time, you must pretend that you enjoy being his little wife, his future queen. You must until he tells you of his plans, then you have to sneak them to use so we can use their plans against them and defeat them for the last time. But first you must be polite and quiet!”
“But, Pikchota…”
“You must forget about him for now,” he said firmly.
Silence.
left half an hour later after Syhoitta refused to speak with him. She had shrunk inward, looking only at the small pocket of space she inhabited, refusing to acknowledge any living being outside of herself. Curled up, her knees to her chest, slender fingers laced about her shins, she cried silent tears into her dirty legs, her eyes never twitching. She watched the dust streaked windows in quiet as the moon sank and the sun rose, soft, pale shafts of light flickering away to reveal bright yellow warmth upon her floor. The mourning doves were cooing outside, but Syhoitta blocked it from her ears. And out in the hallway, all along the corridors, she could hear Ribobal knocking on doors and barking orders, the thump of his feet could even be heard as he irritably hopped back and forth.
She never moved as the creaking of her door became evident and six decently dressed female Elanim came into her quarters. They stood, the door open behind them, facing her form on the bed, hands clasped in front of them, each with a somber look upon her painted face. The head female, standing closest to Syhoitta, cleared her throat softly and made her way to the feline, placing a light palm underneath her elbow to help raise her up off the bed. The other five followed, dutifully aiding their leader in assisting Syhoitta out of bed and out of her room. They managed to maneuver her into the hallway with little trouble, making a semi-circle about her, as if keeping her from moving any way but forward towards the upper levels of the castle. It was then that Syhoitta snapped her arms away from the grasp of the maids and straightened herself, her ears pointing in erect pride, her tail neatly swishing to one side and curling slightly in elegant grace as she thought to herself, Pikchota would never wish for me to look so defeated; no Nakkur guard will see me so!
Now Syhoitta began noticing the world about her. She noticed first that all of the maids edging her up the stairs were of the same Elanimish background; they each had traces of wolf ancestry to them. Their slender muzzles and broad palms had a twinge of gray, and they each carried a wild air about them, although it was significantly masked by precise, domesticated movements. They all wore the same dresses but each of a different color. The garments were simple; empire-waisted with square-cut cleavage and braided sashes at their hips. They didn’t speak until they had ushered her into a massive bathroom area, past several rooms in the upper quarters that Syhoitta had cleaned not five days ago.
The bathroom was spectacular with a solid piece of black marble as the floor, a glistening black slate rinsing tub, a washbasin, and, right above the middle of the room, an elaborately decorated pipe of some sort sticking out from the ceiling. Syhoitta’s tail twitched as she eyed the area, noting the drain that seemed to be under the pipe. It was only after she inhaled deeply that she caught the scent of roses and hibiscus, both of which lined the corners of the room, and trailing above that was ivy serving as a border. Here and there were placed washrags and soaps, scrubbing utensils that seemed newly acquired. The ladies silently floated into the room, hands in a praying pose, heads bowed in quiet shame. They lined up behind her, the leader closing the door and sighing. She limply allowed her arms to fall to her sides and gazed at Syhoitta, who was many inches shorter than the woman was.
“Forgive us, my lady, but it is our job to prepare you for this most distasteful wedding.” Her voice was smooth and soft, almost motherly. She came up closer to Syhoitta, opening her palms to her, as if showing her something. “We have all offered ourselves as replacement brides, but Dji’toul would hear none of our offers. We have known the prince long and are used to him in…many ways, but the king wanted someone else.”
“You know Bail’roukin? How?”
“We are his,” she stopped, glancing back at her wolf sisters, all peering at her sadly, “personal maids, his lovers.”
Syhoitta was speechless, what to say to such news? She could only bow her head and whisper softly, “I’m sorry.”
“It is not your fault; you did not place us into this position. In fact, sadly, we wish to thank you, for now he will no longer need us as his disposable toys.”
Syhoitta shook her head and ran a nervous hand through her hair, “Yes, I’m going to be taking that position now.”
“The prince is kind,” the woman spoke, putting her hands upon Syhoitta’s shoulders. “Yes, he is a Nakkur, but he will do all he can to make you happy.”
“Thank you, but he will never be able to make me happy.”
The Elanim smiled softly, “You have spirit. Perhaps, with you next to him, his visions for our race will change.”
“Tell me your name,” Syhoitta inquired.
“I am called Hyp’sohig, but my birth name is Fallis.”
“Good Lady Fallis, I do hope that you and your companions will meet with me after I am wed. I believe, between all of us, that we can make great things happen.”
“We were hoping you’d be interested in employing us in such a way,” offered one of the young girls in the back. Her dress was a soft blue, matching the hue of her bright eyes.
Fallis laughed lightly, nodding, “But, for now, we must clean you up. Hand me your rags; you will never wear them again.”
Syhoitta eyed the ladies about her for a moment, she wasn’t keen on undressing before them but she quickly reminded herself that many of the palace guardsmen had already seen her naked when she was placed in line with the other females to be selected as future bride of Prince Bail’roukin. Now content, she slid the dirty garment down around her waist and past her knees, kicking it up into the air with a movement of freedom and then finally caught the once white rags within a slender palm and offered them to Fallis. Taking them carelessly, she handed them to one of the other maids who bowed lightly and made her way out of the room, the linen balled up in both hands.
Meanwhile, as the dress was being passed, Syhoitta had calmed herself by picking the twigs and burs from her tail. She held the soft tail in her left hand at stomach height and leisurely plucked away in-between the fur and fluff. Casually she spoke, her eyes intent upon her tail, “Tell me the others’ names; I can’t simply call you ‘This Lady’ or ‘That Lady’.”
Fallis, smiled gently, motioning to one of the young women next to a lever, “That is Yussil.” Yussil smiled and nodded before pushing the lever down, releasing a spring of cool water from the pipe in the ceiling.
Fallis lightly prompted Syhoitta to go under the running water. Once she did, the head maiden began to speak again, “The girl in the blue dress is Sesswin, the one that left to place your rags in the fire was Hiewasy, to my right is Balise and to my left, Redswa.”
Syhoitta snorted lightly as she went under the water, trying to clear her nose of droplets. She spoke quickly while under the small spigot, “They’re all such unique names, but so much better than those given to you by the Nakkur king, I am sure.”
“You’re lucky,” chuckled Balise, “He gave you a pretty Nakkuric name.”
“Really?” Syhoitta gurgled as thick syrup was doused on her head. She sputtered and protested, wiping her eyes viciously as she tried to see what was going on.
Fallis placed a gentle hand upon the female’s bouncing shoulder, “Easy, Syhoitta, it’s only shampoo.” She lifted her hand slowly and placed it upon Syhoitta’s head, massaging the shampoo into her thick hair and the outside of her feline ears. Immediately after she was done with her head, she moved to her tail, slipping her dripping hands over the long appendage to lather it.
“When was the last time you had a bath?” questioned Redswa, taking a cleansing brush and beginning to add soap to it. She dove in, brushing the Elanim’s skin and hair furiously, working out the ground in dirt.
“Honestly?” Syhoitta had to think, “About a month and a half ago; I haven’t had any time since, or any clean water around at that.”
Redswa gulped lightly as she eyed the woman she was washing, her canine ears slicking back in surprise. The scrubbing continued on, the brushes and fingers massaging deep into flesh and fur and hair, black water dripping down Syhoitta’s slender legs and into the drain below. The young feline knew well where the drain led to, but tried hard not to think about it. However, every time she attempted to draw her attention to some other formality, the sickening thought popped up again unexpectedly, causing her to shudder at each new instance. Down below, on the first floor, pipes carried the water from the upper bathrooms, the bathrooms of the prince and king, of the personal maids even, down to the slaves’ bathrooms and sinks so as they can wash and drink it; it was the only water offered them. Syhoitta could hardly keep herself from gagging at the thought of or Ribobal drinking and washing in the water that she was using right now; they would intake a month and a half’s worth of dust and dirt, of sweat and stench.
She was directed to a corner in the room, her sleek form dripping, the water tumbling from her body now like bright diamonds. Syhoitta had never felt this clean, well, no; she had before, a long time ago. As Fallis, Redswa, and Balise began drying her tail, and as Hiewasy, who had returned, and Sesswin and Yussil began cleaning the shower that Syhoitta had just left, she thought of the old wood that she had grown up in, where the hundred foot oaks and pines stretched for miles before they were met with other villages and Elanim. Her town had been called Guratentat, in honor of the God of Light. She could clearly recall prancing about the meadows just outside the watchtowers as a child pretending to be full feline. She had busied herself with self-taught lessons in pouncing and grooming, even in cat language (though this, in truth, was nothing but made-up sequences of hisses and purrs that no animal could understand). She had been a young adult, a woman living on her own in a small hut underneath an infant willow tree by a thin stream, when Pikchota had come to her, his heart pounding, sweat dripping from his temples, to warn her that the watchtowers had been burned to the ground by Nakkur. Lucky for her, Syhoitta lived on the very edge of the town, as far away from the towers as was considered safe. She left immediately following Pikchota and a score of militant soldiers, lead by King Ivonghur, and a handful of surviving innocents, including her own sister, Fenine.
Balise began drying Syhoitta’s hair.
Normally, King Ivonghur would not have been in their village; the palace, where Dji’toul now roamed, was hundreds of miles away, but the King had an appointment with the head defensive officials of his kingdom and had picked Guratentat as a remote and safe haven for such a meeting. Now the King found himself with a handful of his people now homeless and scrambling for the next country over.
They had marched through the forest for some time heading west, hoping to pass through the western border into the country of Evenstura, home to the King of Elves, Lord Flaysis. Four soldiers had made their way ahead to make sure the path was clear, and eight more stayed back to keep any oncoming Nakkur from taking and killing the villagers. Pikchota had stood dutifully beside Syhoitta and Fenine the whole while and kept them in close range of the King. He made it clear to them that if anything were to happen, it would be best for their safety to stay near His Highness, as he would be the best guarded and, therefore, so would they. While their people picked their way through the forest, the King became enthralled with Pikchota’s ingenious when it came to the woods about them, noting how he carried himself with confidence and with respect for others. It was then that the King asked Pikchota to serve him personally; Pikchota took the opportunity with opened arms. After a long talk, Syhoitta agreed to accompany Pikchota back to the palace at Hivendale once the Nakkuric threat was finished with; it was only a matter of time before Syhoitta would wed Pikchota, she knew it, as did he. They had grown up together and neither one could think of another they would rather spend the rest of their lives with.
Now that she was dry, all six women huddled about her, chatting to themselves about this and that, all with brushes in their hands; they began to brush the knots from her hair and fur.
After several weeks of careful planning and walking, their small group was only a few miles off from the border. In truth, those few that were sent ahead of the group to look for Nakkur were in Evenstura, heading off to report to the Elven King. It was still early in the morning, the birds were still singing their waking songs, the dew was still hanging to the tips of the leaves and petals of the wildflowers. Syhoitta had spent the night curled up beside Pikchota and an arms-length away from the King himself; Fenine was content to sleep on the opposite side of Pikchota. While the King lay asleep, surrounded by soldiers and fearful villagers, the two feline Elanim laid down, gazing at the stars that poked through the towering branches and visualized their future together. It had seemed so natural simply to imagine themselves together with a house and children, even though Pikchota had never mentioned anything concerning marriage outright before. They both knew it would happen, though. It was inevitable. Thoughts of the past night still hung in Syhoitta’s mind as she watched Pikchota steal glances of her, his bright, red-orange eyes flicking back and forth from the path ahead to her form beside him. She had shook her head as she smiled and giggled, gripping his hand in her own. At the connection of their hands he had stopped and turned, gazing at her with such warmth and happiness the King, who had likewise stopped, ordered the procession onward, so as to give the two at least some privacy. He had taken a knee, his lips on her hand, nose nuzzling the unique markings upon her wrist, and asked, very softly, for her hand in marriage.
Syhoitta smiled and then gasped as Hiewasy pulled a rather large knot from the woman’s hair.
“Oops, sorry.”
They had embraced warmly, their lips tenderly connecting. They had begun walking again to rejoin with the group when a deathly cry rose from the front ranks. Pikchota had gazed at Syhoitta longingly, almost apologizing without any communication whatsoever. He released one of her slender hands and grasped tighter onto her other, tugging her forward as he raced through the forest. It was only a matter of moments before the scene was before their eyes. Four score Nakkur had slinked in-between those dispatched ahead that were already safely in Evenstura and their group. Only some of the soldiers had been able to retain any type of weaponry, those who hadn’t resorted to thick sticks and rocks. The village women huddled together in a small mass hurtling stones at the lumbering Nakkur, Fenine in front of them all, her tiny form tense and dripping in sweat as she tossed rock after rock with unsurpassed skill. The only downfall to Fenine’s strategy was that it took multiple throws to down a single Nakkur. But she was undeterred. Fenine had spun about to locate more missiles and had no inclination that a band of Nakkur had become aware of her deadly aim and had decided to disable her before she knocked out any more of their comrades. Syhoitta snapped her fingers from Pikchota’s caring grasp and made her way ever faster towards her sister. Unarmed and unprepared, Syhoitta did the only thing she could, she launched herself into the air, palms spread, and landed heavily against the back of the Nakkur, clawing her way into a defendable position. Her tail, rigid, swung back and forth to aid her in keeping her balance as the Nakkur squealed with pig-like frenzy. Both massive hands slapped repeatedly about the enemy’s shoulders as he tried to locate the precise area as to where Syhoitta was plastered. After many failed attempts, and after Fenine had been able to realize the situation, the Nakkur clenched down upon the feline’s tiny wrist and flung her over his head, her body limp in mid-air. Holding her high in front of his face, the Nakkur had grinned devilishly, beginning to squeeze his fingers tighter, the bones in Syhoitta’s wrist popping and cracking. With one ludicrous movement, Syhoitta flung her foot into the side of the Nakkur’s face, whipping her tail about. Both foot and tail made contact with the cheek of the enemy, causing him to shake his head to clear the dizziness away. Savagely she set her teeth to her capture’s wrist, her free hand digging hard into the dirty flesh of his arm in order to lift her face close enough to his body to inflict harm.
Suddenly Syhoitta found herself flying backwards through the air. Her back slammed against the forest undergrowth as she skidded to a halt. It took her a moment to realize that she had landed where Fenine had just been standing; the brute had tried to use her as a rock to hurt her sister! Fury began to bubble within her soft breast as she stood, shaking slightly, and refaced her adversary. As she righted herself, she had grabbed a thick branch that she had bent and snapped on her plummet to the ground. With this as her only weapon, she charged forward, a shrill cry bursting from her slender mouth. The Nakkur cocked his head to the side, as if unable to understand why the creature before him came at him again after he had already defeated it once. Syhoitta was undeterred from her recent fall. Running, she flung the branch high into the air, watching it flip end over end until it landed against the Nakkur’s swatting hand. The creature, finding the projectile the immediate problem, momentarily switched his focus from Syhoitta to the tree limb as it soared through the air. It was at this point that Syhoitta altered her course and headed directly for a nearby oak. Finding herself within decent range of the tree’s massive trunk, she jumped, planting both feet firmly on the bark and launched herself high into the air above the Nakkur. As she descended upon him, she lashed out with a single leg, her form moving with aerial grace in a circular path, and lodged her heel into the Nakkur’s unprotected throat. She landed squarely on the ground, form crouched in a defensive position, waiting for the Nakkur to blink back tears of pain and come howling, hoarsely, after her.
It was to her great surprise then when the Nakkur gazed dazedly out, its hand clutching its throat in a kind of wild stupor, and fell to the ground motionless. Had her aim been that good? Syhoitta had brought herself to a standing position and had begun creeping towards her opponent; she wouldn’t let her guard down, however, he could be playing possum. Her fists were balled up and positioned at face level, both arms were aching with tension; never had she felt so weak and yet, at the same time, so strong. Finally, she reached the lying Nakkur; his hands had fallen away from his throat once he had hit the ground. She gulped, eyeing him for a while. She gazed doubtfully at the impact point, but grew amazed to find that what she had truly done was force the animal’s Adam’s apple in on itself. A thick, foul taste grew in her mouth and she had to gag in order to try to get it out; she had just killed a Nakkur. She allowed her fists to fall to her side and uncoil loosely. Perhaps…perhaps she had more skill than she thought.
Fenine’s cry broke through Syhoitta’s wonderment. She snapped her gaze up to her right, looking over the massive dead form in front of her. She had just gathered enough energy to bound over the body when a thick hand laced its way about her torso and yanked her through the air, forcing her face into the tree trunk she had just catapulted off.
Her mind fell into blackness and woke up to grey. She was in chains, in the belly of the castle that was once the proud home of their King. It was the beginning of her enslavement. She would never forget that day. The darkness, the dankness, the stench of rotting flesh and mold. Somewhere there was the constant drip of water, slow and steady, like the beating of the executioner’s drum. The pungent odor of rust and sweat, so think she could taste them. She was sick and weak, starving, her ankles broken, she was naked…
Fallis wrapped a large towel about her waist and began drying off her lower half yet again. Syhoitta sighed and shook her head, taking the towel from her, “I can do that myself.”
Once she had completely dried herself off the other Elanim sighed as well, offering another look of pity and sadness. “Truly, we are sorry this must happen to you, Lady Syhoitta.”
“Please, Yussil, it is better for it to happen to me than to anyone else.”
“It’s time to move you into the dressing chamber, and from here on out, girls,” Fallis paused as she eyed her sisters, “we must refer to Lady Syhoitta as Princess Aps’abak.”
“Must you really?” groaned Syhoitta, her shoulders sagging in dislike.
“If we don’t want to be beheaded, yes,” muttered Redswa as she helped usher Syhoitta out of the bathroom and into the room across the hall.
Syhoitta shivered as she streaked across the corridor in the cool air; it was far colder out in the open castle than in the room she had bathed in. And no better in the next room. In the dressing chamber she sat curled up in a great leather chair, her tail wrapped about her bent knees as she huddled her form together for warmth. About her was a wide, open room, with a small stool in the very middle, and a great many large mirrors all about. To one side was a large portal where numerous clothing items were kept and to the other a vast amount of needles and threads and laces and buttons were held on display for easy access. She realized the stool in the center of the room was to be stood on while a seamstress worked pins into the garment being worn for adjustments.
Fallis went rummaging through the far closet, obviously looking for something deep within. Syhoitta rested her pale face against her knees, watching the commotion out of the corner of her eye; she knew what the head mistress was looking for. It wasn’t long until it was brought before the eyes of those in the room. Sighing, Syhoitta stood, grabbing her left upper arm with her right hand in an attempt to obtain some kind of comfort. Sesswin tossed some under garments at her, and then laughed apologetically, picking them up and handing them to her in a sort of bow, “Here you are, Princess Aps’abak.”
Syhoitta groaned rolling her eyes, and took the white cloth, shoving her head reluctantly through the top and her feet through the bottoms of the others. Once dressed, somewhat, she stood depressed on the stool, her reflection staring at her from five different angles. She saw how thin she had truly become, but, more importantly, the actual shape of her body. It was fashionable as of late to be rather stick-like, with no chest or rear to stretch the fabric of one’s gown. She found, to her distaste, that she, in fact, had a chest and, not least, a large backside with a pair of tasteful hips. She cocked an eyebrow, eyeing her lower curves with slight anger; it was because of them that she was in this predicament. She flicked her tail back and forth, watching the stripes and spots swirl about as Fallis heaved a great white thing from the closet. Motioning for Syhoitta to step off the stool, Syhoitta followed Balise as Fallis and Hiewasy began undoing the ties to the gown. Taking Balise’s hand, Syhoitta stepped into the opening in the middle of the dress. Once she had her balance, the gown was picked up at the edges by all six women and walked to the stool. There Syhoitta stood as they plucked the ties tighter and tighter about her slender waist. Syhoitta could watch in the mirrors as they tightened, her stomach literally becoming smaller and her chest actually puffing out the top of the bodice.
“There are only a few places in need of touching-up,” muttered Redswa.
“Wonderful,” sighed Syhoitta. “That means less time before the ceremony.”
“Speaking of such,” interjected Fallis, “the ceremony itself shall be quite interesting.”
“Oh, how so?”
“Have you ever wondered, Your Highness,” the canine Elanim asked as she aided Redswa in pinning the marble white gown, “why no Nakkur are ever seen married?”
Syhoitta pondered for a moment, her gold eyes cast barely upward as she thought. No, she never had before. How odd. “No, Fallis, I must admit I’ve never seen a Nakkuric family before. How does this have any relevance to this wretched wedding, though?”
The young maiden softly chuckled as she pulled a pin from her lips and stuck it into the satin. “You see no Nakkuric families because there are no Nakkuric females.”
Syhoitta blinked rapidly.
“You must understand, the god Fetat, though demonic and black at heart, was not stupid. As a god, he had a divine plan for his beings; his wish was to allow his children to run rampant and control Tyi. He discovered a problem with his brother’s plan and remedied it. How can one have a greater military force, more brute strength, when half the population is women? Are unfit for battle? Well, the answer is simple, you can’t. So Fetat created a race where there are no women.”
“Then how,” inquired a confused Syhoitta, “do they procreate?”
“That is the intriguing part. I know not how, but Fetat created his children in a way that, when a specific time comes, a fraction of the Nakkur switch genders, they become female Nakkur! For two weeks sporadically spaced throughout the year, and you may have noticed this, the guards are few, many of them holed up in their quarters. It’s because those that are not seen have become the possible bearers of offspring, a precious commodity.”
“That explains the superior forces of the Nakkur.”
“Oh, yes.”
“But now tell me, Fallis, how does this make my ceremony of interest?”
“No Nakkur has ever had to plan a wedding have they, Princess Aps’Abak? There are no traditions to follow, no religious or legal obligations to fulfill during the wedding; in short, the Nakkur are completely at a loss for how to arrange the wedding, until a few days ago, at least.”
“I see,” Syhoitta cocked a slender brow as she eyed the wolf-women.
“Dji’toul had to create the ceremony himself and make it convincing enough to where other nations would see the marriage as a truly binding, legal wedding.”
“So… how has the False King set up the ceremony?”
“It’s quite ingenious,” she mumbled as she ducked underneath the lengthy skirt, pulling and pinching the fabric into place. “You will be ushered in on a chair of gold decked in fruit to symbolize the hope of an heir.”
“I’m so glad they’re already alluding to children,” Syhoitta sarcastically spit.
“Bail’roukin will be awaiting you at the end of the procession, his father behind him. As Dji’toul oversees, Bail’roukin will aid you from your seat with his hand clasping your wrist.”
“I take it this signifies that I belong to him?”
“Yes. It shows that you are his slave and are at his bidding. You are to kneel, both knees upon the dirt, your head bowed before him in submission. His father will say something, exactly what he will say I am not sure. A crown will be placed upon your head and a robe upon your shoulders. Bail’roukin will then help you up by the hand, showing you are now his equal and a member of royalty. A chalice will be provided, a wine will most likely be within, and you will both drink from the same side of the glass. He will then lead you down the aisle to the banquet room for the reception.”
“And what? We’ll have cake and dance like a happy couple?”
“Not exactly.” Fallis reemerged from underneath Syhoitta’s gown and helped Redswa from her knees. All six young Elanim stood about the future queen, aided her as she stepped from the unzipped dress, and watched as Sesswin went to the corner, a needle and thread waiting for her.
“At the reception, a belt of peacock feathers will be placed about your waist, and your hair will be let loose. I’m sure Dji’toul will have something ‘noble’ and ‘kingly’ to exclaim, but other than that, I know not what will happen.”
Syhoitta made a sour face, running her nails through her newly untangled locks. She gazed around the room once more, great inhales of air causing her chest to swell; she flicked her tail with annoyance. “I cannot lie,” she finally mumbled, “I am afraid. I know tonight that I will be forced into the bed of a Nakkur, of a slimy, pig-faced monster, and I can do nothing. I am to be the calming factor? I am to keep the other nations from aiding the remaining Free Elanim. I am to produce an heir? And Pikchota… he will be there…”
Hiewasy clicked her head to the side, “What do you mean, Your Highness; Pikchota will be where?”
“I somehow think,” whispered the future queen, “that Dji’toul or Bail’roukin knew that today is the day that my true fiancé is to come to me. He shall see the ceremony, from the gardens; he shall see me forced into wedlock with that monster. How will that affect him? He’ll go mad…” Her voice cracked as she whispered. She spoke no more for the tears and the lump in her throat made it impossible. She didn’t want to cry; she must be strong, for Pikchota, for herself, for the entire race. But what would Pikchota do at the sight of his beloved marrying a Nakkur?
~^*^~
She sat pristinely, her back against a solid gold, expertly crafted chair-back. Her arms were draped upon the armrests, her feet crossed at the ankles, knees titled to the side; her form created a slight S-curve. The gown shimmered in the beating sun, flecks of marble dust sprinkled upon the satin-like fabric. A thin hole in the back of her dress allowed her tail to curl across her lap and rest. As the breeze shifted the grass below her raised chair, her iridescent sleeves fluttered. Her hair, bound high upon her head, held white roses and baby’s breath. She was spotless, gorgeous, and nervous. Though she appeared languid and composed, within her mind were running twenty thousand ghastly-ending scenarios. Four Nakkur prevented her from escaping; they held the poles resting across their shoulders that supported her seat. They grunted casually at one another, shifting the weight of the sedan chair every so often. She sighed lightly, twitching her nose in boredom. She jumped suddenly when she glanced over to the side; Fallis was standing next to her chair. Syhoitta cast her gaze around and noticed that all of the wolf-maidens were encircling her and her Nakkuric guards.
“What are you doing here?” Syhoitta whispered.
Sesswin giggled and winked, “Don’t worry, Sy—, uh, Princess Aps’abak,” she spoke with normal volume, “King,” she snickered, “Dji’toul asked us to be a part of the procession.”
“Oh?” Syhoitta quirked a brow as she looked back towards the front.
“Are you ready?” Questioned Fallis.
“I suppose,” Syhoitta lowered her eyes, fiddling with her dress in nervousness.
“Good, because it’s about to start.”
The future queen’s eyes grew, “What?”
~^*^~
Behind the thick rose bushes the man waited, his impatience expelled through his continuously swaying tail. His body leaned against an oak tree in an attempt to create a calmed stature. He felt like a stranger within the garb he wore: thick brown pants the color of earth and an all-encompassing green shirt. A green and brown cloak wrapped about his body atop his scouting garments, the hood cast up about his ears, hiding his red hair and bright red-brown optics. He scratched at the clothing for a moment, wondering to himself where his love could be.
From his position at the far end of the garden he could hear a gathering taking place nearby. Considering the amount of mixed Common Tongue and squeals, Pikchota guessed there was some sort of grand meeting to be held out in the open fields of the castle, something of importance; hence the reason why both Nakkur and Elanim were gathered together and Syhoitta could not come to him.
Boredly, the Elanim rounded the oak he had been leaning against, his feet silently shifting in the softened earth. He inched closer to the noise, his gaze landing on various Nakkur and Elanim. As he continued his quest nearer, the realization began to form within his mind. This was no meeting, this was the ceremony the Free Elanim had been dreading. Finally he had reached a point where most could be seen, but, unsatisfied, he eagerly alighted a nearby live oak and peered down into the procession.
Some ways away, Dji’toul and his wretched son, Bail’roukin, were standing together, dressed heavily in finery. As expected, the Fake King had adorned himself in blues and purples, great quantities of violet and sapphire raking across his bearish skin. And, beside him his son was dressed in creams and golds, a thin crown of gold resting on his forehead. It seemed as if a slightly worn path were leading up to the two men, with Nakkur grumbling on either side, the poor slave Elanim hunkering together in the hot sun as far back from the false royalty as possible. Along the sides of the lightly worn path were young maple trees, their foliage open wide to the bright sun, glistening with green life. About half a dozen wolf-like Elanim stood on the side of the platform the Fake King had claimed as his perch, one holding a goblet, another a pitcher of wine, another a small pillow with a silver crown, another with scissors. The young maidens were trained well, their eyes cast down upon the earth a step below them. There were musicians and flower girls, young men holding glasses of water for the royal persons, meaningless guards at the edges of the gathering area; a great multitude of people for the orange feline to scan through.
Eagerly, Pikchota gazed about the crowd, trying to note which young female Elanim was not present. As Pikchota continued to feverishly glance around, the animal hairs along his tail began to bristle, nervously standing on end, when a blast from the golden trumpets cut through the air with a high pitched wail. Pikchota released a low growl within his throat, his red-brown orbs narrowing as he watched the procession begin.
Four massive Nakkur began marching down the worn path, a gold plated sedan chair resting upon their shoulders, their thick mass heaving the object forward towards Dji’toul. The female within was shadowed by white linen draped from an iron border. Pikchota spit angrily, glaring at the convoy, cursing the flowing veil that obstructed his view of the bride-to-be. Desperately he needed to know who the unlucky victim was; the King wanted to know the outcome of this wretched plot designed by the Nakkur. He pondered coming out of the woods, yet knew this would spell disaster for himself. Agitated, he waited quietly, tail twitching the entire time.
The sedan chair came to a halt, the Nakkur grasping the elongated poles across their shoulders and gently hoisting them to the ground. With the vessel upon the earth, the four bear-pigs stepped back to stand beside the wolf-maidens. One of those young girls stepped forth and began tying back the linen on the sedan chair, creating an exit for the young Elanim. Once completely, the wolf-maiden reclaimed her spot, head bowed, and waited for the bride to show herself. Pikchota leaned forward, finely-tuned eyes fixated on the alter. Slowly, the shape of the bride exited the chair, the satins and silks lying against her slender form. Her hair was done up in a high bun, intricately adorned by braids and diamonds. However, the most stunning aspect of this Elanim maiden was not her beauty, but her identity. Pikchota felt the lump of anger and grief grow within his throat as his lover made her way to Bail’roukin, her eyes flaming with disgust. With her entrance the trumpets’ blaring faded into the background to be replaced by the actions of the ceremony. The False Prince grasped Syhoitta by the upper arm, pulling her hard to him, she glared dangerously, the corner of her mouth twitching in hatred. Surprisingly, Pikchota could see sorrow upon Bail’roukin’s face, pity enveloping his being. Bail’roukin gulped heavily and forced himself to backhand the Elanim, driving Syhoitta to the ground with a scream. Syhoitta knelt there, her entire form shaking with anger, embarrassment, and pain. Enraged, Pikchota had to take his eyes from the ceremony, lest he give himself away. He wanted desperately to rescue Syhoitta, but knew it would only result in the death of them both; instead, he consented to listening to vows, hoping it might give him some information he could report to the King.
“Today,” bellowed Dji’toul piggishly, “we welcome a new era, where Nakkur and Elanim come together in willing matrimony, in true love, to reshape Tyi and rule the most powerful lands upon it. This lowly servant, a creature of Gurat, has the honor and privilege to marry a true prince, and bear the first child of a new race.”
Syhoitta glowered at the Nakkur speaking, and angered snort, just loud enough for him to hear, flowing from her.
Dji’toul smirked, “Do you, the one once known as Syhoitta, agree to be the wife of Prince Bail’roukin Q’kien’golk, and bear his children, and nurture his children, and do as he sees fit to command you, as he is your better half?”
Syhoitta glared hatefully at the animal talking, her cheeks flaring red as the sun. “Yes,” she answered through clenched teeth.
“And you, my son, do you agree to take this filthy servant as your wife, to better our people’s future, and to create a royal line fit to rule a kingdom?”
Bail’roukin grunted and muttered a, “Yes.”
“Then, as King and Lord of All, I pronounce you husband and wife, King and Queen; no other shall have greater power than these two, save but myself, the True King.”
Pikchota looked up momentarily to watch as scissors were handed to Bail’roukin. He refused them, and suddenly clasped his hands about Syhoitta’s head, ripping the delicate barrette that held her bun in place from her hair, her flowing locks, bedecked with sparkling diamonds, falling about her shoulders.
“The bond of slavery is now broken!” Exclaimed Dji’toul with a clap and outstretched arms. “We congratulate the new couple.”
A round of applause arose as Dji’toul clapped his hands satisfactorily once more and then spread them wide, as if addressing the entire congregation. “From henceforth, Syhoitta the Elanim shall be referred to as Queen Aps’abak; any who do not comply shall be hanged by the neck until dead.”
Clearing his eyes of tears, Pikchota gazed at his beloved. Bail’roukin offered his meaty hand to the Elanim and she grudgingly took it. He balanced her as she stood up, and gracefully wrapped his fingers about her waist. Two of the wolf-maidens made their way to the new couple, one with a chalice, and the other with a long necked bottle. The wine was poured into the glass; with one pinky curled about Syhoitta’s little finger, Bail’roukin drank from the chalice and then handed it to her, his lip mark facing out. She cringed, but drank from the same side as her new husband. A great cheer arose from the crowd, mainly shrieking pigs and bear growls.
Slowly the gathering of Elanim and Nakkur began to fade into the castle, Syhoitta and Bail’roukin leading them, Syhoitta’s delicate hand clenched tightly in the palm of the False Prince’s. Pikchota watched the crowd for a moment longer, wishing to depart and report to his Lord, when he noticed to Elanim sneaking their way to him. Crouching behind the oak, he silently waited for Ribobal and Raninin to enter the woods.
“Pikchota, we are so sorry,” came Raninin’s boyish voice, his head bowed respectfully, thin antler almost grazing Pikchota’s shoulder.
Ribobal sighed softly, patting Pikchota on the back, “Rotten timing, Pik, we’re sorry you had to see this.”
“It was for the best,” the Elanim replied, offering a half-smile to the two. “I can at least report this to the King.”
“Pikchota, there must be something you can do about this,” offered Raninin, “Something? This isn’t a true wedding, it was forced upon Syhoitta, the other nations must know this! And once they find the truth they will band with us and fight the Nakkur, right?”
Pikchota gazed knowingly at Ribobal, his chest heaving with a great intake of breath. Looking Raninin in the eyes, Pikchota spoke, “I don’t know, Raninin. Perhaps they will help. I will speak to the King and will ask to visit the neighboring lands; that is my future wife in the hands of that slimy Nakkur, and I will do all in my power to stop this distasteful act as soon as possible.” As if convincing himself of his own words, Pikchota nodded. “And Ribobal, please, look after her… I know what they mean to put her through, I know what torture they mean to implement and what pain she will endure this day, please, keep her as safe as possible, and let her know I love her.”
Ribobal nodded, his bunny ears flopping softly. Pikchota smiled lightly, thanking the Elanim silently, and dashed off into the woods at top speed, eagerly retracing his footsteps to the King.
~^*^~
Immediately when all had settled within the massive banquet room, Bail’roukin stood with the Elanim at his side, his fingers behind the roses within her hair. Sesswin and Redswa had fixed her tresses so that when Bail’roukin released the bun atop her head the flowers would stay in place. The massive Nakkur, who was two heads taller than she was, snapped the band that held her hair and watched entranced as her auburn locks descended over her rounded shoulders.
The spectators watched, interested only partially, as they anxiously waited for the king to take his seat and thus allow the guests to take theirs and eat.
“Before we indulge ourselves in fine meats and drink, I would ask for Hyp’sohig to come forth.”
Fallis blanched and stepped forward, her hands folded in prayer, head bowed. Behind her, the rest of the maidens bent their faces to the ground and silently listened.
“Yes, m’lord?”
“Your position as personal escort to my son has been fulfilled. I find that you now have knowledge of the cultural aspects of the Nakkur race and I am sure you know that the transfer from animalistic Elanim to civilized Nakkur can be a strain. I hereby assign yourself and your sisters to Queen Aps’abak in order to aid her in becoming a decent wife and to make sure she follows all regulations as a Nakkur.”
Syhoitta quickly glanced at Fallis. They stared at each other for but a moment before the wolf-maiden gave a slight curtsey and lead the sisters to Syhoitta’s side where they all stood waiting to be given orders.
“Uh…thank you, m’lord,” stammered Syhoitta as she attempted a smile.
“And now,” the massive king grunted as he fell into his seat, “we feast!”
The others happily sat their tired forms within their places and waited just long enough for the king to gather his portion of the meat before they indulged themselves. Syhoitta’s golden eyes glanced around the hall as she quietly took in the entire scene. This would probably be the only time that her people would dine on such luxurious food. She watched them scrounge for the last bits of duck and turkey, silent battles waging between the stares of one another, daring any others to take the morsels they had conquered. She was completely embarrassed, but the Nakkur were too busy stuffing their own faces to notice. Bal’roukin’s gigantic hand seized surprisingly dainty portions of the meal before him and placed them on a gold-rimmed plate.
Offering a pathetic smile, he placed the meal before Syhoitta, “You should eat while there is still food.”
“I’m not hungry,” she whispered softly, gazing down at her hands in her lap.
He murmured in her ear softly, “It will look bad…”
Syhoitta turned her form to face him fully, heatedly whispering, “You are not my master, you are the second half of this horrible partnership we are in and you will not govern what I do.”
“M’lady,” offered Fallis, placing a light hand upon Syhoitta’s shoulder, “If the king notices he will draw everyone’s attention to it; just eat, for the sake of keeping the peace.”
The unhappy bride snorted softly and straightened her back in her chair, pondering quietly. After a brief pause, she lifted her plate and promptly handed it to Fallis, “You have been working diligently as long as I have known you; you and your sisters will eat before I do.”
The king’s bulbous head twitched about, eyeing Syhoitta and her maids with narrowed eyes. Fallis stammered, the plate nearly falling from her grasp. She cleared her throat and smiled faintly, “Yes, m’lady.” The other sisters stepped forward and offered their thanks to the new princess. Each grabbed a plate and attempted to hide their eagerness as they provided themselves with the delicacies before them, but Syhoitta could tell they were as excited as the other Elanim at the table.
Dji’toul glowered at Syhoitta, his lips curling over the base of his thick tusks. He grasped his plate with one large movement and thrust it under the young Elanim’s nose. “Eat.” He spoke in a low, angered tone, a slight growl issuing from his throat barely audible over the single word he uttered. The feline female glanced from the false king to the plate and gently took it, placing it down silently in front of her on the table. She hated submitting to this Nakkur, but for the peace of the moment, she would surrender and eat. Reluctantly she gathered a few pieces of meat and vegetables, sectioning each food into a small region of her plate, keeping each item from touching any others.
She eyed Dji’toul with narrowed orbs, waiting for his expected reaction. His gaze swiveled from his food to her, yet he kept his bulbous head still, allowing only his dark eyes to lock upon her. The Elanim bride tensed, expecting the false king to flare into a rage, blaming her for treason; yet he simply nudged Bail’roukin firmly, the groom thusly interrupted in mid chew. The prince’s kind eyes befell Syhoitta as he shifted his plate in front of her form, gingerly picking off the items he had already bitten.
“Just a little something,” his gruff voice begged, thick lips barely parting as he whispered.
Staring into his large facial, the kindness and sympathy washed over her tensed form and softened her heart. Slowly, she picked up the gold fork set before her and stuck it into a palm sized potato, cutting it in half and delicately raising it to her lips. She bit down, chewing and swallowing without thinking about her actions.
“Thank you,” Bail’roukin smiled, his massive hand cupping around her own.
Syhoitta nodded, her cat’s ears twitching with the defined movement. She continued to eat, gazing silently at her fellow Elanim and personal maids, golden optics widening as her thoughts continued to wander.