A War of Queens

Scorpios & Verreas: Part 15: The Copper Woman

With a deep breath and a sigh, he sat down on the cushioned white stone bench beneath a line of orange trees and began to draw. Nothing in the world had mattered to him then but the movement of his hands and wrists, feeling satisfaction to the rough, scratching sound the tip of the pen made as it glided across the surface of the page. The day was beautiful, as beautiful as it ever was in Yyquars, and the fresh, crispy whispers of cool air along with the sweet scent of the zesty orange tree leaves made him feel a deep sense of tranquillity and satisfaction; a feeling he had likely forgotten over the months past, but now there was peace again, if not between Apson and himself, then between North and South, and that was a victory in itself.

And so Ramses Scorpio sat there in silence, sketching away the face of the one who slipped past him, and the memories of it all came back in a flood. Apson, his mind whispered to him as though the sound of his name would bring him back, Apson Verrea. In that moment, he felt the welling in his eyes and found the sketch being smudged by the drops of his hurt eyes. Crunching the paper and casting it aside, he began a new one, but something else he had not expected to draw.

Iniyla, my sweet sister. He felt the pain of it all, felt the disgrace in the scorn he felt toward the one person who loved him dearly. Forgive me, my sister, for I have done you a great injustice.

With a breath and another sigh, Ramses closed his eyes and listened. Listened to what the gods had gifted him, listened to the life surrounding him; the sweet song of Gunay. He heard the sparrows and doves chirping in the air above him, heard the wind caressing the leaves and branches of the trees and bushes, heard the bees buzzing amidst the orange trees and flower bushes beside him. He heard the faint streams of the fountains and the pools beyond the arbours and grapevines, and the slightest sound of the music of frogs and cicadas. He felt the Gunish sun gliding on his arms and feet, felt it tingling as his body rejoiced. Breathe in and breathe out, Ramses, he told himself. It is all over.

And just then as his eyes were still closed, he could not help but hear another song, more distant than the rest yet it overtook them all threefold. It was so sweet and soothing, as sweet as the oranges that fell from the trees now and then. That voice, he thought curiously, trying his best to remain quiet and tune his hearing, it's a voice of the heavens. Who is singing?

When he turned his head, he could not find the voice; the singer was neither behind him, beside him nor around the tree under which he sat, but he bargained it came from the fountain just past the white grape-fences and trellis. The tune flows into the streams, I must find it.

Putting aside his sketching equipment, Ramses Scorpio set out to find the source of the tranquil humming. As he walked beneath the covered arbours, the sunlight dividing through the leaves above, creating streaks of white light before him, his feet made a crunch each time he stepped on the leaf-filled walkway. And the humming and singing grew louder and louder. Once Ramses found the marble pathway, he knew he was getting close, yet it was until he saw the stone statues of ancient singers surrounded by bright green ferns and lively flowers did he see her.

There she was, a maiden so beautiful a creature, Ramses did not know whether she had been a mirage beating under the heat of the summer's sun or if she had been a mere ghost of some dear woman of the past. Yet when he blinked and rubbed his eyes, she was still there sitting on the edge of the tiled fountain and singing away a song he did not recognise. She was beautiful, Ramses observed, with luxurious, silky copper hair and skin as pale as a wax moon, yet she possessed every other feature of a common Gunishwoman. She must be from Bluestone Valley, he reckoned. Her nose was gently curved and she had large, gorgeous doe eyes. She wore a jewelled headband made of murky, white gold with moulded images of gazelle heads and roses. Around her arms were golden bands and golden bracelets about her wrists that jingled when she moved her arms about the rippling water in a hidden dance.