Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4)

by Ann Somerville

  “Yes, I pissing well do.”

  Romi grinned a little. He figured he’d be wearing a few bruises by this evening, but if it helped Karik work off some of his aggravation, every one of them would be worth it.

  Bearing Fruit: 11

  “Look! I done jesick!”

  “Jesig, Ry-chi,” Karik corrected gently. “It’s very good.”

  The excited boy ran over to his mother with his slate. “Mama, look!”

  Mayl gave it a languid glance. “I see,” she said, sounding bored out her mind.

  Ry-zilim’s little face fell. “I done tail too, Mama.”

  “The tail’s great, Ry-chi,” Romi said, crouching down to look at the slate. Karik would have begrudged the waste of his lover’s time, but he loathed the way Mayl spoke to her children. “Tell me the sound the jesig makes.” The boy looked confused. “You know.” Romi’s face twisted up as he made the familiar squeal of an excited jesig, and Ry-zilim giggled.

  “Silly Romi.”

  “Then you do it. Come on, Minan, you say who does the best jesig.”

  Minan solemnly assessed the idiotic sounds his brother and his adopted brother-in-law made. “Both too noisy,” he declared, twisting around to Karik. “Silly.”

  “Yes, very silly indeed. What are you drawing, Minichi? Is that a man?”

  “Uh huh. That’s Zexu. He’s got long hair like you, but it’s not all twisty, and it’s black like Romi’s. Only I don’t have black chalk, Ka-chi.”

  “Well, your slate’s black, so it wouldn’t show up.” Karik held up a brown chalk stick. “How about pretending this is black?”

  “Pretending?”

  “You know—like Romi pretending to be an urs beast yesterday.”

  Minan’s face creased up, trying to understand the concept. “But it’s brown.”

  Minan was a literal child, very precise, and would need a little time to work out the idea of ‘pretending’. But in the meantime, Karik wanted to encourage his nascent creativity—both boys really enjoyed drawing and messing about with clay, though neither of them had apparently ever tried anything of the kind before. It had given them something quiet to do in the office or on the verandah that Karik could supervise and join in, in breaks between training sessions, or, as today, when their people were off on field exercises with the regular soldiers. Most of the time, it meant that only he was distracted—though, as now, Romi was happy to play too when needed. The boys both liked him—they liked most of the soldiers and the attention they got from men and women only too happy to help amuse two sad little boys.

  He got up and fetched a memo of little importance, and one of his pencils. “Try this, Minichi.”

  “Me! Me want!” Ry-zilim immediately said, getting up and making a grab for it.

  “Ry-chi, no,” Karik said firmly, removing the pencil from the boy’s chubby fist. “Let Minan try it first.”

  “Here,” Minan said, scowling at Karik, and thrusting the paper and pencil to his brother. “Ry-zilim has too.”

  Karik almost sighed. This was always what happened—Minan wouldn’t allow Ry-zilim to miss out, and would rather go without himself than have something of his own. Which was fine, but he didn’t want the younger one to be so selfish. “I’ll get another one.”

  “Here,” Romi said, already anticipating the request, and handing down more paper and another pencil. “But we don’t have a lot of paper, Minichi.”

  “Ry-zilim can have it,” he said, shaking his head and refusing it.

  Karik took the paper and pencil and then placed it in Minan’s hands. “You both can,” he said, smiling. “We’ve got enough for today. I want to see your picture of Zexu.”

  “Is it black?” Minan asked, peering at the pencil.

  “Minan, stop making a fuss and use the chalk.” Karik’s head snapped up at Mayl’s voice. “Little boys don’t use pencils.”

  Both boys stared at their mother, and Ry-zilim held his pencil as if he would give it back to Karik. “In Darshian, they do,” Karik said, smiling as if he meant it, pushing Ry-zilim’s hand down, and making him take the pencil back. “Come on, Minichi. Try the pencil—it’s dark, you’ll see.”

  Mayl gave Karik a cold look, before resuming her haughty stare out of the window, fanning herself with studied elegance as if she was a noble at the Prijian court, and not a convicted traitor. Karik would have given anything to have her put out of the room, but the one time they’d tried it, Minan and Ry-zilim had become hysterical.

  With a little coaxing he and Romi managed to get the boys interested in drawing again—Ry-zilim found the effect of plain pencil on paper boring and so went back to the colourful chalks and his slate. Minan, though, concentrated on his picture. So much love was going into this portrait of his friend, Karik thought sadly. They really did have to get word to this man that his son and foster son were well and missing him.

  Peace descended, and Romi went back to his desk. Karik kept a close eye on both children, since their mother had no interest in them so long as they weren’t making a fuss. It was Emia who turned up mid-morning with some fresh fruit and water for them, and made sure they ate and wiped their hands and faces. Mayl would have just let them get hungry and grizzly. She hadn’t fetched food or drink for them in the entire month and a half she’d been in the barracks and under this new arrangement. She was perfectly happy for everyone else to run around after them—fortunately, everyone else was happy to do it for the sake of the children, regardless of their opinion of her, which was universally low.

  Not long after Emia departed, promising to return for lunch, the door opened again, and young corporal Fujil stood in the doorway, grinning at the children. “Right, everyone—who’s ready for their riding lesson?”

  “Me! Me!” Ry-zilim said, getting up and running to Fujil and standing in front of her with his fists on his hips.

  Karik grinned at the little boy’s eagerness, but Minan was just as excited, already abandoning his picture, though carefully putting it aside, the chalks and pencils neatly lined up before he got to his feet. Karik took him by the hand and led him to the corporal. “Now you have to be very good and do exactly what Fujil says, all right? It’s very dangerous to be silly.”

  “Very dangerous,” Minan repeated solemnly. “I’ll be good, Ka-chi.”

  Karik ruffled his hair. “I know you will, Minichi. I’ll make sure your drawing’s safe.”

  “Mama come!” Ry-zilim cried.

  Mayl gave him a look of distaste. Karik thought it was perfect justice—she’d insisted on being with them every moment, so now she would have to sit in the hot sun and watch the jesig riding lesson. The first couple of days, she’d tried to limit the boys’ activities to suit herself—Kei had spoken to her very firmly and told her that either she let other people arrange a full and interesting day for the children, or they’d be taken away and the day arranged anyway. Karik had been there to back Kei up, and Mayl knew she was beaten, conceding with an ill grace. After that, she’d simply sat and let everyone get on with doing her job for her.

  Karik preferred it that way, for she had about as much maternal instinct as a blade of grass and her interventions were always negative and upset the children. Each time Karik thought of his own happy, rich childhood, he thanked Arman again for rescuing him from her, for whatever motive. Arman’s instincts had been pretty sound—he’d said Mayl would be a poor mother, and so it had proved to be.

  Romi cleared up as the children left with Fujil. “Would it kill her to be nice about a child’s picture?” he muttered. “I mean—look at it. It’s not bad for a three-year-old,” he said, peering at Ry-zilim’s slate and a rather wonky-looking jesig.

  “Apparently it would,” Karik said, sighing, taking the chalks and slates and cloths and packing them all carefully away in the box they’d put aside in the corner of the office. It was starting to accumulate the same kind of detritus as Jes’s bedroom. Neither boy had had a single toy with them, barely knew what to do with such a thin
g. Romi was already carving dolls for them both, and the barracks had been generous in supplying little bits and pieces, nothing too elaborate, but the kind of things that might become precious to the boys, if they were allowed the chance to enjoy them. “Still no word from Utuk.”

  “I know. I can’t see them relenting. We should have taken the boys away from her weeks ago. They might be over the worst of it now.”

  Karik shook his head ruefully. “I’m beginning to agree. They want her approval so much, and it’s like a game to her, withholding it. She just dribbles it out, enough to make them think if they try a bit harder, they’ll get it again—but they won’t. I can’t bear to watch it. They’re such good little boys.”

  “They’re a lot better than she is, for sure. Uh...so have you and Arman and Kei decided on what’ll happen to them?”

  “No. Lots of people would adopt them, but...I don’t want them just going to people I don’t know. I don’t want them growing up and thinking their brother cast them away. I wish Seiki and Mila could have them—that would make things so easy.”

  “Not for them,” Romi said wryly. “Karik...maybe you and I could—” He stopped, and looked down at the scrawled over paper in his hands, apparently suddenly fascinated by it.

  Karik frowned. “Do you want to give up your new job to be a Pa?” They’d had this discussion a couple of times already, but Karik had never heard quite this wistful note in his lover’s voice before.

  “I do and I don’t, and that’s the truth of it. They’re good boys—I think given time, they could put this behind them and be happy and fulfilled living here, and you know me, I love helping people reach their potential. But then there’s my own potential to reach and I don’t think I’ve done that yet.” He shrugged. “It comes back to me not being ready to settle down that much. You either. But at the same time, this is an opportunity which comes along once in a lifetime, and those boys only have this one chance. In a year, two years, I can see myself truly regretting not taking them into my home. I can also see myself being really grateful not to be tied down that way. I just don’t know what to do.”

  “You’d make a great Pa, Romi.”

  “You too. But you already do—you have Jes, and number two, when they arrive.”

  That was true, and Karik felt guilty at neglecting his daughter in favour of his brothers. He already had a serious responsibility, one in which Romi was beginning to share. How could he take on two boys who deserved and would demand all his attention as well? But if he sent them to other people...he didn’t want to be Kei, eating his heart out for a decision made twenty-three years ago and regretted every moment since. Damn, life had been so much simpler two months ago.

  They had an hour to themselves before they joined Emia and the boys in the mess for lunch. Even there, a special effort had been made for the children, the cook making bread rolls in animal shapes for them, and picking out the best, sweetest fruit for them. It seemed like every soldier in the barracks waved or said hello to the children, and the boys responded, sometimes by name. They were picking up a few words of Darshianese, and recognising faces—they were building a new home, however unlikely. Karik could see how the Welensi islanders had been able to take them to their hearts—it took so little to keep them happy, and it was so rewarding to see a smile on Minan’s solemn face. Ry-zilim was a sunny child, though rather insecure at times, and very dependent on his brother’s reassurances. Nothing made Minan happier than Ry-zilim laughing, but Karik wanted to see Minan smile on his own behalf. The boy reminded him strongly of his own younger self at times—not surprising, he supposed.

  Emia always offered them a quiet time after lunch, sometimes a nap if things had been especially hectic. Since they weren’t sleepy today, Karik sat with Emia while she read them a story. When she was done, they wanted another, so Karik read one, one of his own favourites from his childhood. Pa had read to him just like this, when he was full from his lunch, while his parents took it easy in the noonday heat. And undoubtedly just as he himself had done, Ry-zilim dozed off as he sat in Emia’s lap, sucking his thumb as his eyes drifted shut. Minan was still wide-awake, so he got another story all to himself, Karik reading quietly to him, Minan watching him closely as if he could pull the words from his lips by the force of his will. The child concentrated so hard. Everything he did, he did with his full attention. It was preternatural.

  He had work to do, and he had spent far more time today with the children than he’d planned, but it wasn’t often that he could give Minan so much undivided attention, without Ry-zilim demanding his time. This was nice, just the two of them. He could ignore Mayl’s cold stare, and Emia was entirely occupied with Ry-zilim. It was just him and Minan, sharing the tales all Darshianese children grew up with. It was the first time Karik had really felt Minan was part of him, his brother—kin. Could he really just turn this feeling off, let Minan go to another family?

  “What’s wrong, Ka-chi? You sad?”

  He smiled at his brother. “No, Minichi—not sad at all. I was thinking, that’s all.”

  “About what?”

  “You, of course,” he said, tickling him and making him giggle.

  An amused voice cut across their fun. “Oh dear, child abuse. I shall have to report it, I’m afraid.”

  “Kei-chi!” Minan struggled out of Karik’s arms and ran off the verandah and over to Karik’s—his own—uncle.

  Kei swung him high and made him laugh. “Well, you seem to be in one piece. I’ll overlook it this time,” he said, putting the boy down and taking his hand. He glanced over at Mayl, his expression clouding briefly, then he smiled as he looked down at Emia and a sleeping Ry-zilim. “Explains why everything’s so quiet,” he whispered.

  “You’re early,” Karik said, sitting down on the edge of the verandah again. Romi came out of the office, saw Kei and then sat down next to Karik.

  “Ah, well, it’s a hot day, the sun is shining and I’d love a swim. Minichi, you feel like a swim?”

  “Hmmm mmmm. I love swimming, Kei-chi.”

  “Yes, you do, don’t you?” Both boys swam like fish, in fact, and it had been one of the easier ways of connecting with them—taking them down to the beach and playing with them. Mayl didn’t enjoy the heat of the sun, but no one much cared.

  “Won’t Arman be jealous, you running off to the beach without him?” Romi asked.

  “He’ll meet me down there later with Tije. What about you two—fancy coming along? That way...we, uh, don’t need anyone else,” he said, referring obliquely to the soldier guards Mayl was required to have with her if she left the barracks. It was done discreetly as possible, the guards in civilian clothing, but it was still a restriction.

  “A swim sounds great, Kei. I’d still like a soldier to come with us,” Romi said.

  “As you insist, captain,” Kei said, clearly puzzled. Karik also wondered why Romi was pushing this, but it was probably some obscure army thing and he’d learned not to question such matters as a small price to pay for a quiet life.

  Ry-zilim slumbered on, but Kei wasn’t in any apparent hurry to get moving. He just seemed happy to be with Minan and the rest of them. Karik brought the drawing materials out again and Minan immediately went to work on his picture.

  “Who’s that, Minichi?” Kei asked.

  “Zexu. He’s got black hair, like Ry-zilim.”

  Kei peered carefully at the paper. “So I see. Lovely long hair too. What did you used to do with Zexu?”

  “He had a boat, and, we used to go in the boat and fish. I caught lots of fish, in a net, and...he found me a big shell.” He showed the size of it with his hands. “It made a noise.”

  “Show me?”

  And so Kei talked to him, drawing him out gently about Zexu, engaging his interest, finding out things that were important to him and how he felt about them. Karik had seen Kei do this with other children, other people. Having been on the receiving end, he knew how good it felt to have someone’s attention in this way, to know o
ne was being listened to, heard and understood. He glanced over at Mayl from time to time—she wasn’t happy at all about this, but she had already learned not to tangle with Kei.

  Karik just hoped she wouldn’t do something to undo what Kei was doing now—she often did, trying to undercut the influence of other people. But she never tried it with Kei. At least, not after the first time. When Karik had mentioned it to Arman, his uncle had looked rather coldly satisfied. “She still thinks of him as a terrified, beaten down slave she can do anything to without the slightest retaliation. Now she’s dealing with Master Kei of the Darshek academy. She’d better learn the difference if she knows what’s good for her.”

  His mo...Mayl... had once watched Kei being clubbed unconscious, so he’d been told. Knowing that, seeing her now, Karik simply couldn’t believe her blood and his were mixed in any way. It made him even more curious to know what Cirin was like, but the chances of finding out were almost non-existent. Besides, Karik didn’t think he could cope with finding out his other biological parent was a self-centred sadist too. One was enough.

  Ry-zilim woke up after a bit, and was excited to find Kei there, and as eager to go for a swim as his brother. Romi cleared it with his colonel—fortunately the man had been sympathetic from the start and told Romi, Karik too, to do what was necessary to settle the boys in until the situation was resolved. But he agreed with Romi that another soldier was necessary, though Romi still didn’t explain why, so Jok, one of the kind young men who’d made friends with the boys, agreed to come with them.

  It was a bit of a squash in the cart. Mayl kept as far away from them as she could in the small space as if she thought Karik and Romi would give her a disease. The boys, sitting up front, didn’t notice her behaviour—they loved riding in the cart, and Jok even let Minan play at holding the reins, though not actually giving him control. Kei held Ry-zilim in the passenger seat, looking like he was born to be a father—and at that moment, seeing the happiness on man and boy’s face, Karik made his decision about what he wanted for the children. He just had to work out how to make it happen.