Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4)

by Ann Somerville

  The air here was cleaner, the rain putting out the last of the fires that had started as houses had collapsed and ovens had cracked open. Later, there would be more fires, deliberately lit—animals killed in the earthquake, or destroyed because they were too badly injured, had been hauled out near the camp and hung in trees, part of rapidly implemented plans to avoid disease and contamination—their prince had been as quick as Wepizi had been to realise the danger these posed, even more than the immediate violence of the earthquake itself. One of the first things they’d organised had been the setting up of temporary latrines and ensuring efficient removal of the human waste produced by a thousand people camping in the square.

  Every soldier, every civilian working with them, had had it impressed upon them that the drinking water supply must be kept clean, and the men who normally removed the detritus from household earth closets and middens, were urged to keep working, albeit in vastly different circumstances, as essential to preventing further loss of life as any healer. Their odiferous carts, collecting from the latrines in and around the square, were familiar sights. To Wepizi, it meant they were keeping control on one very dangerous source of disease. He’d seen more people die from diarrhoea and infection after a natural disaster than during the disaster itself, and certainly did not want that here.

  That was just part of keeping order and restoring normality. Now the rescues were over, and the most urgent needs of life secured, the real clean up, along with the retrieval of precious belongings from the ruins, would begin. The animal carcasses would be butchered and smoked to supply the camp, their remains cremated along with the dead pets and domestic animals too small or inedible to use. Not much else would be burned, though. The town would need all the materials it could lay its hands on, and the broken houses would provide some of the wood for the new, their tiles, mortar and other wreckage making foundations for the stronger buildings that would replace them. When so much was gone, the task seemed overwhelming—but Wepizi had worked in disaster zones before, towns and settlements hit by flood and fire, and this town would rise again, however hopeless it seemed now. It would just take a lot of time, and even more work.

  The rain-slicked square was quiet, though there were soldiers on guard and a few civilians moving about. Cauldrons of porridge were set out in front the mayor’s residence, ready to be slung on poles and carried to the warehouses, but the weather was discouraging anyone from hanging about for no purpose. They would have to find another place to monitor activities today. There was a shop on the square which might do—a fancy tailor’s by the look of it, catering to the wealthier residents who lived near by. Wepizi whistled up one of his jirens who was walking towards him. “Find out who owns that, and ask them to clear a place for his highness and me to use as headquarters. If they can’t, see if there’s somewhere else close by.”

  “Yes, sir. I was coming to ask what time we were needed at the grave site.”

  “Give me an hour and a half—put the word out that his highness will lead prayers here, but we’re only allowing immediate family at the site. Otherwise we’ll end up with a landslide. Organise a squad to keep things under control—ah, make that three squads,” he corrected, as he realised that the families of sixty people might mean an unmanageable number of upset people. “Tinwis Kiein will be leading things.”

  “Yes, sir, he’s at the grave site now. He’s been praying there most of the night.”

  “In the rain? By the benevolent god, get the man something hot to eat—we’ll be another two hours. Tell him Sephiz doesn’t want him to get a lung fever.”

  The jiren gave him a tired grin. “No, sir. Rather the opposite.”

  “Then after the funeral, I want to see all the officers at the headquarters, as well as the engineers and the architect. His highness needs status reports.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His highness had gone directly to the infirmary and a soldier now held his doig. Of the prince himself, there was no sign. Wepizi dismounted and passed over the reins of his own animal, then went looking for the governor.

  He found him at the door of the main ward. Juimei pointed over to the bed of the injured girl—Neime was asleep at her bedside, still holding her hand, his weary face pillowed on his arm. He beckoned Wepizi to move outside. “I won’t disturb him, not yet. Healer?” He crooked his finger at the woman heading towards the ward. “Can you tell me about that patient?”

  She bowed. “She’s had a quiet night, your highness. The operation went well, the wound looks clean and Sephiz willing, should heal safely. She was in some pain, and young Neime was there to calm her down, but she’s been asleep for several hours. As has he,” she added with a wry smile. “We did try to get him to leave, but in the end, it was good he was here.”

  “Well he’ll leave if I have to ask the tezrei to carry him. She didn’t say any more about who she was, where she came from?”

  She shook her head. Her own lined, slightly dirty face showed a good deal of weariness—the medical personnel were stretched very tight, no matter how much help they got from volunteers. “No, your highness, but she really wasn’t coherent with the pain and drugs. I wouldn’t expect her to be up to answering such things today. She wasn’t in very good shape even before the injury—I would say she’s not had quite enough to eat for a girl of her age for some time.”

  Juimei frowned and looked at Wepizi. “This gets more mysterious all the time. After the funerals, we must speak to that couple who brought her in.”

  “Yes, your highness.”

  He turned back to the healer. “When Neime rouses, ask him to find me—you might also like to tell your people that prayers for the dead will be in the square in an hour or so.”

  “Thank you—many of our patients will want to hear those. We’ll make sure the windows are open. So many lost,” she said, shaking her head.

  “It could have been so much worse, remember that. And if it weren’t for you and your work, healer, it would have been.”

  “Sephiz guides our hands and hearts, your highness,” she said with a bow.

  Juimei just smiled and thanked her, but as he walked out of the infirmary, his lips were clamped in a thin, angry line. “You don’t agree,” Wepizi said quietly as they made their way across the square to the shop he’d chosen for their operations.

  “That Sephiz guides them? Because it’s perfectly logical for him to maim a child, and then provide healers to care for her? That’s nonsense, and all so bloody pointless. Why? What purpose does that girl losing her leg serve? What good does me being paralysed down one side, or sixty people dead for the sin of being in their own homes or at their place of work at the wrong time, do? Answer me that, if you can.”

  “I can’t,” Wepizi said. “And if you think when my wife died, I didn’t ask the same questions, you’re wrong. I don’t think Sephiz directly maims or injures. I don’t think he directly makes a healer able to heal or not, but I believe that he knows what happens to each of us, and wants us to do the best we can, whatever life brings to us. And I believe, at the end, we are taken to his bosom and will live with our loved ones, in happiness. But I don’t know why, and I don’t know how.” He shrugged. “I just believe that there is a reason for this—even if the reason is to show that even in the worst of times, the best of humanity can rise above it all.”

  “And in the best of times, the worst of humanity can sully innocent lives—you’re army, you’ve seen it.”

  He gave a little bow in acknowledgement. “Indeed I have, more than you can imagine. I’ve seen people murdered, raped, livelihoods ruined by greed and cruelty, known the most cold-blooded criminals do things that make me sick to my stomach to recall. And yet, even at the depths of despair at such appalling acts, I’ve seen love flourish, friendships grow and strengthen.” He fixed his prince with a firm look. “And I’ve seen a man throw off the chains of disability and discover his true talents, even when he thought it impossible. Perhaps, your highness, you had to be crippled befor
e you could truly reach your potential.”

  Juimei clenched his jaw. “He chose a bloody painful, pointless way of bringing out my talents, if that was all he wanted. You argue well, my friend—you don’t convince. I’m sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry that I’ve neither wit nor understanding to convince you. Please, let’s not be at odds over something we simply can never prove, one way or another.”

  “I don’t wish to quarrel. I respect your faith, even if I can’t share it. Ah...but in the circumstances, may I ask a favour?” Wepizi nodded, puzzled. “For me to offer prayers would be rank hypocrisy. If I make a speech, can I ask you to lead the prayers instead?”

  “It would be my honour. And I respect your honesty—it would be easier to lie, in the circumstances.”

  “I’ve nothing to offer the dead but honesty,” Juimei said bleakly. “Let’s go.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  The miserable weather suited his mood, Juimei thought, as he snatched a few moments’ peace and a warming mug of drizu. After a surprisingly pleasant evening in the company of their amiable tezrei, it had been a sad, depressing morning. The grief of the bereaved expressed in so many ways—stoicism, wailing, silent tears, the confusion of children unable to comprehend what had happened to brothers, sisters, parents and grand-parents, and not a little anger, blind and unfocussed though it was—had infected the whole population, and cast a gloom over all.

  The only thing that could be done was to let the grieving bury their loved ones, and push everyone else to keep busy, work to restore their homes and their town, give them a purpose to get past their pain. He had made a short speech, expressing his sorrow at so much loss, and his determination to make sure the deaths were not in vain—he had no idea how much comfort anyone had got from it. More likely Wepizi’s devout, beautiful words in the square, and the simple piety of the holy man at the gravesite, had given them more solace.

  Juimei could only make sure no one else ever died in this town again because of shoddy building, and be better prepared next time they were struck down in this way. He never again wanted to hear the sound of dozens of families weeping, or the miserable sounds of clods of dirt being thrown into dozens of open graves. The sights, the sounds, would haunt him until he died. Never again.

  That determination had coloured his discussions with the army engineers, their architect, and the civilians who were assisting them. Their reports were bad news, and now he had to break that to the mayor and the elders.

  “Oh, how I’m looking forward to this,” he said grumpily as Wepizi came back in and joined him at their desk. The shop wasn’t perfect in any way as headquarters, but with the rain continuing, and the mayoral and governor’s residences both too crowded to use, this was the best on offer. He could have ordered some kind of structure erected next to the podium, but there were so many better things to use carpenters for right now.

  “Facts are facts, Jui. Not even the mayor can alter what we know now. I did have one question for you—what did he say to make you throw a glass at him?”

  Juimei gave him an irritated look. “Is that the most important thing on your mind, tezrei, for I swear, I thought you had other concerns.”

  “I meant no offence, your highness. I was merely curious.”

  Wepizi’s mild tone and his always kind eyes took the sting out of his impertinence. “We were discussing a new tax on heavily dyed gem-cloth—you probably realise it commands a much higher price, but it also uses a lot more manpower, resources, and clean water. My father wants to discourage its large-scale production as much as possible, because it’s an unnecessary luxury and there’s no real demand or need for it in large quantities in Andon. The local market is well supplied by the cloth mills in Visiqe, and indeed, Visiqe is the biggest user of the cloth in the first place. But the mayor makes a tidy sum out of exporting it to Kuprij, so he felt the need to express his annoyance in terms which insulted my father’s intelligence, his breeding and his loyalty to Andon. He lost his temper, and so did I. The way he complained, you’d think I’d cut his throat. I almost wish I had, instead of just throwing my water glass. He’s a grasping, stupid, arrogant bastard and I’d happily drop him into a vat of his own paper pulp. However, he’s under the impression I’ve been deliberately obstructing his grandiose plans, which I haven’t. I don’t need to—my father and the council would never approve most of them anyway.”

  “Ah. While I don’t approve of violence, your anger is understandable. However, we who lead must learn to rein in our emotions, for the sake of those who follow us.”

  Juimei snorted. “You don’t strike me as that much of a cold fish, tezrei. I bet you lose your temper plenty of times.”

  His companion only grinned. “Then I find some unfortunate officer to have a spar with.”

  “Not an option for me, is it?”

  “Your highness, a few days ago you said you wouldn’t be able to ride, and yet you rode into the square this morning.”

  “Two different things.”

  “Perhaps. Ah, welcome, your honour,” he said politely, rising as Gixiel and the elders came to the door.

  It was very cramped, the tailor’s stock pushed as far back in the small showroom as they could make it, and the mannequins piled in a heap in the corner, but the counter was fixed and huge, as were the shelves and drawers that held the expensive trimmings for the equally expensive cloth. He and Wepizi sat at a small table in front of the counter, which only left a few square feet for others to stand or sit on the few stools at their disposal. This certainly didn’t help tempers, but they were a threatened species anyway. As Juimei explained the decisions he had come to after detailed discussions and reports by their specialists, the mayor grew red in the face, then finally slammed his fists down on the desk.

  “No, by Sephiz’s beard, I will not allow this! First your father, now you! You’re trying to ruin me—me personally!”

  The twelve elders kept their counsel—embarrassed at the mayor’s reaction, or waiting to see if he could change their governor’s mind? Juimei didn’t know, and didn’t care.

  “Mayor Gixiel, if you have a better idea, then, please, let me know it.”

  “Of course I have a better idea! We send for troops from the south and Tsikiugui, we recall all the soldiers in from the region, and we fix the bridge, clear the road, and rebuild the houses! It only takes manpower and the will to do it, you fool!”

  Wepizi cleared his throat and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes as it usually did. “Your honour, would you please refrain from calling his highness names? As an officer of the crown, I’ll be forced to take note of it, since he’s acting as his majesty’s proxy.”

  “Damn you, tezrei, keep out of this, you know nothing about my business concerns!”

  “Nor should he, your honour,” Juimei said, bathing his words in acid politeness. “Since the tezrei’s concern is the health and prosperity of all Andonese citizens, not just the wealthier ones.”

  “You—”

  Elder Hariz put his hand on the mayor’s arm. “Gixiel,” he muttered. “Calm down. Your highness, it won’t just be his honour’s mills that will have to close if we send so many people south.”

  “I’m aware of that, Elder Hariz. But even starting now, we can only guarantee winter-proof accommodation for two-thirds of our people. We can’t house them indefinitely in the stores buildings, and only the youngest, fittest people can be asked to stay in the army tents, not that we have enough of them—and there’s the problem of the damaged lock. It will take a hundred skilled men a month or more to try and raise that boat and repair the lock—a hundred men we need for other tasks. In time, we might raise it—but winter will be here in five months, whatever we do. Our need is for homes, now. And if we can’t house, we must evacuate. I’m deeply aware of the problems this will cause in the short-term. It’s not personal,” he said, with a hard glance at the still red-faced mayor.

  “Call for more soldiers!”

  “It will be a mo
nth before we get anyone from Nedriz, and they don’t have a large detachment. Two months before they can send soldiers from Tsikiugui, longer from Visiqe or elsewhere. We have to start now, Mayor Gixiel, and we need the new barracks built and the old one rebuilt. It’s the only way we can house enough people quickly. If we have time and energy after that, then the bridge, the river, the mines, will all be dealt with.”

  “I’ll be ruined,” the mayor moaned. “My customers—”

  The shallow puddle of sympathy Juimei had for a businessman facing difficult times, dried up like spit on a stove. “Are simply not my concern,” he interrupted coldly. “Your mills bring wealth to the town, that’s true, though I might wish it was shared a little more generously. But they’re not the only industry, the only activity. If it’s a choice between the mills and the farms, the farms win.”

  “You’re incompetent! We shall complain to his majesty, have you impeached, removed, expelled from this region!”

  Juimei wiped off the spittle which had flown as the man raged at him, amazed at how icily calm he felt, when once he’d have bellowed back just as angrily. “As you wish, your honour. Anyone else feel the same way?” There was a sudden shuffling of bottoms and feet, and a distinct lack of anyone meeting his eyes—or the mayor’s. “Come, come, surely others of you want me removed.”

  Elder Frankel cleared his throat. “Our brother, his honour...speaks a little hastily, your highness. Out of concern for his workers, of course.” Juimei had to struggle to keep the ironic sneer off his face at the idea of Gixiel giving a damn about his workers unless they were making him money—the man would have used slaves and small children if he could have got away with it, and only very strict laws, enforced with inspections, made his mills half-way decent places to work. “What you propose...seems, in the circumstances...reasonable.”

  “Frankel! You traitor!”

  Juimei ignored the mayor. “Is that the feeling of the rest of you?” There was a collective nodding of heads, and a careful avoidance of the mayor’s angry glare. “Then your cooperation in this matter is appreciated. Be assured I have asked for help from the south, and I’m sure it will be forthcoming—but our need is not just for manpower, it’s for materials, and we will all feel the pinch of that in the coming months. The army are going to keep trying to solve the problem. Thank you for your time, gentlemen.”