Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4)

by Ann Somerville

  “Calm down, Iome,” Jozin snapped, pushing his way past Wepizi, clearly having got over his shock a little.

  Wepizi would have restrained him, but the lad was calmer now, and only intent on reaching Laovei’s bedside, so Wepizi just kept his hand on Iome and followed.

  When Laovei saw Jozin, her pale face split in a huge smile. “Joz! I knew you’d come! Iome!”

  Iome rushed over, and the two girls embraced, then Iome dragged down Jozin. They were huddled together for some time, but Wepizi thought it was better not to impose on Laovei’s endurance. He cleared his throat, and with an embarrassed look, Iome sat up. Jozin stood and scowled while Laovei cast an anxious look at Wepizi.

  “It’s all right, Laovei. They wanted to know how you were, and we’ve explained about...your foot. Iome, just five minutes now. You can come back later.”

  She nodded, but then rather to Wepizi’s surprise, said nothing, just looked at her friend, watching her intently. Recalling what he knew of the Darshianese Blessed, and what Karik had told him about his mother, he realised they had to be talking in their minds, and wondered who was listening in—and from where. There was much he needed to find out.

  The silent ‘conversation’ was an eerie thing to watch, but it seemed to be reassuring to all three, and when Wepizi said it was time to leave, there was no argument.

  “Sir...where’s Neime?” Laovei asked.

  “Outside, my dear—and he’ll return soon. Your friends need a meal, and you need rest. They’ll be close by, I promise, but we have to clear the ward. People need to sleep.”

  She stared for a moment, perhaps listening to someone explaining something to her, then she nodded. “All right. Joz, Iome, you’ll take me home soon?”

  “Soon as we can,” Jozin said, glaring at Wepizi. “No one will stop us.”

  “No one will try, my friend—but you can see for yourself how ill she is. Come, let’s talk.”

  Medic Furniw was waiting with Neime, and as soon as they came out of the ward, told Wepizi they could use the library to talk, explained it was on the floor above them.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Could you have someone send a message to his highness and say I’ve been delayed, and then would you make sure that there’s hot food for these two young people. Make it generous.”

  “Yes, sir.” She was clearly a little uncertain about the strangers, but too well-disciplined to argue with her superior. She saluted and went off.

  “Come, my friends. Let’s have a little privacy.”

  Neime led the way to the library. It was an airy room with many high-set windows—some of which were cracked, though none, most surprisingly, were missing. There were shelves of books, and tables where healers and medics could read papers, discuss patients, perhaps escape their worries for a while. Being upstairs, it was little use for patient accommodation, so had escaped the crowding below, and was a surprising well of peace in this busy building. Wepizi suspected it had been cleared just for his use, and regretted depriving hard-working staff of such comfort, but he really did need a private place to have this conversation.

  The library made some impression on their two guests, who stared at everything as if they had never seen its like before.

  “Sit,” he urged, taking a seat himself.

  Jozin and Iome obeyed, but their courage failed them again. “When can we take her home?” Iome asked timidly.

  “Neime?”

  Neime folded his hands. “It will be some time before the stump heals, and longer before she can wear a false foot. Not for two months at least, so the healer said. Longer before she can walk with any ease. It’ll probably be six months before she doesn’t need medical care of some sort.”

  “Too long,” Jozin said stubbornly. “We can take care of her at home.”

  “And where is that, my friend?” Wepizi asked. “Jozin, you can glare at me all you want, but I must have an answer. We can’t help her—or you—if I don’t.”

  “Don’t need your help. Don’t need any of you damn normals,” Jozin snapped in a near shout.

  “Maybe not, but I would still like to offer the hand of friendship. How many of you are there?”

  “None of your business. None of this is anything to do with you. We don’t need you, we don’t want anything to do with you.”

  “Why do you hate us?” Neime said in a puzzled voice. “Wepizi, who are these people?”

  He kept his eyes on Jozin as he answered. “Jozin and Iome are the Blessed—what the Darshianese call Gifted.”

  Jozin sneered. “‘Blessed’—‘Cursed’ more like. I know the things you normals have done to my kind in the past. We won’t ever let it happen again.”

  “That was many years ago,” Wepizi said calmly, ignoring Neime’s confusion. “The warlords are long ago defeated and driven from our land, and the Blessed are no longer persecuted.”

  “So you say, old man, but people still fear us, want us gone. Even our families—” His mouth snapped shut. “You won’t tell us what to do.”

  “No, I won’t, for I know I can’t, and I know what you can do, my friend. Iome—what power do you have?”

  “Don’t tell him!” Jozin yelled. “It’s a trick!”

  “Peace, Jozin—it’s just a question.” This would be more difficult than he knew how to deal with, and wished he had Romi by his side, to show he meant none of the Blessed harm. “Are you the leaders of your group? Do you speak for the rest of you?”

  “How do you know there’s any more of us?” Wepizi just looked at him. “Yes. I’m the leader,” he said, throwing out his thin chest, though the startled look on Iome’s face immediately made a liar of him.

  Wepizi allowed the lie, for now. “In that case—can I at least ask if anyone else was hurt? Did Timinke have a family who need to be told of his death?”

  “We’re his family. We’re the only family we have. I told you—we don’t have anything to do with normals!”

  “I still don’t understand,” Neime said, breaking in. “At a time like this, we all help each other—why are you so angry when we just want to help Laovei, and you and the others if they need it? Why do you hate us, when I’ve never even met you before? Why do you hate Wepizi when he’s trying to help?”

  “Because you’re our enemy!”

  Neime sat back, eyebrows raised in some surprise. “I’m not. How can I be when I’ve never even heard of you before?”

  “Neime, Jozin and his kind were persecuted during the time of the warlords, and they all fled to refuges, or so I’m guessing.” Jozin refused to confirm this, his mouth clamped shut as he glared at Wepizi. “I think whoever gathered Jozin and his friends together is trying to stop them being hurt again, an admirable thing. But, my friend—no one here is trying to hurt you.”

  “Jozin, listen to him.”

  Wepizi sat bolt upright in shock as a woman’s voice entered his head. Neime blinked, equally surprised.

  “My apologies, tezrei, for his rudeness, and for my listening to your conversation. I am Nuveize.”

  He hastily gathered his wits. “I am pleased to meet you, Nuveize.” It was most peculiar to be talking to the thin air like this.

  “Nuve, why do you trust this man?” Jozin’s angry ‘voice’ was a match for his stony expression.

  “He knows, Jozin. He has friends a little like us, and he knows what happened to our people. He’s really trying to help. Please—you have to listen to him. I know you won’t listen to me, but you can trust him. I’ve seen his mind.”

  “Just make him forget, like the others—we can take Laovei and go!”

  “No, you can’t!” Neime said. “She could start to bleed again, she could get an infection and die! Please, Nuveize,” he begged the empty air. “Tell him it’s no lie. Please—don’t let them take her away.”

  Her voice was gentle, calm—she was apparently used to handling Jozin and his temper. “Joz, listen to him. I’ve read the minds of the healers, and he’s telling the truth. We’ve lost Tim
inke—don’t make me lose Laovei too.”

  Iome put her hand on Jozin’s arm. “Maybe you should listen, Joz. She’s right—we don’t want to lose someone else.”

  Jozin shrugged her off, his thin face showing the war within him, struggling between fear and the need for the assistance of the hated normals. “How can we trust them?”

  “Sometimes, you just have to, Joz. Wepizi—will you really look after them?”

  “You know it. But I’ll have to report your existence, Nuveize—the king and council have been desperate to locate the Blessed for these many years past.”

  “Ha! Told you! He’s a spy!”

  “Joz, don’t be silly, he’s just a soldier. Wepizi—I could make you forget you’d ever seen them, you know.”

  “If you were going to do that, I feel you would have already, my dear. But you need us, don’t you?”

  Silence. Jozin continued to give them all the evil eye, while Iome bit her lip anxiously. They were both so young and so frightened, Wepizi thought, and decided that like all young, frightened wild things, a bit of kindness and providing basic needs was as good a way to win their hearts as any other.

  “Since there’s nothing more we can do here, why don’t we get you some hot food, and then I can introduce you to our governor. If you’re going to do something to my mind, I suppose I can’t stop you—but Nuveize, my memories are precious to me. I beg you to do them no harm.”

  “You can trust me too, Wepizi. Look after my children, and no harm will befall you.”

  “Your...children?”

  He was pretty sure that none of the Blessed could have children. Romi had been quite adamant on the subject.

  “A figure of speech.” He could hear the slight smile in her voice. “Joz, Iome, all is well. Trust him, I beg you, and Joz, hold onto your temper.”

  “No one will touch you while under my protection, Jozin, Iome. Come along.”

  Even though Jozin could have crushed him like the weakest insect—as, he had to assume, could the timid Iome as well—Wepizi decided to take a firmly guiding role, chivvying them like the children they were, or not long from being.

  Downstairs, Neime made enquiries, and they were directed to the small refectory the staff used when conditions were normal, and where even now, the many assistants, medics and healers could snatch a bite to eat and a quick break. It was long past the lunch hour, but there were still a dozen weary people drinking tea, eating a late meal, or dozing, heads leaning against the wall. Wepizi squeezed their two guests into a corner, and sent Neime to bring bowls of stew, flat camp bread, and mugs of drizu, heavily sweetened. Jozin and Iome fell on them as if they were starving—from the look of them, they might well be. Wepizi itched to learn more, but though he could have asked Nuveize, he felt it was better for Jozin and Iome to tell him themselves, and before that could happen, they had to learn to trust.

  He could almost see hollow cheeks filling out as they ate, and Neime rose to get seconds without needing to be asked. At least there was enough food—stores of supplies were good, and more arrived each day, since farmers who still had to make a living, brought in produce already harvested. Some had suffered damage on their farms, and were coming in to the town to seek help along with selling their goods. Supplies might dry up soon enough, but for now, these two youngsters could eat their fill.

  A third bowl of stew each, and at last their hunger was sated. “Want more?” Wepizi asked. Both shook their heads. “You look like you needed that. Are the others hungry? Do they need food too?”

  Jozin, who had relaxed minutely, stiffened, and gave Wepizi a dirty look. “Another trick!”

  Wepizi raised his hand. “Concern only, my friend. Laovei is clearly underfed, so are you—I’m worried there are other young people going hungry.”

  “Joz, tell him. You know we need his help,” Iome begged, tugging on his sleeve.

  “No, we don’t. I don’t care what you said or Nuve says. Iome, he’s a normal! You know what they’ve done to us.”

  She bit her lip and sank back. “He doesn’t seem so bad,” she muttered. “And the food was nice.” Neime gave her an encouraging smile. “Could we...maybe take some back with us?”

  “Iome!”

  Wepizi ignored the outburst and smiled at her. “My dear, if we can spare the supplies, of course. It would help to know what you need and for how many though.”

  “Iome, he’s trying to trick you!”

  “Don’t you get sick of being so terrified of everyone?” Neime said mildly, looking the lad in the eye.

  “Shut up. I want to see Laovei again.”

  Wepizi sighed gently. “I should report to Prince Juimei. Neime, why don’t you take our young friends along, and then bring them over to his highness’s office later? We need to find somewhere for you both to sleep—I assume you won’t be leaving while Laovei is so ill?”

  Jozin suddenly looked unsure, and Iome tugged on his sleeve. “Joz, we can’t leave—”

  “I know, shut up.” He chewed on his lower lip, shredding a bit of bread in nervous fingers. “One night. Then we take her home.”

  “No!”

  Wepizi held up his hand to silence Neime. “One night and we talk about it. Right now, Laovei’s safety is the most important issue, I’m sure you agree. Don’t you? Jozin? You don’t want her to get worse, do you? She’s suffered so much. She needs to be treated very carefully, don’t you think?”

  After a long stare, Jozin nodded reluctantly. “But if you hurt her—”

  “We won’t. Neime? Iome, please, my dear, you must be very calm around her. Will you do that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t call him ‘sir’,” Jozin muttered. “You’re not my master,” he said to Wepizi, chin tilted in defiance.

  “Indeed not, for I’m a servant of the people, not the other way around. And I’m at your service, and that of Iome, and Laovei too,” he said with a little bow, which made Iome smile slightly. “Now, one of my other masters needs my attendance. Please, go with Neime.”

  He made sure to exude as powerful an air of trustworthiness and amiability as he could until their extraordinary visitors had left with Neime.

  “He’s a handful, that one.”

  He started—this form of communication would take some getting used to. “He’s brave and protective. Is he your leader?”

  “No, not really. But perhaps the bravest one of us. Wepizi, we need your help—but we’re afraid. He doesn’t exaggerate, you know.”

  “No, I know.” He remembered what Karik had told him of his Gifted friends in Darshek, and how so many had been abandoned by frightened families. “I need your help, Nuveize. And I think we might need theirs. Is there any hope of winning his trust?”

  “Maybe. He’s always been headstrong, but he’s no fool. I don’t want to lose any more of my family. You know what it’s like to grieve.”

  “I do indeed. I need to speak to his highness—I can ask him to keep the secret, but I can’t demand it.”

  “I can. But I won’t. We’re at the end of our means. If you can’t convince Jozin, I fear for our survival.”

  “I’ll do what I can. I take it none of you can get away from where you are, without him?”

  “There’s more to it than that. Do your best. I know your heart is pure, and so is that of your Neime. Keep faith with Jozin and let him see that.”

  Though she couldn’t have seen it, he bowed a little. “I swear it, by Sephiz and by Lema’s memory.”

  “Then I know you’ll keep your word. Good luck.”

  There was a slight...emptiness...in his mind, and he realised she had withdrawn. He wished he had more information, but he understood why the Blessed were so cautious. He had to overcome that—too much was at stake not to.

  It had stopped raining, and the sun was shining on wet stone as he came out. The sudden brightness made him blink, and its warmth and light had drawn people out of their shelters, moving with purpose, many carrying tools, lumber, s
acks with food or possessions—all getting on with repairing their lives. There were farmers’ carts too, bringing the precious supplies of produce and wood, and more news, inevitably, of more deaths, more destruction. He was anxious for word from the outstations—only with their reports, would they really know how widespread the earthquake’s malice was, and how many more Andonese had lost their lives. Nuveize’s powers could be of such use in their vast, empty country, he thought wistfully.

  In his makeshift office, Juimei was talking to one of the elders, so Wepizi waited patiently until the woman was dismissed. Then he closed the door—the prince raised an eyebrow at his presumption.

  “Where have you been? And where’s Neime? I’ve been abandoned on all fronts,” he complained, though without particular heat.

  “My apologies, Jui—there’s been something of a surprising development.”

  He took a seat and described as succinctly as he could, what had occurred, and who had descended on them. Juimei listened without revealing a thing through his reaction, but when Wepizi had finished, he picked up a pencil in his good hand and regarded it thoughtfully.

  “Sephiz’s beard, Wepizi. Do you know what this means?”

  “His majesty will want to know—but Nuveize doesn’t want you to tell him. It goes against my orders, of course.”

  “And mine. However, my father’s a long way away, and we have more immediate issues. The girl can’t be moved. You really believe her friends are in desperate straits?”

  “I have no details, but once you meet them, you can see for yourself. We won’t know the rest of it until we convince Jozin and Iome that we can be trusted, and we’ll only do that by showing good faith.”

  “Why would we not?” Juimei asked curtly. “They’re my concern, same as any other citizen in this region. If they pose a threat, we’ll deal with it. If they need our help, they’ll have it, or what we can give them. But even precious and special as they are, I won’t endanger anyone else to help them. The greatest good of the greatest number, that’s all we can offer.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  But he couldn’t help but feel that if they did have to abandon Nuveize and her family to their fate, it would be a tragedy and a tremendous loss to their nation. Besides—he already liked her, and wanted to help for her own sake. Not that he didn’t want to help everyone, but he could want to help some more.