Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4)

by Ann Somerville

  “I’ll bear that in mind. Do you normally eat in here?”

  Juimei shrugged. “Usually. If I use one of the dining rooms, the staff feel they need to fuss. This way, I get it over and done with. I never used to care about food, but my appetite’s much better of late.” He wagged a finger at Wepizi. “Your doing, tezrei.”

  Despite his troubled emotions, this amused Wepizi. “Ah, my apologies, your highness. You do indeed look well on it.”

  “I feel well. I feel...closer to normal than I have in five years. I think if I could somehow overcome this bloody speech defect, I would probably have no real reason to be dissatisfied.”

  “You place too much importance on it,” Wepizi said with a smile. “It’s really no more noticeable than someone with a slight foreign accent. It’s not unpleasant to the ear or hard to understand. It’s barely noticeable most of the time.”

  “But you don’t know what I sounded like before. If you’d known me before the accident, you’d despise me now.”

  Wepizi gave him a wry look. “I doubt that. Neime knew you before, and doesn’t.”

  “Neime’s a saint,” Juimei said with a derisive snort. “Did you see him tonight with Laovei? He cares for her so much, and it hurts him, that she can’t dance, move without help. I worry that the things she can’t do, will blind him to what she can.”

  “Very little risk of that, I think.”

  “I disagree. He worries about everything, tries to save people from the effects of their own idiocy...and though I have good reason to be grateful for that, he’ll get hurt.”

  Wepizi made a little bow in acknowledgement. “I also have reason to be grateful, but you have to let him make his own mistakes. The heart doesn’t obey logic.”

  “No, quite,” Juimei said dryly, taking a seat.

  A knock came at the door and the prince called for them to enter. Wepizi waited until two polite and efficient servants carried out the well-practised business of setting up the little table and laying it, then took a seat as invited. He still found he wasn’t hungry, but like all Andonese, he’d been brought up not to waste food, and this was finer fare than would be on offer in the barracks for a good many weeks. Possibly ever, for the barracks canteen, even before the earthquake, hardly inspired devotion.

  Juimei ate quietly, and left Wepizi to his thoughts, gloomy and confused as they were. He dutifully ate the cheese and bread and fruit, glad the kitchen here was used to Juimei’s spare eating habits and had not overburdened them with food. The meal took little time to finish, Juimei being disinclined to linger even while enjoying his meal, and soon all that remained was to drink a last, polite mug of drizu, which Wepizi did with as much haste as was seemly.

  Finally, he could bow and make his farewell. “Thank you. That was delicious.”

  “Yes, it was and you’re welcome.” Wepizi stood. Juimei still held his own mug of drizu and rolled it thoughtfully between his hands. “Wepizi, if....”

  “If?”

  Juimei looked up, his expression wary, expecting rejection. “Look, I know you aren’t close to me, and I’ve given you reason for that...but if you wanted to talk...ever...or just have someone listen...I used to be a good listener.”

  Wepizi smiled tightly. “You still are. Thank you...but it’s....”

  “Too painful?” Wepizi nodded. “I understand—but if you ever would like...I thought I should tell you that.”

  “It’s appreciated, truly. But now I should go. Thank you for the meal...and the company.” He bowed again. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  He walked out, thanked the staff politely for their hospitality, and then could escape. He wouldn’t find sleep this night, he knew—but he hoped he might find solace in some quiet contemplation. He needed to talk to his love about all this.

  Lema, never was your wisdom needed more than now. Help me, beloved.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Juimei was sitting in his armchair, lost in his thoughts, when Neime arrived an hour or so after Wepizi left. “Oh, I thought you’d go to bed—I didn’t mean you to sit up for me,” Neime said.

  “I wasn’t. Did you enjoy yourselves?”

  “Oh yes! Did you realise none of the Blessed have ever been to a party before? Or seen dancing, except for Nuveize? They loved it!”

  Juimei smiled at his page’s enthusiasm—the lad glowed with love and happiness, and it warmed even his jaded heart to see it. “Then when things settle down, we should do it again—perhaps in the spring.” He didn’t add ‘before I leave’, since it would only upset Neime, and he’d done more than enough tactless upsetting tonight.

  “Elder Frankel was talking about the mayor’s winter feast. He said perhaps all the Blessed could go this year. He asked if you might change your mind and come along.”

  “Eh?” He was as startled by that request as by Frankel being so bold as to issue invitations when he was not—officially, not even close to being—mayor in Gixiel’s place. “I don’t know about that. You can go of course.”

  “Oh. Maybe.”

  “I’m surprised the mayor is contemplating a feast this year, with all the disruption.”

  “Me too, but the elder brought it up, so I assume the mayor’s agreed to it.” Juimei grunted, not at all sure about that. “Something wrong, Jui? Why didn’t you go to bed? I thought you said you were tired.”

  “I was. More a little out of sorts—watching the dancing.”

  Neime came and sat down near him. “Ah. ‘Vei too. Wepizi looked upset—was he missing his wife?”

  Nothing ever got past this lad. “Yes. Very much. You know, I think there really are worse things than what happened to me. It’s been nearly five years for him. How can it hurt so much after all this time?”

  “I don’t know,” Neime said slowly. “Maybe because he never fell in love again.”

  “I don’t think he would ever allow himself to do that. I’m pretty sure he would consider it a betrayal of her memory.”

  Neime shook his head. “That’s a real shame. He’s not that old. Does he really plan to spend the rest of his life alone?”

  Juimei wondered the same thing. “His choice. Somehow I doubt his late wife would want him to live like that, if she loved him even half as much as he seems to have loved her. Ah well. Time for bed.”

  Neime rose to help him. “Laovei’s really pleased about that memorial. They all are. Iome said it means that people know they exist.”

  “Oh they do, and if they would only stop hiding, they could do so much for this country, and this country could protect them. It’s a start, Neime. Much more can come in time. Uh...by the way, if you want to set up a room with, ah, Laovei, I won’t object.”

  Neime blushed the most extraordinary colour. “We’re not...I mean...not yet...um....”

  Juimei clapped his shoulder, vastly amused by his page’s coy embarrassment—it was so sweet and innocent, and made him feel a dreadful old lecher for even mentioning it. “I was just saying. Come on, let’s get to bed.”

  Home Ground: 29

  Wepizi’s lonely life and his apparently endless sorrow occupied Juimei’s thoughts rather a lot over the next few days and weeks. The man himself never mentioned his strange breakdown that evening, and Juimei, feeling very bad that he’d brought it on, didn’t either. Wepizi was as polite and friendly and cheerful as ever, but Juimei couldn’t help but think there was some...reserve...something held back. Nothing he could really pinpoint—perhaps the slightest reduction in the number of visits, a day or two occasionally longer between them than Juimei had grown used to, but nothing that could not, on the face of it, be explained by Wepizi’s other commitments. Nothing, certainly, that Juimei would dream of complaining about, only...seeing him more often had become a habit. It was unsettling, made him irritable—the pull to stay, the need to go—but he did his best to hide it. Foolish to allow himself to build Wepizi into his routine, when Juimei himself planned to leave. After all, it was his own fault he was in this situation. />
  As it usually did in Andon at the change of season, especially in the east, the weather rapidly turned much colder. Barely a month after the ceremony at the graveyard, and just days after they had sent six hundred soldiers south for overwintering in Nedriz and Tsikiugui, they had their first snow. Juimei stared out of his office window at the falling flakes.

  “I suppose that puts an end to my doig riding for a while,” he said to Neime.

  “But when it gets deeper, you could try the sleds. Giwade’s wild to have a ride in one.”

  “Then he shall, though I doubt I’ll be driving it.”

  The Blessed were so charming in their joy at their new experiences. Giwade more than most of them, because his enjoyment was compounded by sensing the happiness of his companions. Giwade’s own happiness was something Juimei was now very aware of, and careful to protect. The three younger Blessed were now enrolled in school. So far, Giwade was coping, though it was accepted he might not be able to take the stress of prolonged contact with other children for long, and his quiet, gentle nature would make it a trial even without his gift. But he was keen to try schooling, and desperate to learn all he could about the world of normals. Helinoa was thriving, and was popular among her classmates. Kilinze hadn’t yet set fire to anyone, for which Juimei was profoundly grateful.

  Neime returned to the residence as there was no longer any need to maintain headquarters in the square, and it wasn’t practical to create a place warm and sheltered enough for his use. Juimei promoted him to governor’s liaison, and arranged for him to have his own office. Though it meant an increase in salary and prestige for Neime, it had very little effect on his duties or his relationship with Juimei. During the day, one of the servants did the small amount of fetching and carrying Juimei required, and his team of clerks continued to carry out the routine work of his governorship. At night, Neime assisted him as always, and slept in his bedroom as before.

  Yet Juimei was aware that things were about to change, and while he wanted Neime to be happy and settled, he couldn’t help but wish he could keep Neime with him and still achieve those aims. He began to be tormented by false dreams of love, health and happiness again, phantasms of a relationship which had never been what he’d imagined it to be. If it hadn’t been for Wepizi’s friendship, Juimei would have very little to stop him sliding back into depression. He wondered how he would manage once he had set himself adrift from Neime and Wepizi—the two anchors of his life. He had a suspicion he wasn’t really strong enough to manage on his own—and yet it felt time for him to move on.

  He kept all of this to himself—he’d inflicted his neuroses on people for long enough. Instead, he concentrated on keeping active, determined to enjoy the time he had left in Dizeindo. Neime and Wepizi were equally determined to help him do that, and help the Blessed enjoy their first winter in the town. As the snow deepened, the sleds were discussed, and a plan hatched to teach Giwade how to drive one, and for himself to learn how to manage with only one strong arm and leg.

  After two weeks of horrendously cold and snowy weather, when they were all shut indoors, the sun came out. The lure of the fine, crisp weather, the thick, perfect snow covering the landscape, was too much to resist. No one tried. Wepizi announced a holiday and arranged to take all the Blessed, Neime and Juimei outside the walls on doigs—even Nuveize and Laovei managed, though they had help from two soldiers and lep Tovoi, who was there, he said, to keep an eye on Jozin. Strangely, Jozin only delivered a single dirty look, and then grinned. The lad was coming on beautifully.

  Once they were outside the town, Wepizi hitched up the biggest of the three sleds, and invited Juimei and Giwade to join him. Neime solicitously tucked rugs around their legs.

  “All yours, tezrei,” he said cheerfully, stepping back and winking at Giwade, as the four doigs stamped their feet and snorted their dislike of having to stand still in the snow.

  “Ready?” Wepizi said, twisting around in the driver’s seat.

  “Yes, please,” Giwade said firmly. Juimei patted his arm, and nodded to Wepizi.

  That was all Wepizi needed. He cracked the whip, yelled a rather uncouth command, and then they were off, a little sluggishly, but then picked up speed. Snow flew past their ears as Wepizi tore off across the flat snow, clearly relishing the freedom as much as his passengers. It was the first time Juimei had seen him so uninhibited and it was marvellous to watch. Juimei held tightly onto his companion, and grinned like a fool at being able to travel fast for the first time in years.

  It was a wonderful, exhilarating day for all of them. Everyone got to ride in the sleds, and most tried their hand at the driving (with a lot of help from the soldiers), and though it was bitterly cold, the excitement and exertion meant they stayed warm enough, and Wepizi made sure they all got back to the residence before anyone had a chance to get chilled. Juimei invited everyone to have something hot to eat and drink in the big reception room, where they sprawled on thick rugs or in big comfortable chairs.

  “We should do this again,” Jozin said, flush-faced and sparkling-eyed, grinning happily. “Sleds are fun.”

  “Also practical, groi,” Tovoi said sternly. “This was about you learning essential skills today, Jozin.” But then he tipped a sly wink at Wepizi—he did like to bait Jozin sometimes.

  Jozin didn’t rise to it at all. “But if I need to travel anywhere fast, I just fly,” he said, sounding puzzled at the idea he might have to use the sleds for anything mundane.

  “He’s got you there, Tovoi,” Wepizi said, grinning at his officer. “But it’s still a useful skill, and builds strength. Even though you don’t need it, it’ll help to keep you fit, and we ordinary mortals need to do that.”

  “Not even just the ordinary mortals,” Nuveize said. “I’m sadly out of shape.”

  “Then we should do it again, as and when it suits the tezrei,” Juimei declared.

  “But you shouldn’t have to wait until we’re all in a big group,” Neime said. “Jui, you could go out with Wepizi like you did in the summer. You should, to keep up your agility.”

  Wepizi shot Juimei a strange look then. “Ah...it’s probably safer if there’s a group. If something went wrong, you have more people to help.”

  “But if you had an accident, all you’d have to do would be to call for Nuveize to find Jozin,” Iome pointed out.

  Wepizi didn’t answer. He seemed rather embarrassed by the emphasis on this issue.

  It was Laovei who spoke up and covered his discomfiture. “You can’t call if both of you are hurt,” she said sadly. “Like me and Timinke.” Neime laid his hand on hers and squeezed it.

  “No, quite right,” Juimei said. “We’ll go in at least a small group, or not at all.” He smiled at Wepizi. “After all, some of us are getting a bit old to risk our bones.”

  There was a general chuckle at Wepizi’s expense—him being easily the oldest person in the room, except for Nuveize—and the man relaxed. But why did an excursion with just the two of them bother him now, when it had not before?

  Juimei didn’t know and didn’t dare ask because he didn’t want to cause another disturbance of Wepizi’s otherwise imperturbable calm. He tried to be on his best behaviour around him, and hoped whatever was bothering Wepizi, wasn’t Juimei himself.

  The winter deepened and the town shut down most activities as the river froze. Giwade decided he could cope with school but only every other day, so Juimei became his tutor—hardly an arduous duty, and the boy was an apt and pleasant pupil. It became usual for them and the other Blessed to congregate of an evening in the big reception room, while Juimei spoke to Giwade about history and governance, law, and the economics of their vast, productive land. More often than not, one or more of Jozin’s soldier friends was there, and Wepizi too. It was like a second classroom in a way, only much more relaxed and enjoyable.

  Juimei thought back to his years as a recluse and knew he couldn’t go back to living like that again. The problem was, going back to Visiqe meant l
eaving all this behind. The tug of war within him never let up. But still—he was determined to go. Eventually. Perhaps...in the summer. A few months’ delay wouldn’t hurt. Yes. That would make it easier, and the travel better too.

  Though the town was now in its winter hibernation, there were rumblings of activity, and behind closed doors, politics were afoot. Mayor Gixiel very suddenly wasn’t mayor, in an unheralded and undiscussed resignation. Juimei received the formal notification in person from his successor, Frankel. “His honour has decided that for reasons of his health, he will retire to Nedriz and allow his son to run the mills,” Elder—now Mayor—Frankel explained.

  “Ah. What a loss for the town,” Juimei said with perfect insincerity. “When will you announce it, your honour?”

  “At the winter feast. I could see no reason not to go on with it, despite Gixiel’s stepping down, and it’s a convenient time to take the inaugural oath in front of the required audience.”

  “And you’ll be moving into the residence immediately, I take it?”

  Frankel bowed a little. “At his honour’s convenience. The feast can take place regardless. You’ll attend now, won’t you, your highness?”

  “I haven’t decided,” Juimei said, deliberately careless. “My health is ever uncertain, as you know. I find such things a strain.”

  “Yes, of course. Though I would be only too delighted to receive you,” Frankel said.

  Slimy bastard, Juimei thought.

  He vented at Wepizi that afternoon when he turned up to discuss some minor arrangements about the policing in the northern third sector. “Of course he’d be delighted to have royalty at his inauguration. I don’t want to sit there with the bloody elders watching every move I make and criticising me. I don’t like them any better than Gixiel. Winter feasts are supposed to be joyful, not political. I suppose you’re going,” he added grumpily.