Home Ground (Darshian Tales #4)

by Ann Somerville

  Wepizi looked at him in slight surprise, not having thought about it that way before. “I suppose I have. I think I fit in better here than in Tsikiugui.”

  “Because it’s a fresh start. Lema never died here.”

  “Perhaps. There’s a good spirit here, though. I’m not saying everyone’s perfect, or that there aren’t bad or greedy people here—but the town came together after the earthquake in a way that really made me think Sephiz’s love was very strong here. I find that comforting.”

  Romi poked him in the chest. “Sephiz’s love is strong in you, if it is in anyone—and you make a place better by being here.”

  “You exaggerate, my friend.”

  “No, I don’t.” Romi walked up the steps to the base of the memorial and peered at the names. “‘Timinke’—that’s the Gifted boy who was killed?”

  “Yes. So sad—it was just a little excursion to give Laovei a treat because they’d been so miserable over the winter, and things had been hard for them all. The barn roof and wall collapsed on them, caught them both unawares. If it hadn’t been so fast, his talent would have got them out.”

  “Even the most powerful Gift doesn’t make you immortal,” Romi said with a grimace. “This is probably the first public record of one of the Blessed in the whole of Andon, do you realise?”

  Wepizi nodded. “Jui’s not unaware of the importance. It makes a bond between the Blessed and the people of the town—that and the work they’ve done for us. If they have to leave, it will be painful for everyone. They’ve become part of the heart of the town too.”

  Romi rang his hand carefully down the gold inlaid list of names. “You know, Karik’s uncle Kei says we gifted have to make our own family and clan, because we can’t have children, and because we’ll always be separated from others because of our talent. I think that might be true for a lot of people—like you, like Juimei. There are all kinds of reasons we have to start something new and make it better than the alternative. I think that’s what you’ve done here, both of you. I think it’d be a damn shame if he threw that away just for glory and power.”

  “It’s his decision. I can’t say it would be a choice I’d like, but he needs the freedom to make it.’ Wepizi straightened up, looked at the position of the sun in the sky. “We should get back.”

  Romi nodded, but before they started to walk away, he came to attention and saluted the memorial. Wepizi did the same.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For honouring our people.”

  “The human spirit should be honoured,” Romi said. “We’re all people, whatever our gift or our nationality. The dead have no borders.”

  Romi was always such a sensible person to talk to. The conversation had done Wepizi good, and he definitely felt less fraught as he returned to his duties. But his thoughts were still at the other end of town, with his lover, wondering what conclusions Juimei was coming to, what decision he was preparing to make.

  He couldn’t help but think that perhaps he should go and make things easier for Juimei, tell him he would go to Visiqe—but he knew that was an insulting thing to propose, the kind of pity that made Juimei the angriest. No—he couldn’t do that. If they had to part, they had to part having acted with honour. But it made the waiting no easier.

  There was no word from his prince that day. Wepizi struggled to keep up a cheerful front as he spent time with his own soldiers and the Darshianese. Sitting around the stove that evening, drinking drizu with his people—normally something he enjoyed—was a real trial. He finally had to make an excuse to leave. Romi cast him a worried look, and would clearly have joined him at the slightest encouragement, but Wepizi gave him none. He needed to be with Juimei—but since he couldn’t have that, he needed to be alone.

  The town walls again offered him refuge. The view had changed since his first ascent in search of peace and quiet—now lights stretched out on both sides of the wall, probably more outside than in, since there were almost five hundred people living in the new barracks now. They were slowly bringing people back into their homes, and moving soldiers out of tents and into proper shelter, but it would be months before the military buildings were used purely for that purpose.

  The distinction between army and civilian was always blurred anyway—so many of the soldiers were from the town, or married into it, their children going to the school, their spouses or lovers working in the town and the mills, or even on the nearby farms. There had never been a question of ‘them’ and ‘us’, and that had been important as they’d recovered. Wepizi much preferred it that way—one of the things about their northern expedition which had so troubled him had been the rank hostility towards the presence of the army. He understood the historical reasons for it, and knew the northern tribes were very different from those in the southeast, but it had been a blow to his honour and desire to serve all Andonese, to have his military status thrown in his face like that.

  He found his usual spot, and sat, his knees under his chin. He couldn’t see the lights of the residence from here, but it didn’t matter. He knew Juimei was there, and it comforted him.

  Pretty foolish, eh, my love? I hold you in my heart wherever I go, but I need him to be physically close. Would I stop loving him if he went away? Oh, Lema...how can I miss you so much, and still love him? I don’t understand it.

  But yet, was it so puzzling? Sephiz taught everyone that all should be done in love, and love should be borne toward all people. If it wasn’t possible to love more than one person at a time, then surely the benevolent god would not ask it.

  This relationship was different from what he’d had with his darling girl. He and Lema had planned children, they’d had friends with young families, they’d been part of the barracks community and just as ordinary as any other two young people in love. But with Juimei, they could never just be ‘ordinary’. It hadn’t been a heady exciting courtship, full of romance and delicate manoeuvring. With him, it was more like a slow burn, a gentle growth of a friendship where love was just the final act. It seemed right that they were where they were now—but until they’d got there, Wepizi hadn’t had it in his mind at all. Not like meeting Lema and falling head over heels with her almost from the start. Maybe it was different between men. Or maybe being older and more sensible made the difference. He simply didn’t know.

  Benevolent Sephiz, please—help me. Help Juimei make the choice that’s right, give me the strength to bear it if it goes the way I don’t want. I just want him to find his peace. I can accept his decision, if it makes him happy.

  But if he thought it was the wrong choice, for the wrong reason, he would argue, at the very least. That, he would have to do.

  Oh, Juimei. I bet this is giving you a headache, and yet you haven’t asked me to help. Are you afraid I’d try and change your mind?

  The prolonged silence couldn’t be good news, he thought, however optimistic he tried to be.

  But at least if he could really not bear the suspense anymore, all he had to do was climb down off the wall, march up the street, and demand Juimei talk to him. If Juimei was in Visiqe, Wepizi wouldn’t be able to do that. Or touch him, or make love to him, or argue with him, or take him out for a ride, or teach him how to hunt again. Juimei wouldn’t be able to tease him about his moustache, or how skinny he was, or make jokes about the difference in their height. He wouldn’t be with him. And that, Wepizi realised, was simply not acceptable.

  He couldn’t, in good conscience, do anything to influence Juimei’s decision. But if he wasn’t to be an unspeakable coward, then he had to make a choice how to meet that decision, whatever it was. To do less wouldn’t be true to himself, and wouldn’t be fair to Juimei.

  I know this is right, Lema. Forgive me if it’s wrong to you. One day, I’ll see you again, and I hope you’ll understand.

  He sat up on the walls until he was cold and stiff, then returned to his room. Karik and Romi were already curled up together on their bedroll. As Wepizi quietly closed the door, he was a littl
e startled at a glowing ball of light appearing near him, until he realised Romi had put up a fire sprite to help him see better than the dim lamp allowed. He undressed quickly and crept over to his bed, the fire sprite winking out of existence as soon as he was under the covers. He rolled over and looked down at the bedroll—Romi was watching him.

  “Are you all right?” Romi whispered.

  “Yes. I know what I’m going to do now. Talk tomorrow.”

  Romi gave a little grunt of agreement, then burrowed down under his blankets, tucking his nose in against Karik’s hair. That simple gesture made Wepizi feel rather wistful, and even more sure that his decision was the right one. He now had to wait for Juimei to make his own. It would be a long wait.

  Home Ground: 33

  The message came at lunchtime to come up to the residence that evening for an informal meal, and rather to his surprise, Karik and Romi were invited too. It wasn’t what Wepizi had been expecting at all, but when he asked Nuveize for a clue, she was irritatingly close-mouthed about it. He suspected she was still offended by his shutting her out of his discussion with Juimei, but her petulance was badly timed. All the other Blessed were suspiciously unavailable too—including Jozin, on leave so he could spend time with the Darshianese newcomers. Wepizi was forced to resort to asking Tovoi to spar with him to work off his anxious frustration. It didn’t help as much as it might.

  As he got dressed and ready for supper, he found himself grooming and regrooming his moustache, and finally forced himself to stop in case he made it all fall out. Romi came in from his own wash, and found him grimacing at his little shaving mirror.

  “You need a drink,” Romi said, clapping his hand on Wepizi’s shoulder.

  “No alcohol in the barracks, you know that.”

  “Yes, but you still need a drink.” Romi sat on the bed. “You really have no idea what he’s decided?”

  “No. He might not have done so. This might just be a social event.” But that really wasn’t Juimei’s way of doing things.

  Romi didn’t think it was likely either. “You think he wants us there to support you?”

  “Possibly. If it makes you uncomfortable, then you don’t have to go.”

  “No. If it’s bad news, you need us. If it’s not, then you still need us. I’m going. Besides,” he said with a wry smile, “the food’s better than in the barracks.”

  “Hmmm, considering you nearly starved to death two years ago, captain, you’re damn picky over what you eat.” They turned and grinned at Karik, standing in the doorway. “Wepizi, maybe you should go up there first and pin him down about this. It seems unfair of him to make an announcement to all of us.”

  “I don’t know that he is, Karik. I trust him to respect my feelings. Now, are you ready?”

  “Yes—but your moustache looks a bit wonky.”

  Wepizi cursed, and had to spend another five minutes forcing the thing into shape. It was worse than a misbehaving doig some days, truly.

  Gimoz greeted them all cheerfully, as usual, and there was nothing in his manner to give a hint as to what Juimei was up to. “His highness is in the small dining room, tezrei. Please go in when you’re ready.”

  Wepizi smiled politely, and turned to his companions. “Well, am I ready?”

  “Bit late now if you’re not,” Romi said. “We’re here, don’t forget that.”

  He nodded. This nervousness was really most unbecoming of his rank, and he decided he would not tolerate it.

  “Come on, then.”

  He found everyone already seated, which was odd, and the only three places empty at the round table—set, so he noticed, with some of the residence’s finest porcelain, as well as elegant flower arrangements—were next to Juimei himself. Neime and Laovei were on the other side of him—Neime smiled brightly at him, but did it mean he knew something? Wepizi couldn’t tell.

  The prince, looking particularly neatly turned out in the blue which suited his colouring so well, stood as Wepizi came in, and beckoned him over.

  “Sorry it took so long,” he murmured after politely greeting Karik and Romi. He took Wepizi’s hand, then kissed his cheek. “You look terrible.”

  “I didn’t sleep that well. We...couldn’t do this privately instead, could we?”

  “No, I’m afraid that’s not possible. Just sit, and I’ll explain.” Wepizi did so—Juimei kept holding his hand, but remained on his feet. He tapped a glass gently and the slight noise of conversation died. “Welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming at such short notice, Romi, Karik—I wanted you to be here because I know how fond Wepizi is of you, and you of him, and I felt you should hear this all too. Anyone mind if I sit while I talk to you?”

  No one did, naturally, so he sat down, gave Wepizi a brief smile, then turned to everyone else.

  “Some of you know why I’ve got you all together here tonight. Only three of us—including me—know what I’m about to say. I’m sorry for the secrecy, but there have been a lot of things to consider. As some of you know, my father, the king, has asked me to return to Visiqe and become part of the council. He’s also asked me to instruct all of the Blessed to come to Visiqe and live there under the direct control of the crown and council. I’ve given the matter some thoughts, and I’ve decided that I will have to respectfully decline both requests.”

  “Jui!”

  Juimei turned and grinned at Wepizi, squeezing his fingers. “Don’t tell me you wanted to go to Visiqe after all.”

  “No! But—”

  Juimei raised his hand. “Let me explain. The reasons for not going to Visiqe myself are many. Some are personal,” he said, smiling at Wepizi, “but some are not. But having decided I’ll make my home here, I realised to do that, I had to make a stand against forcing our Blessed to do what none of you want to do. Not only because it will make you unhappy, but because I believe the policy is ill conceived. No disrespect to the Darshianese,” he said, nodding at Romi and past him and Karik, to Neka and Jera beside them, “but the way you keep your Gifted in pampered idleness is not the best way of integrating them with the community. I know many of your people do serve and are active, but there’s no expectation, and I believe that takes away the sense your contribution is valuable.”

  “Not in all cases, your highness,” Neka corrected. “But in some. Lord Arman has been active in changing the policy, and our younger Gifted are now encouraged to become useful. We still need to protect people like us from normals though.”

  Juimei acknowledged her words with a bow of his head. “Yes, you do, and in that respect, my father’s wishes make sense. However, I am going to make an alternative proposal which ties in with my own personal plans. I am going to buy land here and build an estate—an estate I plan to entail upon Neime and Laovei, to be held in trust after my death and theirs for the Blessed to use as a place of sanctuary, a true home, close to this town, and intended to allow them to interact with the community while offering some protection from any threat.”

  He paused, and looked at them all as they absorbed this further news. “That home will be open to all of you, and any more of you who choose to emerge from hiding. I will travel to Visiqe and explain this to my father—I’ll tell him that in exchange for shelter and support, the Blessed have agreed to commit their services to the public good. You’ll have rights and you’ll have responsibilities, like all Andonese citizens. And you’ll have a home here as long as you need it, I swear on my honour. What you do with it, how you use it, is your choice. Is that acceptable to you all?”

  There was a general shout of ‘yes’ and many happy grins. Giwade smiled to himself as if quietly satisfied—Nuveize looked unbearably smug, as well she might.

  “You could have hinted, you know,” Wepizi said, reproaching her.

  “No, I couldn’t. Besides, this is much more fun.”

  Through his own bubbling relief and joy, he became aware Neime was looking at Juimei in shock.

  “You’re...giving me an estate?” the lad said, staring at hi
s friend.

  “Yes,” Juimei said, smiling at Neime. “If you won’t let me live there, then I’ll just live here. Why, don’t you want one?”

  For an answer, Neime did what Wepizi had never once seen him do—and that was to throw his arms around his prince and hug him until he could hardly breathe.

  “Thank you. Benevolent god, thank you so much.”

  “Wait a minute, lad,” Juimei said, smiling as he pushed Neime back off him. “You have to work for the privilege. If I’m going back to Visiqe every so often as I plan to—with Jozin or Saimiri’s help—then I’ll need someone to stand in for me. Neime, you’ve just been promoted to deputy governor. In time, I hope you’ll be full governor, because I don’t intend to die in harness.”

  Neime opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again—looked at Wepizi, then at Laovei—then closed it again.

  “Jui, I think you might have to fix him,” Wepizi said with a chuckle.

  “It’s not a joke, Neime. Is it not something you want?”

  “Me? G-governor?”

  “Of course you,” Juimei said, his mouth twitching a little in amusement. Neime’s astonishment was pretty funny, Wepizi had to agree. “Why not—you’re only a little younger than I was when I took the job on. In a couple of years, if it was necessary, you could step in. The region needs that assurance. Which is why,” Juimei said, turning to Wepizi, “you should be training your replacement, Tezrei. So I can whisk you off to Visiqe if I need a personal escort.”

  Wepizi bowed, still unable to wipe the grin off his face. “I’ll get onto that immediately, your highness. What if his majesty objects to this?”

  “Well...he could sack me. But he can’t take my money, and he can’t make the Blessed do what they don’t want to. If he asks you to try, which I very much doubt he will, and hope he won’t—you’ll have to decide if you would obey that order.”

  “No. For it would be against Sephiz’s laws which are above even the king and council. I’ll resign first.”

  “Don’t do that,” Juimei said gently. “Let’s try talking to him. Sorry to keep you in suspense. I only really made my mind up this morning, and I still had to make some arrangements. Are you angry?”