Jozo grunted. “Maybe they send all the feisty buggers up to Darshek, and the placid ones stay to work the land. All right, but if you fall off that thing and break your foolish neck, I’ll weep no tears for you.”
“The gods forbid. I’ll be back in a few hours. The thing isn’t that big.”
He found Loke waiting patiently, sensibly carrying a pack which doubtless held water canteens, with a rope looped over his shoulders. “I can’t believe you talked me into climbing something again,” Loke muttered.
“Urs beasts' farts? Remind you of anything?”
“Ah. Yes, now I recall.”
It was another hot day, even though they were supposedly coming into winter. It had rained in the night a couple of times, but the ground had not stayed wet for more than an hour or so, and hadn’t inhibited their progress in the least. The earth here soaked the water away like a sponge. Arman wondered where it went. There was a lot more vegetation than the rainfall and the surface waterholes could apparently sustain. Calling this land a ‘desert’ was inaccurate, to say the least.
It wasn’t like climbing the basalt and granite mountains on Kuplik—something Arman had done a few times for amusement and with serious intent. The curves of the sandstone were almost womanly by comparison, but unlike a woman’s body, they offered few handholds. He was forced to recall long-unused skills to find places for his feet, to anchor himself so he could haul Loke up. With the help of a few scrubby bushes, wind-scooped holes here and there, Loke’s rope used judiciously, and a good deal of grunting and sweat, they finally hauled themselves over the crest, where they found a flat platform on which twenty men could comfortably camp.
Arman squinted at the horizon, and the long expanse of dusty brown terrain, broken liberally by green that was probably trees along waterholes and streams. He supposed if they had come a few weeks earlier, there would have been the gold and rusty reds of grain fields too. It was very unlike the land in which he’d been born, with its high peaks, lush narrow valleys, and racing, vigorous rivers. The area around Utuk was less mountainous, but nothing like this.
“So, was it worth the climb? What do you think of the view?”
Loke sank to the ground, legs crossed. “It’s flat. Very flat. And look, over there—more plains, which are also flat.” He grinned. “But it’s nice enough. How far do you think we can see?”
“Oh, forty miles or more. Look, I think that might be Darbin there...see? The smoke?”
Loke squinted. “Yes, I think I see it.” He sighed. “I can’t help but feel sorry for them. We’re about to turn their lives upside down.”
“In the short term, yes, we are. In the long term, if they’re sensible, they’ll benefit from being part of the empire. We don’t want them to stop doing what they do, only to whom they send the fruits of their labours. It’s Darshek we want.”
“Yes, I know. You don’t need to explain,” Loke said in faint reproach. “Still...I’m glad I’m of the Prij. Those Darshianese hostages weren’t expecting their lives to take this turn. I hope they will forgive us, in time.”
“They likely will. People want stability. If we give it to them, they’ll forgive the trouble now.” Well, we hope. Loke’s earlier remark came back to Arman now. “And what of you, my friend? What do you want from life?”
Loke looked at him in confusion. “Want? Why, nothing more than this. To serve you, to help you enjoy what time you have to yourself. Is that not enough?”
“Aye, at seventeen. But at twenty-seven? Would you wish to marry?”
“No, Sei Arman.”
The emphatic response surprised him. “No wish at all?”
“None.”
Loke was uncharacteristically unforthcoming, so Arman left it aside for now. He would tease a reason from him later, perhaps. “Well, there are other things. I could pay for you to study again, if you wished. You could become a tutor in a nobleman’s home, build a reputation and a fortune the way Karus has.”
Loke twisted around to look at him. “Do I displease you, Arman? Do you want me not to serve you any more?”
His expression was wide-eyed, and slightly hurt. “Not at all, my friend,” Arman reassured him quickly. “But it’s selfish of me to keep you as a servant, when you could do something else if you wished.”
“Your family gave me and my mother a home and a role when my father died. I’ve never had a moment’s regret over that. I have blessed the day I was set to serve you. Please don’t ask such questions. I’m happy with you, and will be until you no longer wish me to stay.”
Arman put his arm around Loke and hugged him to his side, regretting the inadvertent hurt he had caused. “Apologies. I was only trying to be a friend.”
Loke rested forgivingly against him, his slight body a comfortable weight to hold. “As you ever are. A true and kind friend, the best I could ever wish for. Please don’t send me away.”
“I won’t,” Arman murmured, his lips against Loke’s hair. “I’m sorry, lad. Forget I spoke, and don’t let the fate of the Darshianese concern you either. The Prij are just rulers, as you know.”
“Yes. It’s a fair land, but I think I like Kuprij better, for all the sea does such cruel things to my guts. It’s disquieting, being so far from water, is it not?”
Arman supposed it was. He didn’t tend to become attached to his surroundings in that way, and was still curious enough to enjoy new sights, new adventures. One day, he supposed, he might be like Jozo, and see it all as a necessary evil, liking nothing more than to retreat to the comfort of the tent and his house at the end of his campaigns, but the lack of hospitality in Arman’s home made him less wedded to his comforts. Being candid as he tried to be with himself, he admitted to himself he could be content because he had his home with him.
But he said nothing of this to Loke for fear of being seen as sentimental and putting a burden of responsibility on young shoulders that already carried so much. Still, if Loke was waiting to be sent away, he would be waiting a very, very long time.
~~~~~~~~
It had been a good harvest this year and the surpluses across the outlying areas would feed Darshek well. The clan had spent a furious week bringing in their own grain from the local farms, and another week threshing and storing. Already the winter crop of beans was being planted, ready for the rains which would come in a month or so. Peit and the hunters had returned with several good-sized wild jombeker carcasses, many desert hisks, valuable for their meat and their fur, and cages of live wildfowl, so the harvest feast would be a rich one. There would be plenty of other contributions, not only for the celebrations, but to tide them over the coming season. Tido trees had been stripped of their fruit, baskets of gike plums and refik berries collected, some for the feast, most for drying. Hives were robbed of their honey and their wax, and any big oroj cricket crossing a child’s path was likely to be pounced on with glee and stuffed in a cage, since they made good eating and were delicious roasted.
For days now, there had been a flurry of baking and brewing, houses being cleaned, clothes being mended and new ones made for the night of the ancestors. Kei was glad Reji would be here for it this year, even though he would leave shortly after, taking grain and dried medicinal plants to Darshek. No pujum ore this time, although having just taken a load north, it wouldn’t be expected. By the time he returned after the rainy season, Rin’s family should have a good supply ready for Reji, with their kiln now rebuilt.
Kei had done his bit towards cleaning the house, but had kept out of Myka’s way as she cooked, since she tended to become rather irritable when she was baking. Instead, he worked with Reji, helping him make minor repairs to his house, checking his larders, and making love as the mood took them. He’d miss Reji more than usual this time. It had been a happy month, no serious illness in the clan, the successful harvest putting everyone in a good mood, and with the anticipation of the feast a cheerful occupation. For the first time since he had returned from Darshek after his parents’ deaths, Kei felt e
ntirely comfortable in his skin and in his role in life.
This morning, he and Reji took a walk, spending a last day together being idle before Reji left to go north again. Everywhere people were busy, rugs being shaken at doorways and brooms worked furiously, men on roofs here and there, or patching walls. Kei felt positively debauched not to be similarly occupied, but not so guilty he was going to help. He’d completed all his own tasks the day before, and Myka had again forbidden him to spend the day at his books, so unless he wanted to be unusually altruistic, he had no one but Reji with a claim on his time. He spotted two familiar figures heading out of the village, and called to them. “Banji-ki! Risa! Wait for us!”
Banji turned at his hail. “Good morning. I’m off to collect some gren nuts for Meis.”
“Is she going to make gren cakes? The ones with honey and pyjk berries?” Reji rubbed his stomach appreciatively, which made his friends grin. Meis’s gren cakes were something of a speciality of her family. “Can we help?”
“Sure, but I don’t want you eating what we collect before I get them back to Meis. She wants them for the feast tonight and she’ll skin me alive if I don’t bring enough home.”
Kei was content to join in the excursion. Reji loved gren cakes, after all. Risa slipped back and took his hand in friendly fashion, swinging a woven basket in his other hand. Kei looked down at him. “How come Pij and Misek aren’t helping?”
“Pij is baking, and Misek’s helping Uncle Lev tan a hide. Then Pa wants him to help him with the storage shed. We all are, when we get back.”
The blessings of a large family. Meis and Rin were already unusual in having three children by blood, and now Banji had been adopted, they had a family the size of Fedor’s. And all of their children were fertile.
Risa was a solemn child, but he was happy enough today. An air of melancholy still clung to Banji, but his friend had borne the loss of his father better than he and Myka had feared. Myka had helped, as had Misek. Even Meis’s grief had abated a little. Reji had done a lot in that regard. Kei gave his lover’s back a smile as he remembered.
As if he were a mind-speaker and not a fire-shaper, Reji turned and grinned, falling back and putting his arm around Kei’s waist. “What are you smiling about, Keichichi? It makes me think you have mischief planned.”
Kei shoved him away. “Oh, ho, as if I would have a chance with you around, master prankster. You had better be on your best behaviour tonight, or the ancestors will steal you away for their amusement in the other world, for I’m sure they need a laugh or two, eh, Risa?”
Risa smiled. “Poor Rei-ki wouldn’t get any gren cakes there, would he?”
Reji swooped him up and tickled him. “And how would you know that, Risa-ki? For all you know, the gren nuts are even better there, and they have nothing better to do than to make cakes and sweets all day long. Maybe the spirits will take you too, to make you find the nuts for them, huh?” He set Risa down, and the child immediately ran ahead of them, Reji pretending to chase, as if his long legs were somehow no match for the stubby ones of a child.
Kei shook his head fondly. “Such energy,” he said, wiping his forehead as if merely watching Reji made him sweat.
“I know,” Banji said with a resigned sigh. “I get tired just thinking about him.”
They continued to walk along towards the far edge of the waterhole, where the gren bushes grew in scattered clumps, but as they did, Kei noticed Banji had something on his wrist, a dark circlet poking out from under his shirt sleeve. He caught his friend’s hand, and grinned as he realised what it was. “And who’s become your sweetheart in arms and heart, Banji-ki?” he asked slyly, touching the hair bracelet.
“None of your business,” Banji said, tugging his arm away.
“Oh, Banji,” Kei said in a faked hurt tone. This was a perfect topic for teasing. “You can tell me, I’m your best friend.”
“Not on your life. And I would appreciate you not bringing this up in front of Meis or anyone else,” Banji said stiffly.
“You’re really worried?” Kei tugged his friend to a halt. “If you’re pledged, this would be good news for everyone.”
“I’m not damn well pledged! It’s a hair bracelet, nothing more. My father’s only been dead three months. It’s tasteless to talk of more.”
“Oh, urs piss. Ban would tell you that too. Nothing would give him greater joy than if you found someone to love you.”
“Yes, well, love is another thing altogether,” Banji muttered, walking on. The emotions Kei felt from his friend puzzled him. There was irritation, and sadness, and...confusion. Was this girl playing with Banji’s affections?
“Maybe I should speak to her, find out if she’s serious” He squinted at his friend’s face, suddenly an inch from his own. He couldn’t move back because Banji had taken his shirt in a death grip. “Oy, oy, no need to get rough!”
“I don’t want you speaking to anyone, damn it!” Banji shook him a little and let him go. “Just let things move as they will, and if and when I want to tell you about it, I will. Until then, I’ll thank you not to harass me over it.”
Kei held his hands up in surrender. Banji could take things so seriously at times. “As you wish. Just don’t get your heart broken, or the girl pregnant, until you’re sure, all right?” Banji grunted and walked on. “I hope she’s pretty, though.”
“Kei, shut up.”
“But—”
“Shut up or I’ll stuff a fistful of gren nuts where they’ll do the most good in shutting you up.”
“Er. All right.”
Chapter : Darshian 7
The army marched on Darbin village shortly after dawn, Jozo and Arman at its head in full regalia, the better to awe and impress the barbarians. The noise of the trumpets and drums was enough to raise the dead, and it brought the villagers out in seconds. They were early risers in this part of world, for the grim-faced adults were all fully dressed. The men carried work axes and forks, but it was only for show as it had been in the previous two villages, and there was no actual resistance. Arman indicated to his lieutenant to ride forward, and read out the terms of their surrender. He paid no attention to his officer, instead scanning the assembled people, assessing their reactions, and wondering who would be selected as hostages. They had allowed the villagers to select their own up to now, reserving the right to replace any that were not suitable. There wasn’t a vast choice here—there were few men and women in their prime, mostly children and middle aged folk. A village in trouble, dying on its feet. Prij did it a favour in taking charge of it.
The lieutenant had finished his announcement, and now demanded the clan head to step forward. Interesting—a woman. He hadn’t known the Darshianese had female clan heads. Arman had just opened his mouth to comment on the fact to Jozo when he heard a curious whistling noise, and then an enormous crack of an explosion behind him. Immediately, there was chaos, dust and smoke rising and billowing everywhere, choking and making eyes water, the urs beasts rearing and screaming their terror, people scattering in all directions.
“Hold the line, hold the damn line!” Arman yelled, pulling hard on the reins and trying to keep his seat on his bucking mount, before gaining control and plunging to the front of the turmoil. “Staff! Hold them under control! Lieutenant, what the hells just happened!”
Jozo was already leading the rounding up of the scattering villagers, and tightening the circle around the hamlet. Arman scanned desperately to see where and what had been hit. “Lieutenant, report, damn it!”
“A bomb, general. I think it’s the supply train.”
Loke. Arman yanked on the reins, whipped his mount into a gallop and charged through the ranks, men scattering from his path. Ahead, lay carnage. Dead or injured beasts, men crushed beneath them. Already others were trying to pull them free, and to capture the animals which had panicked. Arman searched desperately. “Loke! Has anyone seen Loke!”
He dismounted and ran to the centre of the destruction. “Loke! Has
anyone seen my page?”
“Sei Arman! Over here!”
He wheeled and ran to the man who’d called him. Loke was half trapped under a dead urs beast.
“Get him out! Get this thing off him!”
Arman leant his bulk and strength to the task of rolling the enormous corpse off Loke’s legs, and the second he was free, Arman knelt beside him, ripping off his helmet and setting it beside him. Loke’s face was white and one hand clawed at an injury in his side. Blood seeped through his fingers. “Get me a medic, now!”
Arman was aware of activity in response to his words, but all he could see was Loke’s face. “Loke, speak to me. Open your eyes, lad.” He cupped Loke’s chin. “Loke, it’s Arman.”
Loke’s eyes were squeezed shut in obvious pain, but he forced them open, and tried to smile. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “Arman,” he whispered. “Hurts....”
“We’ll soon have you fixed. Where in six hells is that cursed medic!” he bellowed.
A man pushed through the watching soldiers. “Here, Sei Arman. Let me look at him.”
Arman sat back, gnawing worry eating at his insides, as Loke was prodded and questioned, and the injury to his side revealed. A bandage was pressed against it, then the medic stood. “We need to get him out of the sun, onto a pallet.”
“Erect my tent,” Arman said to the soldiers around him. “Do whatever he needs.” Five of them immediately left to carry out his orders. “Can you heal him? Is it serious?”
The medic indicated he should move away a little, out of earshot. “Sei Arman, I’m sorry...but the injury is grave.”
“Yes, I can damn well see that—can you heal him?”
“No, I cannot. I can make him comfortable, but the wound is mortal.”
“No!” Arman gripped the man by the shoulders and shook him. “No! Do something, stop the bleeding! I won’t accept it!”
Kei's Gift Page 7