Karik swallowed. “Romi....everyone wuh-will know.”
“No. Arman will know, and Kei, I imagine, because he would have to tell him. After that, it might not be necessary to give precise details to anyone else. The criminal here is Soza, not you. You’ve done nothing at all to be ashamed of.” He searched Karik’s face. “I know how brave you are. I know your courage is up to this.”
“And if it’s not? Will you d-despise me?”
“Of course not. This is a deeply personal decision. You have to live with it, not me. I know that if you decide you can’t, it won’t be because of cowardice. The only coward here is Soza.”
Romi continued to look earnestly into Karik’s eyes until he nodded. “I need to th-think.”
“Yes, you do. I’ll help in whatever way I can—so will Wepizi.” He leaned back, and contemplated his mug. “Home in under three weeks.”
“Not for you,” Karik said quietly.
“Well, close enough to home. My parents will get a message as soon as we can pass one from Darshek, and I don’t have any other home as such.”
Karik looked at him in surprise. “I thought you thought of Temshek barracks as home.”
“I did...before. When I left, I did. Now I have to wonder why I’m in such a hurry to go back.” He looked so melancholy, Karik had to clench his fist on his thigh under the table to prevent himself reaching over to touch Romi’s frown. “You’re lucky. You have strong ties in Darshek—you have two true homes.”
“I...yes.” He looked down. But I would give both up for you—if you asked. Perhaps he was grateful that Romi never would, because it would surely hurt beyond bearing to leave Kei and Jes and Arman again, perhaps forever.
Romi suddenly clapped him on the shoulder. “Enough of this. Wepizi’s very interested in what we achieved at Mount Arzha, and that bastard Kizinke actually delivered my reports, apparently with many pious utterances about our ‘terrible loss’. How about you and I look over them, and make notes for him? Or you might like to look at their library—there wasn’t much time last time we were here.”
“No, reports.” There would be time for books later. Time for Romi now.
~~~~~~~~
The two days to Kepi and Taz’s departure went swiftly, and before Karik had really time to think too much about it, it was time for the farewells he had dreaded for so long. None of them were dry-eyed as Kepi hugged him and then Romi, Taz doing the same. “Gods, I feel closer to you than my own family,” Kepi said, wiping his cheeks and blowing his nose. “Romi, pissing well write this time, will you? And Karik? I need to know how things are with you.”
“You have my word on it,” Karik said. “But you must do the same—you too, Taz. And when you see the others, give them a hug—tell them I miss them and worry about them all the time.”
“Will do—I know they’ll be glad of news of you, once they get over the shock of finding out we’re all still alive. Hey, Romi—do dead soldiers get paid?”
“Not a rina,” Romi said with a grin. “But you can look at your own grave marker, if that’s any comfort to you.”
“I’ll never hear the end of this,” Taz said, shaking his head.
There was a knock at the door and a muffled, “Time to go, gentlemen.” The lift to the docks was there.
Taz straightened and threw the smartest salute Karik had ever seen him give. “An honour to serve with you, captain. I’ll never forget any of it.”
Romi returned the salute. “You’ll both be personally commended in the report, Taz. I’ve been lucky and honoured to have you with me, and I’ll be grateful for all you’ve done until the day I die.”
“You just make sure that’s a good number of years off, you hear?” Kepi growled, then hastily wiped at his cheeks again. “Damn it.” He saluted. “An honour and a blessing to serve with you, captain.”
Romi saluted and then embraced his friend again. “Safe journey, you two. Now, you better go.”
Another quick hug, then packs were shouldered and they went out in the freezing pre-dawn to catch their ride. Karik stood, a little at a loss for a moment. Romi cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. “Uh...well. Tea?”
It felt so strange. They had been four, now two, and people who had been at his side constantly for months—nearly a year, in fact—were gone utterly from his life. Would they really write? Or would they slip away, caught up in their everyday lives and work, and forget all about their annoying civilian companion?
Wepizi, ever kind, and obviously still in shock over their reappearance, took them in hand immediately. Karik would have let him spend time alone with Romi, who was very subdued after his friends’ departure, but both insisted he was both welcome and wanted. For his own part, Karik was in no hurry to avoid the company of this gentle, pious man—he would miss Wepizi very much.
There was much to do before they left. Other than Wepizi taking a most thorough statement from Karik concerning the events leading up to the landslide, and his observations of Kizinke’s behaviour that morning, the two malefactors were not mentioned again. Instead, he wished to dissect the mission, both before and after the group had split—its successes and failures, and their recommendations for any future expeditions. That more were needed was unquestioned. Karik just found it hard to whip up any enthusiasm to participate in another any time soon. Romi, when pressed, would only say that with the right team, he’d be willing to venture out again at some point, but he wasn’t exactly champing at the bit.
The guest quarters were very quiet at night without Kepi and Taz’s cheerful conversation. It was companionable though—just the two of them, sipping tea and thinking their own thoughts, talking quietly and easily as the friends they had come to be. Karik wished there was some reason he and Romi could share a bunk again, but the time for that had passed. Romi was improving every day—small steps, for sure, but he was no longer prone to doze off, and ordinary exertion had long since ceased to make him winded—and there was no need for Karik to make sure he slept well. Karik’s own rest was still troubled by nightmares, but that was a problem that would improve over time. Just how much time was the crucial question, but no one had an answer for that.
Finally, it was time for their own departure. Wepizi personally accompanied them down to the docks mid-afternoon on a bright, still day that managed to be colder than even the snowiest they’d had this autumn. “You’re in luck, my friends—there’s little demand for passenger space at this time of year, and I’ve authorised a proper cabin for your transport. After all, we have an invalid to get safely back,” he added with a mischievous twinkle.
“Invalid, my bottom,” Romi said dryly. “You watch, Lep Wepizi—in six months’ time, I’ll be able to kick your arse again.”
“I most sincerely pray it will be so, my friend.” He embraced Romi and the two men had a brief whispered conversation before moving apart. “And our brave young friend.” Karik was hugged tightly. “Look after Romi, for he’s precious to me.”
“I’ll see he gets the best medical advice in Darshian,” Karik declared.
“That too,” Wepizi said cryptically. He let Karik go and shook his head ruefully. “Ah, well. May Sephiz keep you safe.”
Romi clasped his shoulder. “I’ll write as soon as I’m settled with news of everyone.”
“You too, Karik. I shall expect to be inundated with messages.”
“I promise, Wepizi. Thank you for everything.”
And then they had to board, Wepizi giving them one last bow and watching them board, before ordering his driver to turn the cart around and take him back to the barracks. Karik approved—watching people leave was a miserable and pointless business.
This ship was rather different from those on which Karik had travelled before, as it was designed to take rather more passengers than most—so while there were, their attendant told them as he took them to their cabin, several vacant berths, there were still thirty or so people who had paid for passage to Darshek. They passed several in the corridors
, in fact—and at least two were Prijian. Karik was rather disoriented by that—for nearly a year he had felt like he was the only Prij in Andon, the only one anyone had ever seen, but here was a reminder that the Prij, like the Darshianese, did travel to Andon, and some even lived there permanently. Once again, he was just a normal member of society, and not a freak to be treated with scorn or suspicion. It felt good.
The cabin was small, but perfectly comfortable—designed to carry two people with plenty of space, or a family of four sharing two wide bunks. It was positively luxurious after their recent travails, and Romi thought so too. “How decadent,” he murmured, sitting on the lower bunk. “My colonel would be shocked.”
“Let him do a six hundred mile trek and then he can complain,” Karik said. He unpacked his diary and notes and put them on the little desk. “There won’t be much to do for two weeks.”
“No—I’ll have to think hard of ways to amuse you. Don’t want you getting into mischief.”
Karik shook his head at his friend’s impertinence. “Perhaps I’ll write up an account of the most annoying officer in the Darshianese army, and sell it for a rina on the street corner.”
“We could make it a double pamphlet with my tale of the little Prij who wandered far and came home to his mother.”
Karik wagged his finger at Romi. “Listen here, you bastard—I’m not that small, and I’m only a little younger than you.”
“I don’t think I ever knew how old you were, actually.”
“Twenty-two. And you’re twenty-six because you had your birthday two months ago.”
Romi raised his eyebrows. “Twenty-two? I thought you were my age. Now that explains a lot,” he said in a perfectly annoying way. “No wonder you’re such a brat.”
“So how do you explain your own inadequacies, captain?” Karik grinned. “This sounds like where we came in, don’t you think?”
“Not really,” Romi said quietly. “I know you better now, and understand your motives. I regret the wasted time though, when we could have been friends.”
“So do I,” Karik said, throat closing with sorrow. “Romi...I....”
“Yes?”
“I.... I better go investigate the galley. You don’t need to come.”
“Karik?”
“It’s all right. I’ll be back soon.”
He left the cabin before Romi could question him, glad he had managed to avoid making an idiot of himself. Don’t be a fool, he told himself sternly.
~~~~~~~~
He managed to get his stupid impulse to uncomfortable honesty under control by the time he’d returned to the cabin. Romi didn’t mention his odd behaviour, and they settled into their lodging as the ship cast off its moorings with the tide, and began its long journey south. “I’ve a project for you,” Romi said, as night fell and he set fire sprites around the room to illuminate it. “Teach me more about the plants and how you study them?”
Karik was surprised at the request. “You picked up a lot on the expedition, surely.”
“Here and there. But I want to understand it. You’ve got something better to do?”
“Not at all. I don’t really have the books though,” he said distractedly, looking about him as if the little cabin might surrender a reference library if he searched hard enough.
Romi tapped his temple. “You can describe things, or draw them—unless it would be tiresome for you.”
“Not at all. I’d enjoy it very much.”
The only stipulation he made was that they had to either speak Andonese or Prijian—Romi’s Andonese was better than his own, and his Prijian was rusty. Kei would expect him to retain his fluency, and so he would do so. Romi agreed readily, and so they began.
It had been a good plan, Karik thought, after two days had passed far more enjoyably than he’d expected. He already knew how bright Romi was, so teaching him was easy—but he hadn’t realised how much Romi could teach him about his own subject. His childhood on a farm, and his love of hunting, not to mention his keen woodcraft, meant that he understood the patterns of living things, and the way they were woven together in their interactions. It was something that all too many people, even those of Romi’s own background, simply refused to understand. After Karik had spent a good ten minutes venting his frustration about the impenetrable ignorance of so many people he’d met, Romi leaned back in his chair and grinned. “You want to teach the whole world, sounds like. I have to tell you this is probably not possible.”
Karik shook his head ruefully at his own monomania. “I get it from both my parents—and Kei. Pa honestly believes that everyone can be taught. Kei thinks that if you find the right way to teach a lesson, there’s no one who can’t understand any fact. Ma’s a bit more realistic, but she won’t give up until the other person does, and even then she still tries.”
“I suppose I’m a little like that. I know I’ve annoyed my soldiers many a time trying to get them to improve themselves. But you know, if you keep at it, they do, sometimes. Look at Kepi and Taz—neither of them are what you might call scholars, but look at how you managed to din your botany into their heads. You got them both interested in your work just by persistence and good teaching.”
“You did a lot of it for me,” Karik said. “We made a good team.”
“We surely did,” Romi said wistfully, sighing a little as he pulled Karik’s notes towards him.
“Romi—if...if Kei can’t help you, and....”
“And I have to leave the army? I thought I wasn’t allowed to admit the possibility,” he said with a wry smile.
“I’m sorry—it was just that...you’re so clever. I wonder if you ever considered taking up studies to do something else.”
“Not even once,” Romi said, looking at the notes intently, his eyes shadowed. “To be honest, Karik, I’m terrified. Being a soldier is what I’ve wanted to do since I was fifteen, all I saw myself doing. I want to make full captain, and I want to lead people. I’m good at it. Well, I think I’m good at it,” he added a little self-deprecatingly.
“You are,” Karik said firmly. “Damn it, Romi—if you could convince me of that even before I could stand looking at you, you must be a good leader.”
“You’re forgetting about Soza. And even people who like me were happy to reject my authority just at the point when leadership was crucial.”
“Those were not usual circumstances,” Karik said, his hand curling a little in remembered stress over those dark days. “You still led us. We still acknowledged your right to do so.”
“Maybe,” Romi said, not sounding entirely convinced. “But if I leave the army, what leadership skills I have will count for nothing.”
“What do soldiers do when they leave the army? I mean, in the south.”
Romi shrugged. “Some go back to their villages and take up their parents’ profession, or new ones if they learned a trade in the army. Some settle in the towns and start businesses. A lot of officers go to work with the Rulers—can’t say that appeals,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t like the amount of paper work I have in this job.”
“What about...?” Karik stopped, and bit his lip.
“What about...?”
“You could work at the academy,” he said in a rush.
Romi frowned in confusion. “Doing what?”
“Uh—teaching. You could, uh, teach people to...to survive. Yes, you could train people going into the field.” It was such a brilliant idea, Karik wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him before.
But Romi was still frowning. “Karik, my skills are nothing exceptional, and the Urshek academy doesn’t really—”
“No, the Darshek academy, I meant.”
“I live in south Darshian, Karik.”
“Yes, I know, but...you could move, couldn’t you?” he said hopefully. “I mean, if you came north, and we got you a place, you could live in Darshek and I’m sure there are all kinds of jobs you could do.”
“No, Karik. I’m sorry, but no,” Romi s
aid gently. “It’s very kind of you to worry about me, but that’s just fantasy. The most likely thing for me is that I’ll go back to my parents’ farm. Ma’s a weaver. I can learn her trade soon enough—I know the basics.”
“But you can’t,” Karik pleaded. “You’re got so much talent and you’re too intelligent—”
He realised his mistake as Romi’s expression cooled. “To be a weaver? Don’t think much of the manual trades then, do you. I’m sure Ma would love to know she’s held in such low regard by the academy staff.”
Karik covered his mouth in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant—I just meant...you’re so special,” he whispered. “I want something special for you.”
“That’s kind,” Romi said, smiling and reaching for his hand. “But...I think...perhaps you’re getting a little too personally bound up in my fate. There’s no future for me in your world, however much you want to help. I’m sorry.”
“I wish...I just wish....” He stopped. There were no words for the heaviness in his heart, the need he had to.... He hesitantly raised his free hand to Romi’s face, and though his friend was puzzled, he didn’t stop Karik’s movement. “I just...wish....”
Romi laid his cheek against Karik’s fingers, his eyes half-closed. His hand around Karik’s tightened, and then he pulled gently, tugging Karik forward. Karik went eagerly to him, leaning across the small gap between them. Romi opened his eyes, his dark, intelligent eyes, and looked into Karik’s soul. “Karik.” His lips parted, and Karik held his breath. Was he going to...?
But then, abruptly, Karik was released, and Romi moved back, jerking his face away from Karik’s hand. “No...I can’t. I’m sorry.”
His face burning, Karik stumbled to his feet, not caring that the chair went over with a shockingly loud crash. “Please excuse me,” he choked out, and then fled, eyes blinded with embarrassed tears, his heart tight with the pain of loss.
What a pissing, blind, stupid fool he was.
Staying Power: 41
The cabin door slammed shut with a rattle, and Romi put his head in his hands. Of all the clumsy, blind, moronic, insensitive bastards, he was surely the most clumsy, blind, moronic and insensitive of all. How had he not realised the extent of Karik’s feelings...and how had he let it all get to this point?
Staying Power (Darshian Tales #3) Page 52