Karik lay on his arm and stared up at him. “Why you, Arman?”
“Why I what?” His tired brain couldn’t make the connection, if there was one.
“Why are you looking after me?” Karik struggled to sit up higher, and the effort made him cough hard.
“Take it easy.” Arman helped him up a little, wishing the lad would settle and get the sleep he so obviously needed. “I’m looking after you because you need looking after.” Rather to his surprise and slight amusement, Karik rolled his eyes. “They thought someone you knew might make you more comfortable.”
“But you’re a Ruler.”
“Well, I’m still someone you know.” He didn’t have to read Karik’s mind to know what he was thinking just then. Now was really not the time to have that discussion. “Would you prefer someone else? Kei will be home soon.”
Karik reached for his hand. “No. Thank you.” The grip tightened as did his mouth. He began to cough again, and this time, managed to cough himself into exhaustion.
Arman laid him down again and, like Pitis, prayed very hard to gods he no longer worshipped that the lad’s fears would not be realised.
~~~~~~~~
He jumped so hard when someone touched his shoulder that he nearly broke his damn back. Automatically, his eyes searched for Karik, and he relaxed a little as he saw the boy was sleeping, still breathing harshly, still holding tightly onto his hand. Had he slept? What had woken him?
He turned, expecting to see one of the healers, but instead he saw Kei’s kind face as he crouched down beside him. He could have cried with relief as he gave his lover a one-armed hug, not wanting to release Karik’s grip on his hand. “Thank the gods,” he said fervently, his face buried in Kei’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here. Let me speak to Wika and I’ll come back—I promised Jena I’d report to her on his condition.”
Arman nodded and Kei rose and went to the other end of the infirmary. Arman stretched a little—judging by the light through the windows, he can’t have dozed for more than a few minutes. He was glad Karik hadn’t woken—the poor sod had had such a difficult night. He brushed the hair off his face again and noted that he seemed a little warm. At least Kei was back—Pitis was competent, but everyone agreed Arman’s lover was the best healer in Darshek, possibly even in Darshian, and he had been desperate to get Kei’s opinion on Karik’s state.
Gods, he was tired, and had a horrible fatigue headache. He hoped Karik hadn’t woken while he’d been dozing, but somehow he doubted he had. The child had been delirious again with exhaustion and pain, and had clung to Arman, terrified of falling asleep though he needed it so badly. All Arman could do was soothe and reassure, and hold him until his body overcame his fears.
His breathing seemed no better, but at least it was no worse. It was probably time to change his dressings again, but Kei would probably want to do that so he could check the injuries for himself. “Neka?”
“Good morning, Arman. Are you as tired as you sound?”
“More, probably. How much have you told Kei?”
“As much as I know. I was able to reach him two hours ago and he’s already spoken to Jena and to Pira.”
“And Seiki?”
“Very upset, but it was right to take her away from the infirmary. That was a mistake I made.”
“It’s all right—you’re not used to such things, and I’m glad you’re not.”
“He’s stable?”
“He seems to be, but I’ll know soon.”
“Then I will too,” she said, and he imagined her impish smile.
Karik twitched and Arman leaned over to see if he needed help, but he was just dreaming, or perhaps trying to get comfortable in his sleep. It still amazed him that the boy’s slight frame could fight so hard—having seen men twice his size felled by similar injuries, it didn’t seem possible for Karik to survive.
Oh, one thing, Neka. Any word from the soldiers regarded the attacker?” No one had come with a report, but that was hardly surprising.
She paused. “There is news,” she said carefully, “but Kei wants to tell you it.”
“Very well.” How very odd, he thought, frowning.
Kei had finished his conversation with the other healer and now returned, his expression grave. Silly as he could undoubtedly be when he was larking around, as a healer he was never anything but entirely serious, and he gave Karik his entire attention, undoing the bandages and checking the drains and wounds, feeling the pulse, listening to Karik’s breathing and smelling his breath, and feeling his abdomen. As he redressed the wounds, he questioned Arman closely about whether the boy had passed urine, his mental state, and anything which had struck Arman, however trivial.
Arman answered everything and waited patiently until Kei drew the covers up to Karik’s waist again. “Well?”
Kei pointed to his temple. “I try not to discuss patients in their hearing, but I don’t think Karik wants us to leave,” he said, with a small smile at the way Karik was still firmly gripping Arman’s hand.
I told him to squeeze it if he was in pain. I don’t think he’s stopped squeezing. Can’t you help him? It seems wrong to make him suffer this way.”
Kei found a stool and pulled it up beside Arman. He sat and took Arman’s free hand. “Actually, Pitis is only doing what I would do. If you use pijn in such cases, it inhibits the breathing, which is the last thing we want. We’ve found that patients with lung injuries do much better if we don’t use pijn more than the barest amount, and for someone of Karik’s size, we’re using as much as we dare, at least for now. I can increase the yusus extract but the taste is pretty bad.”
“It’s already disgusting. Is there nothing else you can use?”
“I’ll have one of my students make up some nern extract for him, see if that helps, and maybe some more honey would make it more palatable. But for now, we don’t have many other choices. He’s stable—no further bleeding, the stitches are holding, and with the volume of liquid you’ve managed to get into him, he should be replacing the lost blood. You’ve done well, Arman. No one could have nursed him better.”
“He saved my life. He threw himself in the path of a knife, and for whom? Someone who’s not even considered him as anyone the least important for his own sake. If he dies, I will carry it on my conscience all my days.”
“The only one at fault is the one who stabbed him.”
“Neka said you know more about him. Who was it, and why did he want to kill me?”
His eyes full of sympathy, Kei raised Arman’s hand and kissed it. “Master Bikel says the man’s name is Jik. Jik of Ai-Darbin. As for why, I think you can guess.”
Because he was so tired, and because it was such a long time ago, for several moments, Arman simply had no idea what Kei was talking about. Then he recalled a clan court, and an angry, grieving man, accusing Arman of the murder of his child. The memory was suddenly as sharp and vivid as if he was back in that village once again, waiting to be held to account for his dreadful crime.
“No,” Arman whispered, his heart cold and tight in his chest. “No, it can’t be that. Why? After all these years, why now?”
Kei pulled him close and rested his cheek against Arman’s in comfort. “Because you were made Ruler. He had had no idea where you were or what you were doing until the nomination was sent out to the villages to discuss. His wife died at the end of last year and he’s been not really right since then, so Seya reports. He disappeared from his farm nearly two months ago—he must have walked or hitched a lift to Darshek, though no one’s reported seeing him with any traders or travellers. Karik saw him last week, but of course he had no idea who he was. He must have been waiting for you to show up at the House.”
“To get his revenge by killing me, but instead he nearly kills the boy who is legally my son in revenge for the death of his own.” Arman laughed but with no humour behind it. “And here I was thinking the irony rested in my having to tend two boys with similar injur
ies. I never dreamed the cases were linked by more than that.” He looked at Karik’s snow-pale face. “If he dies, no penance on earth could wipe that sin from my soul.”
“I’m sorry, my love,” Kei said. “I knew how painful this would be for you, but I had no idea of the rest of it.”
“Jik should have killed me. He had a right to it.”
Kei shook him. “Don’t. Don’t let his insanity drag you in. Jik saw you punished, he heard the judgement of his clan head, he heard himself judged for his own failures. You’ve suffered too, and vengeance would not ease his pain any more than it did yours. You know all this, so stop it. All that matters now is that Karik recovers.”
“And what happens to him? He just goes back to the village, and Seya deals with him?”
Kei rubbed his eyes. “No, he can’t. For one thing, trying to kill a Ruler is too grave for a clan court to deal with, and for another, he’s quite unhinged. He’s a continuing danger, and I fear always will be. He’s to be confined to the island for now, Lord Peika tells me. If he’s ever fit to be tried, then he will be. But the safety of our people—and himself—comes first. He’s being taken out there as we speak.”
“I wanted to strangle him for this. You’d think I would have learned by now how pointless revenge is—and if I have not, how could he have done?”
“Revenge is a natural instinct. I remember you explained that to Myka very clearly. But to plot revenge coldly, to seek another’s death after the first flush of anger—then that is either evil or insanity. Jik’s insane. I doubt he’s clever enough to be evil,” Kei added bitterly. “I want to be charitable, but this is twice he’s harmed those I love, and not the first time he’s attempted to kill you either.”
Whether it was because his passions had so long ago been exhausted, or because he was now, Arman couldn’t find the anger in him towards Jik that he’d held the day before. Somewhere the madness had to end. He just hoped it would not end with Karik’s death. “I don’t want him to die,” he murmured against Kei’s cheek.
“None of us do. You’re asleep on your feet. I’m ordering you to get some rest and something to eat. I can look after Karik now.”
“Can I stay? I...I want to stay.”
Kei didn’t question his request at all as he looked around the infirmary. “You can sleep in here. Karik will be very ill for days, possibly weeks. You have to sleep and look after yourself, since I have a responsibility for your health as much as his. Go wash, eat, stretch and come back to sleep. He won’t be left alone for even a moment, I promise you.”
There was no arguing with Kei in healer mode, and Arman didn’t even try. “I love you,” he whispered, then stood up. He took Kei’s hand and placed Karik’s in it. “I’ll arrange someone to bring clothes from home—”
Kei held his hand up. “No, leave all that to me. If you want to do this right, then do this one thing. Be Karik’s nurse and let other people handle the rest.”
“He’ll probably want you, now you’re back.”
“Then you can take over the rest of it for me. Go, Arman, and don’t come back until you’ve had a wash and a shave. I don’t allow dirt in the infirmary.”
Arman bowed. “Of course not, Master Kei.”
Kei waved him off, and Arman went in search of the necessities of life. He found his fellow Rulers, inexhaustibly kind as they always were, had already put things in hand for him. A servant from the House was waiting for him with clean clothes and his shaving kit, and a meal was brought to a small office hastily set aside for his exclusive use for the duration. He sent a silent apology to whoever had been evicted for that reason. If he needed it, a cot could be put up there for him, he was told, but if he wasn’t sleeping in the infirmary, there was no good reason for him not to walk a few hundred yards back to the House.
There was a note from Lord Peika confirming what Kei had told him about Jik, and confirming also that a proper judicial hearing was not possible at the present time given the man’s patent unfitness to attend. Arman scribbled a note in response to say he was perfectly satisfied with this. It still left questions about the security of the Rulers, and Jik was not the only man in Darshian who conceivably held a grudge against him, or the Prij as a race, but Arman found himself quite unable to deal with the question for now. That was why they had more than one Ruler, after all, and he was grateful for such a wise and flexible system.
Even a wash and a shave didn’t revive him much—he simply needed sleep, and within the hour he returned to the infirmary. Any thought that he was being a little silly in insisting on being by Karik’s side when Kei had returned, disappeared as he walked back in. Karik, now awake again, immediately searched for him. “He’s been asking for you,” Kei said, helping the boy to sit a little.
Arman resumed his seat and Karik took hold of his hand again. “I’m sorry, son, I just had to get some breakfast.”
“I...I just wanted to know where you were.”
“I’m right here now, don’t fret.”
Karik stared at him, suffering and exhaustion making his eyes huge and bruised in his white face. “Do you have to go again?”
“No. I just need some sleep, and so do you. Kei said he will sit with you but I’ll be right here in the next bed. Will you hold on for me?”
“I’ll try. I’m scared, Arman.”
Gods, the poor lad was crying. He brushed the tears away with his thumb. “Let me tell you a secret. When I was injured in the war, I got pretty damn frightened too, and I was nearly ten years your senior and a general to boot. Being scared is nothing to apologise for. Kei says you’re doing well, so we just have to keep fighting. We’ll win this battle together but you need to pace yourself, like you do when you’re running beasts.” He stroked his hand gently across Karik’s forehead—it still seemed too warm to him. “I’ll be right here and Kei will wake me if you want me.”
“You won’t let me die.”
He said it like he was simply restating a fact, not asking a question. “No, I won’t let you die. I promise you. Now, you’ve got a way to go, son, but you won’t be alone. Will you try and sleep again? I’m tired, so you have to be exhausted.
Karik nodded, and his eyelids drooped shut. Kei looked at him for a few moments, then laid him down gently. “He’s asleep. How have you made such an impression in a single day?”
I have no idea. I assumed once you were here, he’d be more than glad to see the back of me, although I wanted the choice to be his.”
Kei shook his head. “Well, whatever the truth of the matter, his anxiety went right down as soon as he saw you, and since whatever keeps a patient calm is a good thing, I’m prescribing a constant diet of your attendance.” Arman smiled at the joke. “Seriously, with such an injury, his becoming unduly agitated could set him bleeding again, or worse—whatever you’re doing, works, so keep doing it.”
“I’ll try. He seems rather warm.”
“Yes, I know—I think it’s just the body healing itself, nothing worse. Infection is a real risk, so wash your hands before you attend him and after handling him, food, bandages or using the latrine. I’m going to restrict visitors to you and me for now—I’m taking control of his case, but with Pitis’s advice since Karik’s a family member. I’ve told Jena what the situation is. She’s agreed to let me handle it. They won’t come up until I tell them. There’s no point,” he added grimly.
Arman nodded, stroking Karik’s cheek. “I’ve been thinking of Loke almost constantly. Sometimes I can’t remember who I’m looking at,” he whispered.
Kei put his finger to his lips. “Don’t wake him. I’m not surprised—similar age, similar injuries....”
“Similar looks. I never noted the resemblance before, but it’s astonishing how alike they are.”
Kei looked at him. “Is it a true resemblance, or is your mind confusing the two boys? It’s important to remember Karik is not Loke.” He cupped the back of Arman’s head and pulled him close so he could kiss him. “And he’s not going to
die like Loke did.”
“No. I won’t let him.”
“Good. Now get in that bed and don’t let me hear a peep out of you for at least six hours.”
“But if Karik—”
If Karik needs you, I’ll wake you. I promise. Sleep,” he said, giving Arman a gentle shove. “If you can’t, I’ll prescribe you some pijn.”
Arman didn’t want that, since it would make him drowsy if he was needed. He gave Kei a kiss, then fell gratefully onto the narrow bed next to Karik’s. He was asleep in seconds.
Seeking Home: 16
Unfortunately, the warmth Arman had detected was not just Karik’s body healing himself. Within hours, the wound in his stomach showed the tell-tale redness and inflammation of infection. Karik’s temperature rose steadily, and Arman and the healers had to work hard to keep him cool. The infirmary was barred to all visitors, and the two patients already in residence were moved out, lest the sickness spread or they made Karik worse. A more potent oivi mould dressing was applied over the wound, and Arman’s task was to get as much of the medicinal tea into Karik as he could, since it was known to thwart infection. But Karik grew worse whatever they did.
Kei worked tirelessly, and Arman did his bidding willingly. Nothing was too much trouble if they could just reduce Karik’s agony that made him claw at the pain in his gut until they had to restrain him to stop him doing himself an injury. He became delirious and cried weakly for his parents, which in turned brought on harsh, racking coughs that left him sobbing with pain. The scent of sickness filled the infirmary.
Kei operated again, excising infected flesh and packing the wound with herbs and gauze to help it drain. As Karik was laid down on his bed again, white faced and looking as close to death as he had yet been, Arman look in despair at his lover. “Is he going to survive?”
Kei’s lips tightened. “I wish I were more certain of that, Arman. I need to tell Jena. Master Pitis will watch him for a few minutes—excuse me, I need to do this alone.” He walked away, stripping his bloodied apron and balling it up in his hands.
Falling From the Tree (Darshian Tales #2) Page 55