Falling From the Tree (Darshian Tales #2)

by Ann Somerville

  Karik struggled to breathe, even deeply unconscious though he was, fighting the pain and the still injured lung. Arman lifted him gently so Pitis could put another pillow under him, then took a clean cloth and wiped the boy’s face and body. “Like laying out a corpse,” he thought grimly, though no corpse would be this hot.

  Kei returned a few minutes later, looking gaunt with anxiety. “Jena and Reji understand the situation,” he said quietly. “They asked to be told if he wakes, so they can speak to him.”

  “Of course. Kei, you need to rest.” The man had been awake all night.

  “So do you.”

  “He needs you more than me, and he’s asleep. Unless you know there’s something you can do that I or Pitis can’t, then you need to get some rest now.”

  “Yes.” He collapsed onto the bed next to Karik’s, and put his head in his hands. “There must be something,” he murmured. “Have I worked all these years only to lose him in the same way we’ve so lost so many others?”

  “Your efforts may yet succeed, may they not?”

  Kei’s look told Arman the chances were not great. “Wake me the second he does,” he ordered.

  With that, Kei curled up on the bed, facing away from them all, and went still. Arman didn’t know if he had fallen instantly asleep, but he hoped he had.

  He touched the boy’s too hot cheek and replaced the cloth, cool side down. Fight, Karik, he pleaded silently with the child. Don’t let death claim you yet.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Arman knew it would be a grim time, but he hadn’t really appreciated, even with all his experience, just how gruelling, how utterly distressing it was to spend days watching someone fight for life. Even Kei, used to it as he was, far more than Arman was at least, was running on his last reserves. That it was his beloved nephew, the child of his dearest friends, only increased the agony, and at times Arman didn’t know whom to worry about most. Karik, so pale, reduced so much by the infection and the constant pain, struggling to breathe and to make sense of a world distorted by fever hallucinations and desperate fatigue. Kei, trying to maintain a proper objectivity, but even as a healer, faced with terrible choices and knowledge of what could so easily happen. Or Jena and Reji, helpless to do anything but watch, at best, to offer a little comfort through Neka in the rare moments when Karik was both awake and lucid, torn by wanting to be with their son, and knowing they might come to the city only in time to bury him. Kei had been firm in advising them to stay where they were, and when Arman spoke to them, he gave them the same advice, for all he knew how much it hurt them. They were already under enough stress. A useless journey would make things worse, and be of no benefit to their son.

  Drugs were of little use, and Kei took this as a personal failure, though it was impossible to know how much worse the infection would be without the mould dressings and the medicinal teas. Kei and his staff combed their records for anything that might help, knowing time was against them. He cursed the fact that after so many years of research, they still had so few weapons in their armoury against life-threatening infections. Arman thought Kei was being far too hard on himself, but when it came to matters of healing, Kei didn’t recognise the concept of being ‘too hard’. It just needed more work and more brains, he said.

  The only thing that had not been tried was a possible treatment Pitis learned of from Master Jezinke. Kei asked Arman’s advice.

  “What is it, another mould?”

  “No—this is an extract from a sea creature. A poison, in fact. Jezinke discovered by accident that it inhibited infection in jombekers, but it has such marked side-effects that we’ve never dared use it in humans.”

  “Side effects.... Like what?”

  “Paralysis, for one,” Kei said, showing a grim face to Arman. “It causes a dangerously high temperature. Three animals died from the effects of the drug, and one was left crippled from the damage to the brain and had to be put down.”

  “But it works?”

  “We don’t know—it’s never been used on a human. Pitis is only suggesting it because, if the infection spreads throughout Karik’s body, he will almost certainly die.”

  “Almost?”

  “A boy his age and in good health has the best chance of anyone. But the mortality is almost total.”

  Kei’s hand shook as he raised it to rub his forehead. Arman took it in his. “Then the drug....”

  “The drug will have to be administered before the infection takes complete hold. If it killed him....”

  “You would never know whether it was the drug or the infection,” Arman said, completing his lover’s thought.

  “And if it were the drug—or the drug could have saved him and I withheld it....” Arman put his arm around Kei’s shoulder and squeezed him close, kissing his temple. “What do you think I should do?”

  “I have no right to say.”

  “I’m asking you as someone who’s laid his life on the line to help Karik before. If you were his father, what would you ask me to do?”

  He could push this question away, but Kei really needed him to answer it. “If I were the boy’s father—which I am not—I would say if it comes to it, I would rather he died after we’d tried everything, than have that lingering doubt. But I wouldn’t want to cause the boy more agony or more harm, or have you have that on your conscience. I would support whatever decision you come to. I know Jena and Reji would—and I feel certain Karik would.”

  “Then I think I dare not risk it. I can’t use him to experiment on.” Kei straightened up and looked towards the window, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “But I can’t fail him either,” he whispered.

  There were no perfect answers in these situations. He wondered if Reji and Jena would ever appreciate how much of the agony of these matters Kei was absorbing, withholding from them to spare them. He wondered if Karik truly understood how beloved he was, and how desperately people needed him to live.

  The patient and his carers had the infirmary to themselves. What other patients there might have been were dealt with elsewhere, but it was, fortunately, a quiet time with no great demands being made on the staff. There was always another healer on duty, day and night, but Kei spent every waking moment at Karik’s bedside, and like Arman, slept in the infirmary too. They had got into a pattern of sharing the nursing which meant Karik was never unattended for a moment, but even that couldn’t entirely quell the boy’s fears, his need for someone to hold him to this world. He spoke very little but his eyes said all that was needed. Arman found it almost unbearable to see the pain in them, the terror, but if he could not bear it, then it would be impossible for Karik to do so, so he had to bear it, had to be strong for the boy. Sometimes he felt his voice was all that was keeping Karik alive, however foolish it seemed.

  At last, on the evening of the ninth day, Kei thought there was a little change. “He’s cooler,” he murmured, picking up one of Karik’s hands and feeling his pulse.

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Not necessarily. Hush.” Arman shut up while Kei checked the boy’s pulse, and then did yet another thorough examination, finally lifting the dressings. Arman could tell nothing from Kei’s intent expression.

  Finally Kei sat down and sighed. “Bad news?” Arman asked, almost afraid to.

  “No...no, it’s not. It’s just possible he’s turned the corner, but I’ve been wrong before in such cases. He’s definitely cooler, but his blood pressure seems normal.”

  The next two hours were anxious ones, waiting for Karik to wake. He did so with a small cry as he moved and caught his injuries. Arman squeezed his hand, which he had been holding. “Easy there, son.”

  As he always did, Karik responded to Arman’s voice and settled a little. It seemed to Arman that Karik’s eyes looked somewhat more clear and lucid, though he was obviously in pain and little rested.

  “Kei?”

  “I’m here, Ka-chi.”

  Karik stared at him as he’d forgotten what he was going to say. K
ei examined him again, and the boy dozed off again as he checked him.

  “Well?”

  Kei looked at him. “Yes. Yes, I think he’s improved.”

  Arman could have hugged Karik out of sheer gratitude for the relief in Kei’s eyes, but also for Karik’s own sake. “You still look worried.

  “Because anything could happen. Just because he’s beaten this infection, doesn’t mean he won’t get another. The fact he’s beaten this is a good sign, but he’s still sick.”

  Arman looked down at the boy in his arms, grimacing in his sleep. He weighed almost nothing, it felt like. “I have a good feeling about it, Kei. My instincts for a fight are as good as yours as a healer. I think we might win this one.”

  Kei leaned over and kissed Arman, then caressed Karik’s cheek. “Then I hope your instincts don’t fail us this time. He couldn’t have done it without you, I’m sure of that. Look at how he trusts you.”

  “Come on, I’m hardly going to brutalise him under these circumstances.”

  Kei gave him a knowing look. “No, of course not. Are you all right with him? I was going to get an early night and spell you after midnight.”

  “I’m fine. Sleep as long as you want. We’ll be all right.”

  He laid Karik down carefully, and tucked the sheet around him gently. Well done, lad. Well fought.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Karik almost couldn’t remember what it was like to breathe deeply without the grabbing pain in his chest and his gut, the sense of not being able to get enough air, the weakness that made fighting the agony impossible. He had spent days—he had no idea how many—wracked with fever and pain, waking after too little time asleep, to be given tea, a little soup and pijn. He’d welcomed the pijn because it always meant he could rest, but Kei had said—when, he couldn’t remember—that he was reducing it again. He supposed that had been a good sign, but he was sick of the pain.

  He opened his eyes. It was night still, the soft glow of a turned down lamp all that broke the darkness. Someone was there, head drooping, a book neglected in his lap. The golden hair told Karik it was Arman again—still. That knowledge eased something in him—the nagging fear that he would die here in this hospital, dulled a little. He didn’t know why, but Arman had become his talisman. If Arman was there, he would not die. Arman had said so and Karik believed him with every fibre of his body. He clung to that belief, like he’d clung to Arman’s hand as the sharp, never-ending pain stabbed through him.

  He was thirsty, and cold too. “Ah-Arman?” Even that short whisper put a strain on his labouring lungs and he coughed. Gods, he wished he wouldn’t cough, it pissing hurt.

  Instantly, Arman’s head came up, the book was shoved onto the bed and his strong arm was under Karik’s back, lifting him like Karik weighed nothing at all. “Shhh, don’t wake Kei. What do you need, son?”

  Before all this, Arman had never called him that. “I’m thirsty.”

  “Can you manage some tea?

  Karik grimaced. He was so damn sick of that revolting stuff and soup wouldn’t quench his thirst. “Just water?”

  To his relief Arman agreed, and even managed to pour a cup without moving him. The sweet, fresh water was good, and he closed his eyes to savour it. At least he no longer choked when he swallowed. “Arman, I’m cold.”

  “You still have a bit of a fever, Karik. We’re not covering you up so you won’t overheat.” Still, Arman drew the sheet—not the blanket—a little higher, which was also good. “How are you feeling?”

  Karik opened his eyes. In the dim light, he could barely see Arman’s face, but what he could see of it, showed nothing but kind concern. “Like dried urs shit.” His crudeness was rewarded by a smile, which was what he wanted. He was sick of people looking worried about him. “What time is it?”

  “About an hour to dawn, I think. You’ve been asleep for two hours. You should get some more rest.”

  He nearly pointed out that if he could stay asleep, he would—the pain just wouldn’t let him. Arman helped him sip some more water, then brushed the hair off his face—it was finally growing again, he thought, just in time to be a damn nuisance while he was sick. Again. Had someone painted a target on him this year?

  He hated this sensation, being exhausted and weak, but not able to slip into sleep. It was a weird, twilight kind of feeling, where the relentless pain dominated everything. Kei had explained the pijn was bad for him, but the yusus tea hardly made any difference, whatever his mother had said. At least he wasn’t hallucinating any more. That had really been horrible.

  “Why don’t I let you lie down again so you can try to sleep?”

  He reached out and Arman took his hand. He was still trying to understand why Arman had willingly taken on this most tiresome of duties, when there were a dozen healers and twice as many medics within shouting distance who could have done the task. He couldn’t see why Arman would bother. Not after...well, he’d made it clear what he thought of Karik before. “I can’t stay asleep,” he said as Arman laid him down, while keeping a hold of his hand.

  “Yes, I know. I was like that when I got hurt.

  “What happened?” Had Arman already told him about this? Everything had run together in his mind—Kei being with him, talking to his parents, Arman being with him, people checking him, feeling so sick, confused and in so much pain. He couldn’t really remember what he’d heard and what he’d dreamed. Except Arman saying he would not die. He remembered that very clearly.

  “It was during the war. A battle—my beast rolled on me and crushed me. Hurt like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Ouch.” He was lucky not to have been killed.

  “Oh yes. You and I will have matching scars.”

  “Like father, like son.” He looked up suddenly. He hadn’t meant to think that ‘out loud’. “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be,” Arman said mildly. “You’re doing much better, Kei says. Good thing too, you’ve had him very worried.”

  “Not you?”

  Arman froze, and now Karik feared he really had gone too far. “I would hardly have spent twelve days at your bedside if I cared nothing for your welfare.”

  That was what Karik couldn’t understand. “But you....” If he’d been less tired, and perhaps if Arman hadn’t just spent twelve days in tender vigil, he might have curbed his tongue, but instead he just blurted out the question that had been on his mind for so long. “You gave me up, Arman. Why?”

  Arman sighed and brushed his forehead again. “You pick your moments, don’t you?”

  “I...don’t mean to be rude.”

  “No, I know. All things considered, I think you’ve been quite forbearing. I gave you up because I didn’t think I was your biological father.” He looked at Karik intently. “You realise what I’m saying about your mother, though?”

  Karik’s mind was skittering about because of his fatigue, so he couldn’t immediately work it out. “No?”

  “She had a lover while we were married. This is...this is what I hadn’t wanted to tell you, but it’s the truth. And that is the reason I left her, not because of Kei. I went to Kei, yes, but I was going to leave her anyway.”

  “I don’t understand—she told me she loved you but that you abandoned her....” He quailed slightly under Arman’s fierce look. “‘m sorry,” he whispered, then started to cough.

  It was a bad fit. Arman had to lift him up and let him sip more water before it stopped, and he was gasping with the pain of it before he stopped. Arman insisted he drink some of the tea the healer brought over to them, and he made himself swallow the damn stuff. It did seem to help a little.

  Arman laid him back on the pillows and shook his head. “And this, Karik, is why this is a really bad time to be having this conversation.”

  “I might die before we have it.”

  “You will not die, do you hear me?”

  Arman looked so fierce. “All right,” Karik promised, rather overawed. He remembered what Kei had said about if Arman decid
ed to fight on your side, you felt like you could do anything. Karik really believed Arman could haul him back from the very jaws of death, such was the power of his will. He was convinced the man had done just that over these last few days, when, in his few lucid moments, he had been convinced he really was dying. Why else would everyone look so worried?

  “See that you don’t,” Arman said, but now there was a slight smile on his face, and he just looked tired, not angry. “Can’t we do this when you’re feeling stronger?”

  “I just want to know.”

  “Damnable boy.” But there was no heat in his words, and his hand on Karik’s was gentle in its grip. “I’m not saying it’s impossible that your mother was secretly in love with me. But our marriage was arranged by our parents, we barely knew each other before we got married, I never liked her, she never showed the least affection for me either, and she certainly had a lover because I found them together.”

  Karik thought about this. “Mekus? Mekus is my father?”

  Arman’s expression contorted with distaste. “So I thought at the time. Now I believe that not to be true, but at the time I...took you away from Mayl, I believed it. I felt them to be unfit to raise you, but I felt equally unfit to do so. Jena offered to care for you, and I’ve never regretted that she did so. I can’t believe you ever have either. Mayl...I’m truly sorry to say this to you, but she really didn’t care a thing for you.”

  Karik felt this had to be true, given all he knew, all he had experienced. “But if you had left me with her, she might have done. She might have loved me just like Ma did. You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Do you always speak like this to your elders and betters, Karik?”

  “I’m sick, I’m off my head, I can say stuff and people will forgive me.”

  To his secret delight, Arman laughed, although quietly so not to wake Kei, sleeping in the next bed. “Gods, and I thought you were such a polite child.”

  “I learned not to be in Utuk.”

  Arman stroked his hair lightly—it was a curious gesture from him, but one that was also rather comforting. He liked it. “Yes, I suppose you probably did. Do you really wish you had been brought up in that house? No, I didn’t think you did. I suppose there is some justice in what you are saying, and you are Mayl’s son, her only child. It was cruel of me, I admit it, but at the time, she seemed less concerned about your welfare than how much money she could wring from me in a divorce. Tell me—if I had tried to take you from Jena, would she have let me?”