Falling From the Tree (Darshian Tales #2)

by Ann Somerville

  The duty healer was lighting the lamps—was it that late already? “I’d best fetch our supper,” Kei murmured. “You look so earnest. What is it?”

  “Nothing, really. Just thinking about choices and paths.”

  “Hmmm, deep stuff. Too deep for a simple healer like me.”

  “You’re no more a simple healer than I’m a jombeker, Kei.”

  Of course his lover had to give him a cheeky grin and earn himself a slapped bottom before he dashed out of the infirmary to find their food. Simple, my arse.

  ~~~~~~~~

  It was probably the fact that Karik had got so much sleep during the day which made him so wakeful after midnight. Arman watched him shift about uncomfortably for a bit, and then offered to help him sit, since it was obvious he wouldn’t go back to sleep anytime soon. He seemed almost normal, at least compared with how ill he had been so recently, and certainly more wide-awake than Arman. What Arman wouldn’t give for ten hours of uninterrupted sleep in a proper bed—he felt light-headed with fatigue. “You want to hope your sleep patterns return to normal once you’re healed, or you’ll be unpopular at home,” he said, helping the boy to sit up.

  “That will make a change,” Karik answered dryly.

  “It’s not all that bad, surely. You’ve got friends there, and this latest incident isn’t the normal run of events.”

  Karik looked away. “There were people who were glad I’d been hurt. People who wished Jos had killed me.”

  “Surely not, Karik. Not in Ai-Albon. There are no murderers there.”

  “There nearly was. Fedor said so.”

  Fedor shouldn’t have said such a thing in front of the boy, creating fear and ill feeling where none should exist. “Boys can be cruel. They grow out of it, mostly.”

  “Some don’t. Some of the people who dislike me only saw the Prij when they were small children. Even though they’ve known me all my life, when it comes to it, I’m just another filthy foreigner.”

  It was a bitter observation, and Arman wished it hadn’t had to be made by one so young, but he couldn’t argue against it. “There are stupid people in all races. Most of the people in the village are good people. I’ve known them as long as you, and I value them. I can’t believe they’re not sickened by what happened to you.”

  Karik didn’t say anything to that. He picked at the bandage on his arm a little—Arman wondered if it was hurting him. Kei had said the wound was healing well, though it would leave a nasty scar and the arm would be weak until Karik began to use it again. “Why don’t you lie down again, see if you can sleep?”

  “I just don’t feel sleepy. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s hardly your fault. The tea has that effect, apparently.”

  Karik nodded. Arman wondered just how much of the medical details he understood—not only was he Jena’s son, he apparently read medical texts as freely as any healer, or so Kei had reported. The child was decidedly odd in some respects. “Arman, Kei says the man who stabbed me was from Ai-Darbin, but he said to ask you about it. Why did he want to hurt you?”

  Arman had been expecting the question, but it didn’t make it easier to talk about this, and he wished again the boy would wait until life had returned to normal. He was too tired for such conversations in the middle of the night. “Because I killed his son, and so he thought he would kill me.”

  Karik’s large eyes were so reminiscent of another’s that Arman almost wished he could tell the boy to close them. “Why? Why did you kill him?”

  “Does it matter? It was wrong to kill the boy, and I deserve the consequences whatever that might be. However, you should not have had to pay such a price.”

  Karik gripped his hand. “Why?”

  If he didn’t answer, Karik would just keep asking. “Because he killed a friend of mine. The son did, I mean. The boy was only your age, and I...I pulled my sword, made his mother and father watch, and killed him. And all I could think was that he died too easily. I wanted to kill him again and again.”

  He closed his eyes, remembering that day. Of all the people he’d killed in battles, the death of that boy—the last person he’d killed—remained with him. He remembered how cold he’d felt—not just emotionally, actually physically chilled. The boy had felt warm against him and all he could think was that he shouldn’t be warm when Loke...Loke was already cold.

  He was shivering now, and he had no idea why. “Arman?”

  “I’m sorry....”

  “Arman, please?”

  He made himself open his eyes. Karik was staring at him with concern. Where was his revulsion, his rejection? “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes.” It was barely a whisper, little more than his lips moving to form the word. “Who was he, your friend? A soldier?”

  “No, Loke was...he was my page. A personal servant. My friend.”

  “How old was he? What was he like?”

  Arman wished the boy would go back to sleep. He rubbed his eyes. “He...was your age, a month or two older, no more. He was....” Slightly to his astonishment, he found he simply couldn’t continue. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, standing and walking out of the room, eyes blinded and his chest so tight he couldn’t breathe.

  He leaned against the wall in the corridor and slid down it, burying his face in his knees, all rational thought lost in the tide of grief and memory. He had tried so hard to save Loke. They had saved Karik, why had Loke had to die?

  Only a few moments later, careful arms slipped around him and slowly the pain in his mind lessened, and his chest eased. He could take no credit of course. It was Kei doing this for him yet again. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not even going to dignify that with a comment,” Kei said, stroking his hair and kissing it. “I’ve been waiting for this to happen.”

  “I don’t know what came over me. I should go back...apologise....”

  “In a minute. I was listening to you, you know. I woke up and heard you talking. Why do you persist in trying to make people hate you over that?”

  “Because I murdered that boy, I caused Loke’s death and now I’ve nearly been the cause of Karik’s. Even in Utuk, a man died because of me. I’m a menace.”

  Kei’s arms tightened. “Then I suppose this is the wrong time to tell you that Jik’s dead too. I heard this morning while you were asleep.”

  Arman’s head jerked up. “What? How?”

  “Suicide. He hanged himself. They had taken precautions, but...he was determined.”

  Gods, what a lonely bitter end to a lonely bitter life, and it was Arman’s fault entirely. He suddenly felt so weary, he could have lain down and wept. “Why won’t the pain stop?” he murmured.

  “It will if you turn your pain into something else. I think you are doing that with what you’re doing with Karik.”

  “Kei...this is going to sound an odd question, but has anyone ever recognised when a spirit has returned in a new body?”

  Kei shifted back a little so Arman could see him. There was only a single lamp some distance away, so his lover’s face was in shadows. “Not that I know of, though I’ve hardly made a study of it. There are stories that the great Gifted soul-touchers can sense the spirits who have not left this plane, who are trapped here for some reason or other, and there are those like Master Bikel who believe the gift of soul-touching is deeply connected with the spirit world...but the answer is that I don’t know.”

  “You said Loke would find me again in his next life. You believe that?”

  “With all my heart and soul.” There was such certitude in Kei’s voice, it was almost like piety.

  “It’s just...Karik was born not long after, and he reminds me of Loke just now and...I wondered....”

  “Answer me this—if you thought he was, would that mean you would only value him for that?”

  Arman wiped his face, rubbed his itchy eyes. “No. He’s clearly not Loke as Loke was. Yet there is something there that I can’t explain, and since there is no biological connection
.... I’m being an idiot, aren’t I?” These were just the kind of foolish maunderings a weary, emotionally overwrought man might come out with at two in the morning.

  Kei stroked Arman’s hair again. “This is a mess, let me remake it.”

  There wasn’t the slightest reason for Kei to be rebraiding his hair, sitting on the floor in a dark corridor in the middle of the night, but Arman let him, the familiar intimacy soothing him and helping him feel more settled and calm. As he worked, combing out the thick mass of Arman’s hair with his fingers, Kei spoke quietly. “It’s possible. Anything is possible. And...perhaps it explains some puzzling things.” He paused to kiss the back of Arman’s neck. “I think you might have rejected him becoming close to you because of what happened to Loke. The rest.... Well, we’re all reincarnations. Every living thing holds the spirit of something or someone who died before. If Loke did come back so soon and in this way, then I think it was because he wanted to be close to you and to make sure you were happy.”

  “And all I’ve done is push him away.”

  “Arman, you can’t ever know whether Karik is Loke.”

  Arman nodded, then leaned back against Kei, who put his arms around him again. He’d missed this, with all the stress of looking after Karik. “I spoke to Mari about him when I was in Utuk. I told her how much I wished I had seen him grow up.... Karik’s just at the same age. In a couple of months, he’ll be older than Loke was when he died.”

  Kei rested his face against Arman’s head, nuzzling it a little in a way that made Arman ache to lie with him. “Wyma said there was a shadow on your soul after you got back from Utuk. I think it has to be something to do with the breach with Karik. I told him that I thought the problem between you was that he represented failure for you. Maybe the truth is that he represents dreams that you thought were crushed when Loke died and Mayl betrayed you.” He made Arman turn around. “He doesn’t have to represent crushed dreams. He can represent hope. Healing. Forgiveness,” he added gently, kissing Arman’s forehead. “If you want it, Karik can show you the things you longed to see with Loke. Somewhere, in someone, Loke is living again, is happy, is giving joy. If Karik can represent that new life for Loke, then let him. The pain can become something better. I know you can make it happen because you already have.”

  Arman so wanted to take comfort from Kei’s words, but he couldn’t just wipe away his sins so easily. “How can you talk of hope and love when yet another man is dead because of me?”

  “Because this wheel of violence has to stop,” Kei said in a firm, quiet voice that branded Arman’s soul with its certainty. “Karik’s life could have taken any number of courses. You intervened, set it on a true and honest path and now you and he are tied by that. He’s waiting for you now. He’s worried about you and needs you. I know you well enough to know you respond to both those things with the best of you.” He gave Arman’s braid a little tug. “So go to him, and be open in your heart. Stop pushing him away. You’ll find the reward is worth it.”

  Arman turned to face his lover again. “You’re such a determined matchmaker. I don’t think anyone can hold out against you.”

  Kei’s teeth flashed white in the gloom. “Not a one, so admit defeat.” He pulled Arman close and brushed his lips across Arman’s forehead. “Go speak to him, and then I’ll take the rest of the night shift. You’re overtired, and he’s not in danger any more. I’ll start arrangements tomorrow to move him out of here—I think he’ll be happier and I know you will be.”

  “I really don’t know why this upset me now,” he said as he got to his feet with Kei’s arm to assist him. “It’s not like I haven’t been thinking about Loke before tonight.” Gods, he was getting old.

  “Because it’s what you do, “ Kei said, putting his arms around his waist again. “You feel things passionately, but you wait to deal with them until it’s safe and no one will suffer for it. You did the same thing when Loke died, Karus too, and you waited until Karik was out of danger before you let the memories get to you. You’re actually very strong. It’s frightening.”

  “I don’t feel very strong right now.”

  “Oh, well, that’s middle of the night syndrome for you—it makes cowards and weaklings of us all. Go on,” Kei said, giving him a gentle shove. “Make your peace with him and then go to bed. It’ll be all right.”

  “Don’t deserve you.”

  “Too bad,” Kei said with an impish grin. “You’re stuck with me. Go on.”

  Arman did as he was told, for Kei was king of this domain, and besides that, always right when it came to matters of the heart, except perhaps of his own.

  He found Karik straining to sit up, obviously as worried as Kei had said, and ignoring the efforts of the duty healer to make him calm down. “It’s all right, I’ve got him,” Arman said, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder, and switching places with him. “Lie back, Karik, that can’t be good for you.”

  The boy did so, then stared up at him with those disconcerting eyes, gnawing at his lip. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Arman put his hand on Karik’s forehead, pushing back the hair, a gesture intended to soothe and reassure, though which of them needed it more, he didn’t know. “No, I know. You meant no harm, and no harm was done.”

  “I just didn’t realise...I didn’t know about your friend.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have done. It’s just...these past few days have reminded me of a grief that...well, I suppose one never entirely stops grieving for those we love. Now, I want you to go to sleep, and tomorrow if you’re up to it, I think it’s time I introduced you to one of the more pleasurable aspects of our heritage.”

  Karik looked puzzled. “Our...heritage?”

  “Indeed, for you are Prijian and so am I, and there’s no need to be ashamed of that. Tomorrow I will teach you the gentle art of kezi, and perhaps...as we play, I’ll tell you more about Loke.”

  “A game?”

  Arman couldn’t help but grin as he recalled what Karik’s namesake had said, the first time he had laid the board out for a curious and puzzled ten-year-old boy. “A game only so much as life is a game,” he quoted from memory, “and therein one can learn all the secrets of mastering both.” He stroked Karik’s forehead as he stood—Kei was watching them from the doorway. “Sleep well. I’m sorry to have frightened you.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “And you did not. It’s all right.” He took the boy’s hand, squeezed it and gestured to Kei. “All yours.”

  Kei kissed his cheek, love and approval in his eyes. If Arman had not been so utterly exhausted, he might have stayed awake just for the pleasure of having Kei sit with him. “You could be good for each other, you know.”

  “We’ll see. Good night.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  Karik still couldn’t sleep and as Kei took his seat in the chair where Arman had spent so long watching over him, he reached out his hand to his uncle. “I’m sorry, Kei.” He’d had no idea that Arman would cry in front of him, and certainly not that he, Karik, could cause it.

  “It’s all right. In a way, I’m glad. This sadness over Loke is an old wound, one that never healed right. I have a feeling you might be the cure he needs, if you will allow it.”

  “He really loved Loke?”

  Kei’s kind eyes, shadowed in the dim lamp light, looked sad. “Oh, he certainly did.”

  “But my mo...Mayl...said it was Arman’s fault he died.”

  “Yes, and she also said Arman was sleeping with Loke, and that I was while I was a hostage. None of that is true. I know she doesn’t love Arman, but at least Arman’s never put lies like that out about her.”

  Karik considered that. He had no proof Kei was telling the truth, any more than he had that Arman had been—but he had to admit their actions and words were more consistent than his mother’s, and he also trusted Kei. He already felt he couldn’t really trust Mayl. “But he really killed a boy? A boy like me?”

  �
��Yes, he did. He’s never made a secret of it, Karik. He committed a terrible crime out of grief and pain, and has spent all these years making up for it. Unfortunately, not only could the boy’s father never forgive him, neither can Arman himself. You understand how...how this situation brings it all to his mind again.”

  “I remind him of Loke, don’t I?”

  “Yes, you do. You’re even injured a little like Loke was. He watched him die in agony, helpless to save him or ease him. I can’t tell you what that does to a person.”

  Kei’s hand tightened on his. “I didn’t know. When I’m better, will he go back to hating me again?”

  Kei smiled. “Oh, I doubt it. Unless you want him to? You seem to be getting on pretty well now.”

  “Because I’m sick and because....” He gestured weakly at his mouth. “No stutter.”

  “Well, that helps, but it’s not really the thing that’s kept him from getting to know you. You know it all now, pretty much. It’s up to you whether you want to get closer to him or not. I think he’s ready to move past all the pain you remind him of. Do you want to?”

  “He didn’t let me die. He brought me home from Utuk.”

  “You saved his life. I think you’re even on that score. Is that all he is to you?”

  “He says he’s not my father, doesn’t want me to call him that. I don’t know what he is any more.”

  “Whatever you want, Karik. Your lives are joined by decisions he made, but you are free to walk away if you choose. You and I will always be friends, I swear that.”

  Karik stared at his uncle. Kei was telling him it was all right to dislike his lover—but the irony was, he no longer did. He just wasn’t sure Arman wasn’t being so self-sacrificing because Karik had saved his life, and that the moment he was back on his feet, the man wouldn’t turn all cold and harsh once more.