Kei's Gift (41 page)

“No...the situation is...difficult. I don’t want to stay here at the hands of your wife or Senator Mekus. I’ll go, knowing I will probably have to come back. I promise not to complain. But...we have to climb those mountains. I’m not in the best condition.”

Arman sat back and looked him over. “No, you’re really not. Do you ride? Urs beasts, I mean?”

“Oh yes, I used to race them with Reji and Banji. I need a big beast because of my height.” He looked at Arman, who was far heavier than he was and at least two inches taller. “But then so do you.”

“Yes, I do. Well, that’s one thing settled—we’ll all be riding. It won’t be like it was before, flogging through on foot. It won’t be easy—the pass is covered in snow and even with the new bridges, it’ll be difficult work.”

“I don’t mind,” Kei said quietly. It wasn’t like any of it had ever been easy. “When?”

“Day after tomorrow. I want you to be here all day tomorrow, I’ll be too busy to work with you and you’d be in the way. Cold weather clothing will be provided, of course and Her Serenity has instructed me personally you’re to keep working on your textbook on the march. Setting that hisk to run worked at least.”

“Good,” Kei murmured. “Arman—what if something’s happened at the villages? The hostages...please, you have to try and keep them from being killed.”

Arman tapped his fingers on the desk as he gave the request his consideration. “I’ll have a word with Blikus about Jena—I think I can persuade him her value as a healer outweighs that as a hostage. I’ll also be the one to make my reports about the situation, so I will do what I can to not to trigger the terms of surrender. There’s not a lot more I can do, especially if I’m not here. There’s no way of letting them all escape from Kuplik, and the masters of the others are probably not as interested in protecting them as I am with you. Some may be. But I can’t promise it. I’m sorry. The best hope still remains that the siege will succeed, as it always has been.”

Kei nodded, but he was sick at heart. There seemed nothing he could do, and once again he hated the feeling of helplessness, of total dependence on others for his fate. He wanted to take control of his life again but the prospects for that were vanishingly small. “Let’s tell Jena, and I’ll explain to Karus tomorrow.”

He was going home but not in any manner he had ever imagined. He had thought this moment would bring him joy, but all it did was cause more worry and heartache. Karus believed the Prijian gods had a sense of humour. If they existed at all, that sense of humour really had to be a very sick, cruel one indeed.

~~~~~~~~

The wind was bitter—they were in for a rough passage. No priest and no sacrifices this time—this boat was much smaller than the one that had carried the force to Darshian months ago. There were only the sailors and the hundred soldiers on the boat. The beasts and the reserve troops would be drawn from those in south Darshian, but Arman wanted to hand pick the men coming with him on this, so had made his selection from those based on Kuplik. All had gone on the previous expedition or had travelled the pass before. All spoke Darshianese, and all rode a good seat on an urs beast. He didn’t want to lose a single man to Tirko Pass this time.

Three hours after sunset, they were still waiting for the tide to turn, although he and his men had boarded while it was still daylight. At last the command was given. He watched the mainsail being set, and felt the great tug of the clipper as the wind caught the sheets. It was a moonless night—other than the distant glow of the huge lighthouse at the harbour in Urshek, the only other lights to be seen were the brilliant stars, and the guarded oil lamps of the sailors.

It felt good to be out of Utuk again—he’d not spent so long in the city at a stretch since he had got married, and Karus’s presence aside, it had few charms for him any more. He honestly preferred the rough life of the army camps to being in his house, or in Utuk at all. Of course, what he’d found tucked away in a long overlooked file as he prepared himself for departure, soured him even more on his marriage and his household, however impossible he would have thought it a few days ago. He’d thought Mayl could no longer surprise him with the depths of her depraved morality—but he’d been wrong. He was glad not to breathe the same air as her right now.

The air he
was
breathing was pretty damn cold though. He pulled his furred cloak about him and shivered. There was no point in freezing out here. He needed to get some sleep—and he needed to see Kei.

He had been allocated a small cabin for his use—furnished only with a single bed, a small fixed desk and a chair. Kei was writing, bent over the desk, his winter cloak on the bed. He was used to much colder weather, he’d told Arman, and rarely bundled up the way the Prij did, as least indoors. Arman sat on the bed. “You don’t need to work on that all the time, you know.”

Kei turned to him. “No, I know, but I want to get it all down...in case...well, who knows if it will be finished if I stop working on it?”

Arman felt he should remind Kei it was only a make-work task, but he took it so seriously—and it was, in truth, a valuable document. Arman’s reservations about it were only as to whether the Prij physicians and medics would ever understand its value. “Be that as it may, you need to rest. It’s going to be a rough crossing, and a long day tomorrow.”

“I don’t get seasick,” Kei murmured.

“Good, but you still need to rest. You slept badly last night again.”

Kei rubbed his forehead. “Sorry. I kept dreaming.... It doesn’t matter. There’s only the one bed—I’ll take the floor.”

“You damn well won’t, you’ll be like a board tomorrow. There’s room, if you don’t mind.”

Kei gave him a quick, startled look. “I’m not that sleepy, Arman. I could sit up and read, unless the lamp would disturb you.”

And then the silly idiot would stay awake all night.
“Look, if you want to sit, sit here. You make me tired to look at you.”

With the briefest of smiles, Kei nodded, and came to sit on the bed. Arman pulled his cloak around them, and got Kei to rest against him, as Arman leaned on the wall. “Comfortable?”

“Mmmm, yes.”

Kei’s arm stole around his waist, and his head rested easily on Arman’s shoulders. He never minded being this close—but he always froze at the slightest hint of actually sleeping in the same bed as Arman. Perhaps he didn’t trust Arman’s control either. Kei’s braid hung over his shoulder, and the length of it was coiled in Arman’s lap like a rope. He picked up the long tail of it, tied off with a leather thong.

“Why do you all wear your hair so long?” It puzzled him, the lack of variety, when Prij men and women of all classes craved to look differently from each other and disdained any kind of simple hair arrangement.

Kei’s voice was soft and a little sleepy. “It’s a sign of being a full member of the clan. From the age of puberty, no one has their hair cut. Loosing it other than for grooming is...an erotic act, a private one for one’s lover or spouse. Lovers will exchange bracelets made of it, which are seen as a sign of serious intent very often, although children do it as well with their childish sweethearts. When someone dies, their lover or kin will cut the braid off and keep it as a memento. It’s not uncommon for a wife to be buried holding the braid of her late husband, or vice versa.”

“Astonishing. So much symbolism,” Arman said wonderingly, rubbing the tip of the braid between his fingers.

“What you’re doing now is considered foreplay among our people, I should warn you.”

Arman flushed and dropped the braid in an instant. “Gods, I’m sorry—”

He heard a slight smile in Kei’s voice. “My lord, were I prone to teasing you, you would be far too easy.”

Arman was only too delighted to be teased this way. He cupped Kei’s chin and looked into his face. “It’s not fair,” he said reproachfully. “Making fun of my ignorance.”

“Turn about is fair play,” Kei said calmly. “So tell me why you all cut your hair into such amazing shapes, and not let such beautiful stuff grow long for your lovers to play with?”

“You think it beautiful? This mess? It’s the bane of my life—although when Loke...when Loke was alive, he got a lot of pleasure in brushing it.” Loke was much on his mind tonight, yet Arman could speak of him now without it breaking him down. He had his friends to thank for that.

Kei reached up to touch one of the wavy strands hanging about Arman’s ears. “I’m not surprised,” he murmured. “Such a wonderful colour—and it’s so springy.”

“It’s rebellious,” Arman said dismissively. “I really should cut it off—I only keep it this way because all the nobles do, but I don’t really care what they think. Perhaps I’ll clip it before we start the climb tomorrow.”

“Please...don’t. I like to look at it.”

“As you wish, Kei-gidu,” Arman agreed solemnly. Was Kei aware of how...erotic...his words sounded? The more so that they were said so sleepily and with no intention to be other than a simple request. Arman had never encountered someone with so much innate, unconscious sexual attractiveness. All his life, Arman had known women—and a few men—prepared to use their charms to seduce and manipulate, very often quite successfully, although never with him. But someone like Kei, so handsome and yet so without pretense—Arman had only known one other, and Loke had died before he had come into the full flower of his manhood. The Darshianese were a tall, straight-bodied race with looks that differed greatly from the Prij, but which with a beauty all their own. Perhaps Kei didn’t believe he was anything remarkable. Arman thought him close to perfect, but would cut his own throat before he ever said so out loud.

Kei’s body grew heavy, so Arman kept silent now. If it had been Loke lying against him in this way, he would suspect it wouldn’t take long for him to fall asleep, left to himself, and Arman rather thought Kei would be the same. The boat’s rolling motion was hell to those prone to seasickness, but there was a certain soothing quality to it for those who weren’t.

Kei should be tired. He’d slept very poorly the night before, calling the names of his sister and his lover, and even Arman’s own from time to time. Perhaps Arman should have insisted Kei come to bed with him. The ease with which Kei was slipping into sleep now, despite the less comfortable conditions, was the proof of that.

He reached over and turned the lamp to low, but left it burning—if they had to get up quickly in the night, they would need it. Using the hood of his own cloak as a kind of pillow, he moved into a better position. Instinctively, his hand curved around the tail of Kei’s braid. Its dark, smooth sheen and the softness of its weight still fascinated him.

“Foreplay,” he muttered with a grin. A rare joke, and so to be treasured. One day, Arman hoped, Kei’s jests wouldn’t be such a remarkable thing.

~~~~~~~~

Grey, dim light came through the portholes when Kei woke, stiff, somewhat cold and entirely alone. He remembered—he thought he did anyway—falling asleep on Arman the previous night before. Had they been talking about hair of all things? It was a bit muzzy, like him, but at least he’d slept the night away. The ship’s motion was less violent—had the weather moderated?

The lamp had burnt down, of course. On the desk was a folded note, and in it, in Arman’s slightly ornate lettering, were instructions for him to ‘Ask for kitchen, eat.’ Arman didn’t know the Darshianese letters for ‘galley’. Kei splashed some of the chilly water in the neat fixed basin on his face and went to look for food and his master.

There were people about, and smells aplenty of something that had
once
been food, but no longer—the soldiers had had a rough night. Kei hesitated to ask any of the busy passing sailors for help—but then he spotted about the only face in the company he did know—the medic, to whom he had been introduced the previous day. The man had been respectful in Arman’s presence, but his disdain for what he clearly thought was a barbarian yokel rolled off him. So, not a friend then, but Kei called to him anyway. The medic told him where the galley was.

“Don’t suppose you Darshianese have any remedies for seasickness that work, do you?”

“No, sir. There’s not a lot of seasickness in the desert.”

That earned him a funny look. The medic shook his head, scurrying off to deal with whatever he was working on. Kei headed off in the direction to which he’d been directed. The galley was tiny and cramped—he had a bowl of bean and fish porridge thrust at him and his mug filled with water before being told to clear off. He could have returned to the cabin, but he wanted to clear the stink of vomit from his nostrils. He came up onto the largely deserted deck and found a place out of the wind against a raised shelter over the stairs. His cloak was warm, made of heavy, waterproof lemul wool, and the hood lined with hisk fur. More than enough protection if he stayed out of the wind itself.

The food was cold and very salty, but tasty for all that. He had a good appetite for once, perhaps because he’d got a rare solid night’s sleep. Embarrassing to have fallen asleep that way, but he lost all good sense when Arman put his hands on him. It was almost as if Arman had a kind of true Gift of a kind Kei had never heard of, or even a type of magic. It was very difficult to resist when he was so tired and had so many mixed feelings about the journey they were making. His dreams were filled with scenes of joyous welcome as he returned to Ai-Albon, free and healthy and with all his friends and family restored to him—but then they would turn dark. Reji died in front of him as did the Ai-Vinri hostages. Myka was dragged away screaming to be put into slavery. He saw Fedor dying of the bej fever, Banji crushed by an urs beast. The deaths of those he loved played over and over until he woke, shivering and sick. Only pure exhaustion—or Arman’s embrace—let him sleep without such nightmares. Kei was heartily tired of it. Jena was right—healers had no patience with their own ills.