Kei's Gift (56 page)

“Where is Rei tonight? Will he return?”

“No, he’s staying with his sister—Reji’s mother, in fact.”

“Your lover is from Darbin? I didn’t realise you moved about so much.”

“Oh, there’s a lot of intermarriage between clans, as well as trade and travel. We also write to our professional colleagues and share ideas.”

Again, this surprised Arman. Even knowing all he did of Kei and his medical knowledge, he’d somehow still retained this image of an insular, hidebound people that never went anywhere or communicated with the rest of the country. “I had no idea,” he murmured.

“Well, perhaps one day you will see this land not as a prisoner or an invader, but as a guest,” Kei said as he worked in the kitchen. “And then you can really see how we live.”

“That’s most unlikely.” He combed his hair, wincing at the tangles, but pleased to no longer feel the grease and the grit in it. His gloomy mood returned as he thought about the next day, and how it would set a seal on the hatred between this people and him, if not all Prij. A dull headache formed behind his eyes—he was probably in for a bad one again.

Lost in his thoughts, he was startled when Kei put a plate of food in front of him, and touched his shoulder. “Eat and stop punishing yourself.”

“Doesn’t this bother you at all? The reason we’re here? These people have a right to loathe me.”

“Yes, they do. I don’t. You can back out at any point. I don’t myself believe this is necessarily a good thing for you.”

“I thought you were so set on justice and fairness.”

Kei looked at him levelly. “Yes, I am. But I’m also set on your welfare and your happiness. All week this has been preying on your mind, and so has Loke’s death—you have enough pain in your heart without the additional agony this will bring. I don’t know what they’re hoping to achieve. The boy’s spirit has returned to his ancestors and he is probably already reborn, as is Loke. You and I both know you’re not a criminal, not a cold-blooded killer, so preventing you from doing a similar act doesn’t come into it. Since I don’t believe in revenge, the whole thing is pointless to me. Clan courts exist to settles disputes and punish wrongdoing within the clan, so we can continue to live harmoniously. They’re not designed for this purpose. I don’t agree with them doing this.”

“You’re ignoring the wishes of the boy’s family, and his clan. They clearly don’t think it’s pointless.”

“I’m not them, and you asked about me, not the clan.” He nudged his plate. “Go on—you should enjoy a change from bean stew.”

His headache and his depression had robbed him of his appetite, but there was indeed a refreshing variety of food before him—proper bread, cheese, dried fruit and even some pickled vegetables. He forced himself to eat because Kei wanted him to, but the food could have been dirt for all the pleasure it gave him.

Kei watched him as he ate, but gave no clue as to his thinking. The whole situation, being in this house, eating the food and wearing the clothes of those who hated him, being warm and comfortable only because he was due to be tried as a killer....

“I’ve been giving the hostage situation some thought,” he said as a way of taking his mind and Kei’s off the looming trial. “I really believe that even if I laid out every plan I have for Utuk’s defences, there would be no way of retrieving the hostages before they could be killed. The problem is time—a battle to the town would take so long, Mekus or the sovereign could have them all executed before your forces got there. All that would happen is there would be a slaughter on all sides—civilians would die, and in great numbers.”

Kei was clearly distressed by the news, as Arman would only have expected. “But if there was a way of getting to the centre quickly—”

“It would take more strength of men and arms than even the Prij could manage. I’m in the same situation as your people are since I don’t have details of the Darshianese defences, and I don’t imagine they want me to have those either. I’m prepared, subject to some assurances, to give them help over this. But somehow I doubt such information would help.”

“Will you talk to Tiko about this? He might have an answer.”

“Yes, I will. I said I would do anything.”

Kei nodded and reached for Arman’s plate. “You’re no longer talking about betraying the Prij—why is that?”

“I suppose that while I want my people to survive and thrive, I no longer want that at any cost. This Darshianese campaign has exacted too high a price for us and for you. If saying that, believing that, makes me a traitor, so be it,” he said with a shrug. “It doesn’t mean I’ll put a sword in any man’s hand to lift it against a Prijian citizen.”

“I would be shocked if it did.”

Kei took the plates to the kitchen and washed them, leaving them to dry on the stove. He came back and picked up the forgotten comb. “You made a poor job of this—and your beard is becoming quite terrifying. Why don’t you shave it? Most of your fellows are clean shaven.”

“Loke...used to say the same thing,” he said, his chest becoming tight as he remembered. “I can manage my own damn hair,” he added gruffly, reaching up for the comb.

But Kei moved back out of his reach. “No, let me, I’d like to. You’ve played with mine, so it’s only fair.”

Arman forced a smile on his face. “You know, if you were a woman, there would be many ways I could take that statement.”

“Do whatever you like with it, Arman.”

He expected Kei to begin combing his hair. Instead he placed his thumbs at the back of Arman’s neck—and within moments his headache had completely disappeared. Shocked, Arman grabbed Kei’s hand and pulled him around where he could see him. “How...how did you know and how did you fix it?” he demanded. “That wasn’t just a massage!”

Kei looked at him calmly. “I knew because your emotions are coloured by your pain, Arman. It
was
a massage, I promise you. I just know where to touch you to stop it hurting.”

Kei’s expression was open and innocent, but Arman still had the impression he wasn’t being told something. “All right. Sorry, you gave me a shock. But thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Kei said peaceably, gently combing Arman’s hair.

The release from the pain and the grooming were soothing, but unfortunately, it meant Arman no longer had anything to think about other than the following day. Kei sighed and then he pulled a chair around to sit next to Arman. “Why?” he asked quietly. “Why are you agreeing to do this when it’s hurting you?”

“I don’t know except I feel I must.”

Kei reached over to brush a lock of his hair away from his face, a curiously intimate gesture that puzzled Arman. “Is it Loke? Something he would have wanted, you think?”

“I don’t...not consciously...believe so. I can’t explain it.”

Kei nodded, his finger still combing gently through Arman’s hair around his face. “This, being in Ai-Darbin, must be painful for you as much as it is for the villagers.”

“It is.” Arman tried to pull away from Kei, remembering what this had to be doing to him. “I’m sorry, you don’t need to be feeling my pain on top of your own. Let me be.”

“No, it’s all right,” Kei said, continuing to stroke his hair. “You know, I feel Loke must be reborn as someone very special. Perhaps he will come back into your life again, and you can show him once more how much you loved him.”

Arman looked up at him. “I don’t believe in such things,” he said, his voice harsher with his grief than he meant it to sound. “But you really believe his spirit has come back to earth again?”

“Assuredly, for where else would it go? Your gods will run out of room eventually—it’s not practical to keep everyone in heaven.”

Despite his sorrow, Arman laughed at the idea a major tenet of the Darshianese religion, like its medicine, could have a basis in simple common sense. “When I see Karus again, I’ll put that to him, and ask him for an explanation. He’s bound to have one.”

“Good, then you can write to me and tell me what he says. But you’ll need to learn your characters better than you have.”

“I will,” Arman said. “I’ll practice every day until you faint in wonder at my astonishing literacy.”

“I’ll frame each letter. I’ll invite people to my home to marvel, truly.”

“You know, I imagine you probably will.”

“Oh, I will,” Kei said with a bright smile. “We don’t have much to amuse ourselves in Ai-Albon.” Kei brushed his hair back off his face again—
it really must need cutting
—and then, quite unexpectedly, leaned forward and placed the gentlest and most respectful of kisses on his forehead. “You need to rest. The bed’s down here as you can see. I’ll sleep here too.”

“But what about—”

Kei briefly covered his mouth with his fingers. “Same room, not the same bed. And...you need it, I think. Yes?”

“Yes. I shouldn’t need it, though.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, general,” he said gently. “Now, to sleep. I’m ordering it.”

“Yes, my lord physician, Kei-gidu.”

Kei stood and got a grip under Arman’s armpits. “Now if only all my patients were that respectful.”

The truly terrifying thing was the silence. Kei had hoped for bad weather, which would have meant the court would have been held in the clan head’s house with far fewer people to watch. But no, the day had dawned bright but cold, offering no reason for the hearing not to be held in the square in front of the entire clan. After a night filled with painful dreams Kei was powerless to ease for him, Arman’s resolution had turned to raw depression. As Kei explained to him what would happen, he seemed indifferent, almost bored. Kei wondered again why he was so determined to go through this. All he sensed from Arman was intense guilt and sadness—no fear at all. But Kei remained afraid on his behalf, and wished something would happen to prevent this whole business going ahead.

Nothing did. Tiko called at Rei’s house, together with Rei and Felik, the village’s healer, who wanted to check on the clan head’s behalf that Arman was fit enough to stand trial. Arman endured being poked and questioned, until the healer had grunted and said he was doing well enough for someone with such serious injuries. Felik wouldn’t allow Arman to walk. Overnight, he, Tiko and the village carpenter had rigged up a chair with a leg rest which could be carried without causing Arman pain. The only change in Arman’s emotions to that point was embarrassment as he was picked up in the contraption and carried to the door. Kei was to be allowed to sit with him during the business—supposedly for Arman’s benefit—but ironically, only because of this concession would he get through it himself, with all the many strong and painful emotions that would undoubtedly be unleashed.

Tiko was also unhappy at this trial, and Kei even detected a grudging sympathy for Arman’s situation, which surprised him since he assumed Tiko would think this was all Arman deserved. Perhaps as a soldier, he had more appreciation of the things that might happen in a war, even though up until now the Darshianese army’s main military role had been carrying out civil engineering projects and policing the large civilian population in and around Darshek.

Arman was silent as he was carried up the street to the square. Everywhere people watched—but no one said a word, not even the children. It was eerie, seeing such big eyed curiosity, but not hearing a single “Ma? Who’s that?”

The square was packed, of course. At the north end of it, the ten village elders and the clan head were seated. Arman’s chair was placed in front and to the side of the table that acted as a sort of barrier between judges and the crowd. Kei was told to sit in the chair placed next to Arman. He saw Tiko’s men forming a line between the villagers and the crowd—and, to his surprise, the Prijian soldiers were also there, sitting to one side. He didn’t think Arman would be pleased about that.

The clan head, a grey-haired woman with a straight back and steely gaze, stood and spoke in a clear, authoritative tone. “People of Ai-Darbin, General Arman of the Prij has agreed to face an accusation by the clan. General Arman, please confirm you accept the authority of this clan court.”

“I do so confirm,” Arman said, in the cold calm voice Kei remembered from his first encounter with the man.

“Those who make the accusation, let them come forward and state it.”

A middle-aged man and woman came out of the crowd, holding hands tightly. Their grief and anger were as powerful as it must have been the day their son died, but the man spoke calmly, clearly and loudly enough for all to hear. “I, Jik, accuse Arman of the Prij clan, of deliberately and unlawfully killing my son Timo in this square during the month of Harvest-tide.”

“And I, Meri, also accuse Arman of the Prij clan, of this crime.”

The clan head nodded. “Jik, Meri, step back. Arman of the Prij, do you deny this accusation?”

“No, madam. I admit it.”

For the very first time, there was a ripple of noise, of surprise, through the hundreds of waiting people. Kei put his hand on Arman’s arm, needing that stability as the waves of emotion hit him. “Do you offer any defence to this accusation at all?”

“No, madam. I have no defence. I unlawfully and deliberately killed the boy Timo, if that was his name, during the month of Harvest-tide, as charged.”