Kei's Gift (9 page)

Arman was almost, he was ashamed to say, enjoying the march. The landscape was flat but hardly stark, with enough variety, enough trees, and fields of crops, and waterholes, to give rest to the eye. The hunting was good, and between that and the sequestered harvests, the supply situation was no longer a concern. It was one of the reasons the push had been made at just this time, when the crops were in, and the granaries still high. It would mean a lean year for the villages, but if it drove some of the people towards Urshek in search of food and work, that was no bad thing. They didn’t need the population maintained at its present level to keep the productivity high, and it would make the domination by the expected Prijian colonists with their higher fertility, all that much easier.

Four weeks after the start of the campaign, Jozo called a day’s halt to give the men a rest, to allow them to fix broken equipment, wash themselves and their clothes, and do all the many small tasks that accumulated when an army was on the move. They were ahead on time, having taken the territory to this point much more quickly than expected—the third village on the route would be reached in a day’s march, so they would surprise the villagers at dawn. For now, the army camped out near a large waterhole near one of the rare high features in the landscape, a huge sandstone outcrop weathered by the wind and carved by it into strange shapes and hollows.

Arman examined it thoughtfully as he sat out of doors to eat his breakfast—eggs of a type unfamiliar to him, and hard camp bread, which was unfortunately not. “I’ve a mind to climb that,” he said to Loke, nodding at the outcrop. “Fancy a challenge?”

“Why not? It makes a change from smelling urs beasts’ farts.”

Arman wagged his knife at his page. “No complaints. You asked for it.”

“Yes, I know. I don’t mind, honestly. I think I’m an inch or two shorter than I was, though. Worn off at the ankles.”

Arman grinned at the idea. “I think, if anything, you’re an inch or two taller. You’ve not finished growing.”

“I’ll never be a giant like you. I wonder you don’t take a nosebleed sometimes when you stand up.”

Arman flicked a crumb of bread at him. “Enough of that, lad. You’ll be near as tall as me when you’re my age.”

“If I live so long, I may do,” Loke said with a smile as he gathered up the plates, washing them up quickly so they could make their excursion.

Arman dropped in on Jozo to let him know where they were going. “Do you want to come with us?”

Jozo held up his hands. “No, thank you. My knees would never forgive me. Is it wise? We’re in enemy territory.”

“I think I feel more in danger walking the streets of Utuk. The army has the place secured, and it’s not like the Darshianese have some hidden skill at guerrilla warfare. They don’t make much of a foe.”

Jozo grunted. “Maybe they send all the feisty buggers up to Darshek, and the placid ones stay to work the land. All right, but if you fall off that thing and break your foolish neck, I’ll weep no tears for you.”

“The gods forbid. I’ll be back in a few hours. The thing isn’t that big.”

He found Loke waiting patiently, sensibly carrying a pack which doubtless held water canteens, with a rope looped over his shoulders. “I can’t believe you talked me into climbing something again,” Loke muttered.

“Urs beasts' farts? Remind you of anything?”

“Ah. Yes, now I recall.”

It was another hot day, even though they were supposedly coming into winter. It had rained in the night a couple of times, but the ground had not stayed wet for more than an hour or so, and hadn’t inhibited their progress in the least. The earth here soaked the water away like a sponge. Arman wondered where it went. There was a lot more vegetation than the rainfall and the surface waterholes could apparently sustain. Calling this land a ‘desert’ was inaccurate, to say the least.

It wasn’t like climbing the basalt and granite mountains on Kuplik—something Arman had done a few times for amusement and with serious intent. The curves of the sandstone were almost womanly by comparison, but unlike a woman’s body, they offered few handholds. He was forced to recall long-unused skills to find places for his feet, to anchor himself so he could haul Loke up. With the help of a few scrubby bushes, wind-scooped holes here and there, Loke’s rope used judiciously, and a good deal of grunting and sweat, they finally hauled themselves over the crest, where they found a flat platform on which twenty men could comfortably camp.

Arman squinted at the horizon, and the long expanse of dusty brown terrain, broken liberally by green that was probably trees along waterholes and streams. He supposed if they had come a few weeks earlier, there would have been the gold and rusty reds of grain fields too. It was very unlike the land in which he’d been born, with its high peaks, lush narrow valleys, and racing, vigorous rivers. The area around Utuk was less mountainous, but nothing like this.

“So, was it worth the climb? What do you think of the view?”

Loke sank to the ground, legs crossed. “It’s flat. Very flat. And look, over there—more plains, which are also flat.” He grinned. “But it’s nice enough. How far do you think we can see?”

“Oh, forty miles or more. Look, I think that might be Darbin there...see? The smoke?”

Loke squinted. “Yes, I think I see it.” He sighed. “I can’t help but feel sorry for them. We’re about to turn their lives upside down.”

“In the short term, yes, we are. In the long term, if they’re sensible, they’ll benefit from being part of the empire. We don’t want them to stop doing what they do, only to whom they send the fruits of their labours. It’s Darshek we want.”

“Yes, I know. You don’t need to explain,” Loke said in faint reproach. “Still...I’m glad I’m of the Prij. Those Darshianese hostages weren’t expecting their lives to take this turn. I hope they will forgive us, in time.”

“They likely will. People want stability. If we give it to them, they’ll forgive the trouble now.”
Well, we hope
. Loke’s earlier remark came back to Arman now. “And what of you, my friend? What do you want from life?”

Loke looked at him in confusion. “Want? Why, nothing more than this. To serve you, to help you enjoy what time you have to yourself. Is that not enough?”

“Aye, at seventeen. But at twenty-seven? Would you wish to marry?”

“No, Sei Arman.”

The emphatic response surprised him. “No wish at all?”

“None.”

Loke was uncharacteristically unforthcoming, so Arman left it aside for now. He would tease a reason from him later, perhaps. “Well, there are other things. I could pay for you to study again, if you wished. You could become a tutor in a nobleman’s home, build a reputation and a fortune the way Karus has.”

Loke twisted around to look at him. “Do I displease you, Arman? Do you want me not to serve you any more?”

His expression was wide-eyed, and slightly hurt. “Not at all, my friend,” Arman reassured him quickly. “But it’s selfish of me to keep you as a servant, when you could do something else if you wished.”

“Your family gave me and my mother a home and a role when my father died. I’ve never had a moment’s regret over that. I have blessed the day I was set to serve you. Please don’t ask such questions. I’m happy with you, and will be until you no longer wish me to stay.”

Arman put his arm around Loke and hugged him to his side, regretting the inadvertent hurt he had caused. “Apologies. I was only trying to be a friend.”

Loke rested forgivingly against him, his slight body a comfortable weight to hold. “As you ever are. A true and kind friend, the best I could ever wish for. Please don’t send me away.”

“I won’t,” Arman murmured, his lips against Loke’s hair. “I’m sorry, lad. Forget I spoke, and don’t let the fate of the Darshianese concern you either. The Prij are just rulers, as you know.”

“Yes. It’s a fair land, but I think I like Kuprij better, for all the sea does such cruel things to my guts. It’s disquieting, being so far from water, is it not?”

Arman supposed it was. He didn’t tend to become attached to his surroundings in that way, and was still curious enough to enjoy new sights, new adventures. One day, he supposed, he might be like Jozo, and see it all as a necessary evil, liking nothing more than to retreat to the comfort of the tent and his house at the end of his campaigns, but the lack of hospitality in Arman’s home made him less wedded to his comforts. Being candid as he tried to be with himself, he admitted to himself he could be content because he had his home with him.

But he said nothing of this to Loke for fear of being seen as sentimental and putting a burden of responsibility on young shoulders that already carried so much. Still, if Loke was waiting to be sent away, he would be waiting a very, very long time.

~~~~~~~~

It had been a good harvest this year and the surpluses across the outlying areas would feed Darshek well. The clan had spent a furious week bringing in their own grain from the local farms, and another week threshing and storing. Already the winter crop of beans was being planted, ready for the rains which would come in a month or so. Peit and the hunters had returned with several good-sized wild jombeker carcasses, many desert hisks, valuable for their meat and their fur, and cages of live wildfowl, so the harvest feast would be a rich one. There would be plenty of other contributions, not only for the celebrations, but to tide them over the coming season. Tido trees had been stripped of their fruit, baskets of gike plums and refik berries collected, some for the feast, most for drying. Hives were robbed of their honey and their wax, and any big oroj cricket crossing a child’s path was likely to be pounced on with glee and stuffed in a cage, since they made good eating and were delicious roasted.

For days now, there had been a flurry of baking and brewing, houses being cleaned, clothes being mended and new ones made for the night of the ancestors. Kei was glad Reji would be here for it this year, even though he would leave shortly after, taking grain and dried medicinal plants to Darshek. No pujum ore this time, although having just taken a load north, it wouldn’t be expected. By the time he returned after the rainy season, Rin’s family should have a good supply ready for Reji, with their kiln now rebuilt.

Kei had done his bit towards cleaning the house, but had kept out of Myka’s way as she cooked, since she tended to become rather irritable when she was baking. Instead, he worked with Reji, helping him make minor repairs to his house, checking his larders, and making love as the mood took them. He’d miss Reji more than usual this time. It had been a happy month, no serious illness in the clan, the successful harvest putting everyone in a good mood, and with the anticipation of the feast a cheerful occupation. For the first time since he had returned from Darshek after his parents’ deaths, Kei felt entirely comfortable in his skin and in his role in life.

This morning, he and Reji took a walk, spending a last day together being idle before Reji left to go north again. Everywhere people were busy, rugs being shaken at doorways and brooms worked furiously, men on roofs here and there, or patching walls. Kei felt positively debauched not to be similarly occupied, but not so guilty he was going to help. He’d completed all his own tasks the day before, and Myka had again forbidden him to spend the day at his books, so unless he wanted to be unusually altruistic, he had no one but Reji with a claim on his time. He spotted two familiar figures heading out of the village, and called to them. “Banji-ki! Risa! Wait for us!”

Banji turned at his hail. “Good morning. I’m off to collect some gren nuts for Meis.”

“Is she going to make gren cakes? The ones with honey and pyjk berries?” Reji rubbed his stomach appreciatively, which made his friends grin. Meis’s gren cakes were something of a speciality of her family. “Can we help?”

“Sure, but I don’t want you eating what we collect before I get them back to Meis. She wants them for the feast tonight and she’ll skin me alive if I don’t bring enough home.”

Kei was content to join in the excursion. Reji loved gren cakes, after all. Risa slipped back and took his hand in friendly fashion, swinging a woven basket in his other hand. Kei looked down at him. “How come Pij and Misek aren’t helping?”

“Pij is baking, and Misek’s helping Uncle Lev tan a hide. Then Pa wants him to help him with the storage shed. We all are, when we get back.”

The blessings of a large family. Meis and Rin were already unusual in having three children by blood, and now Banji had been adopted, they had a family the size of Fedor’s. And all of
their
children were fertile.

Risa was a solemn child, but he was happy enough today. An air of melancholy still clung to Banji, but his friend had borne the loss of his father better than he and Myka had feared. Myka had helped, as had Misek. Even Meis’s grief had abated a little. Reji had done a lot in that regard. Kei gave his lover’s back a smile as he remembered.

As if he were a mind-speaker and not a fire-shaper, Reji turned and grinned, falling back and putting his arm around Kei’s waist. “What are you smiling about, Keichichi? It makes me think you have mischief planned.”

Kei shoved him away. “Oh, ho, as if I would have a chance with you around, master prankster. You had better be on your best behaviour tonight, or the ancestors will steal you away for their amusement in the other world, for I’m sure they need a laugh or two, eh, Risa?”