Kei's Gift

by Ann Somerville

  “I will do my best. You too, Rei-ki.”

  Reji held him almost painfully close, and then shoved him away. “Enough. I’ll never go if I hold you a moment longer. Be here when I get back, little brother, or I’ll be damn angry with you.”

  Kei saluted shakily. “Aye. Now go.”

  For a few moments, he was abandoned, surrounded by weeping families all caught up in their own pain, but then his name was called, and Banji was there, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. “You—you’re making me go.” Banji was crying, anger and grief warring in his eyes. “Why? My family are here. Damn you, Kei!”

  “Your family’s there too, and your future. I need you to look after my sister, you urs-witted fool, and your damn sister. You have to look after all the sisters and sons and brothers and daughters! They need you, they need Myka, they need Reji. Gods damn you.” He grabbed Banji and hugged him fiercely. “Please don’t hate me.”

  Battered too long by too many strong emotions from all sides, Kei’s control over his gift at last started to shatter despite his desperate efforts to maintain it, and for a few moments, he couldn’t tell where his own feelings stopped, and those of the angry, worried people around him started. His vision sparkled and his legs felt weak, like he was about to faint.

  Banji realised something was wrong. He dragged Kei away from the main crowd, and made him sit down against a wall, crouching next to him, a hand on his shoulder. “Damn fool,” Banji said, stroking his face. “Won’t you ever learn not to take everything on yourself?”

  “I don’t...don’t have any choice,” Kei said, his voice breaking. People didn’t understand soul-touchers any more than they did mind-movers. “Oh, gods, just go, and leave me be. I can’t bear it any more. It hurts so much.”

  He rested his face on his folded arms, wishing the travellers would go before he disgraced himself further. He felt Banji’s arm around his shoulders. “There’s only a moment or two,” Banji whispered. “I’m sorry. I don’t hate you. I’ll look after Myka, I swear. We will come home to you.”

  “Yes,” Kei whispered. “Gods, Banji-ki.”

  Being physically distant from the others helped a little. Banji let him rest for a short moment, but then made him stand. “You’ll worry Myka. Be brave just a little longer, my friend, and then go to Misek. He will look after you. Meis and Rin will care for you as their own. I have their word on it.”

  Kei wiped his nose on his arm. “You’ve had me adopted again?” he said with a forced grin. Banji’s face was a blurry, wavering thing in front of him. “Isn’t once enough?”

  “Obviously not. They’re calling me. I have to go.” Banji pulled him forward and kissed his forehead. “Be well, Kei.”

  “And you, my friend.”

  Banji slipped away. The roars of the urs beasts drowned out the sounds of crying and lamenting. Kei slumped to his knees again. The emotional overload had seared him to the point where he only felt numb, physically and mentally. He didn’t even watch the caravan head up the street, or try to catch a last glimpse of his sister or his friends. He couldn’t stand one more blow this day.

  Strong arms pulled him up, and then a weathered, kind face peered at him.

  “Un...Uncle Fedor. I’m sorry....”

  Fedor’s hands were all that held him up. “Come with me, lad. Now is no time to be alone. You’ll stay with us tonight, we’ll drink to our ancestors, and then you can rest. You have suffered the most of any of us today, Kei. I’m sorry.”

  It was too much, finally. His uncle, now his father, held him as, overwhelmed and heartsick, he wept for those he loved and feared he would never see again.

  Chapter : Darshian 9

  It was a tense, unhappy three weeks. The village which had once rung with the calls of children playing, of men and women engaged in work for the good of all, was now a quiet, sullen place. Children stayed inside, their parents afraid to lose sight of them. Husbands and wives argued, and wept for offspring now sent away, perhaps forever. Kei, who had lost all those he could talk to easily about such matters, withdrew into himself, spending most of each day on his own, sitting by the waterhole and gnawing on his worries when he wasn’t occupied making up drugs and distilling nitre weed and pijn. His clansmen’s emotions were like acid on his soul, and when he felt so raw, so full of grief and pain, he couldn’t bear more than a few minutes in anyone else’s company before he was forced to seek solitude. His aunt, Sira, and Meis took it in turns to feed him and offer him a place to sleep, but most nights, he went back to his own, lonely bed that still smelled a little of his and Reji’s lovemaking, and cried a little before he finally slept. The nights were full of anxious dreams.

  Duka stayed with them two more nights to let her hard-worked urs beast recover before she headed back to Ai-Tuek at speed, and so could tell them the grim news that someone had been killed by the Prij in Ai-Darbin. It lent weight to the decision to offer no resistance, but it was a very cold comfort.

  Every few days brought a brief visit from escaping villagers, bringing news, seeking news, taking some supplies, and leaving behind people coming close to breaking under the strain. Those of Ai-Tuek arrived the day Duka was due to return home—some of her people begged her to go with them, but she was determined, she said, to stand with the village. Besides, they needed their mind-speaker.

  The travellers from Ai-Darbin arrived four days later, and they heard more about the killing. A young boy, cut down without trial or mercy in front of his parents, for the crime of trying to fight back against the invaders, as if this wasn’t the most natural reaction of any person to their home being threatened. The name wasn’t one Kei knew, so at least it wasn’t one of Reji’s close kin, but it still made his blood run cold to hear the tale. At least all the villages save Ai-Rutej had had time to send people away. They carried the hopes of so many, these tired, strained young men and women, too young really for the burden. Kei treated the refugees for burns, scrapes, blisters, and, in a couple of cases, sprained limbs and cracked ribs from falls. Otherwise, they were in good health, and despite being unutterably weary from the journey—already weeks long for some—the determination to continue burned bright. As well it might, Kei reflected sourly. They weren’t sitting decoys, awaiting an uncertain fate.

  So in a way it was a relief to see the distant clouds of dust that heralded the arrival of the army. Everyone had been carefully schooled how to react, how to behave, the children drilled remorselessly so they didn’t let the slightest hint slip that all the villagers were in fact not present. The hostage list had been prepared in advance, although Fedor wasn’t sure the Prij would let them choose, not after what happened in Ai-Darbin. Kei was certain to be chosen. They were taking the oldest child of the clan head in every village, or the oldest niece or nephew where there was no child of the right age. In Ai-Albon, that meant him, unless they allowed Fedor’s fifteen-year-old son, Lori, to go in his place—unthinkable to Kei and to everyone else.

  Those named on the hostage list were to be carefully stationed at the front of the assembly, the better to catch the eye of the Prij commanders. They had done absolutely all they could do to minimise the harm to the village and the clan. All they could do now was wait.

  They heard the army long before they saw them. The noise was terrifying, like rolling thunder, a cacophony of drums and horns which battered one down. It was easy to seem frightened and overawed when the mass of urs beasts lumbered towards them. It wasn’t a pretense at all for Kei. The sun glittered off hundreds of chest plates and spearheads, and angry-looking banners fluttered in the breeze. The villagers waited in the square, Fedor at their head. No one said a word, not even the children. Misek stood at Kei’s back, his hand on Kei’s shoulder, a silent comfort as much as any could be.

  At last the drums and horns stopped and several men on urs beasts came forward to the head of the massed soldiers. Two were clearly high ranking, possibly the leaders, dressed in brilliant armour from head to foot, high plumes of feathers on their h
elmets making them tall as giants. Kei couldn’t see their faces, but he got the strongest impression of deep hatred from one of them. Hatred and pain, powerful and raw enough to make him feel sick. A lesser ranking officer rode to the front, and made a speech in oddly accented Darshianese.

  “People of the village of Albon, it has pleased Her Serenity, the gracious Kita Ruj Kemi, beloved of Lord Niko, to take you and your property under the protection of the empire of the Prij. Hence forth, all goods and products of this village belong to the empire and you will obey the laws and edicts of Kuprij. You will supply as evidence of good faith, ten people between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five who are in fair health and body. These will be kept in the gracious custody of Her Serenity as a bond for your continued co-operation. Her Serenity leaves for your protection a cadre of soldiers who will guide your relations with the Empire and ensure cooperation. If any soldier is harmed, one of your people will be maimed in like kind. If any soldier is killed, all your people in custody will be executed as an example to all and a further ten removed. If the crime is repeated, your village will be destroyed and every occupant taken into slavery and kept enslaved to the fourth generation.”

  The man rolled up the paper from which he read, and moved back. One of the senior officers rode forward a little. “Let the clan head come forward.” This man spoke far better Darshianese, but his voice dripped with scorn. He was the one radiating the hostility.

  Fedor stepped out. “I am clan head. Fedor of Ai-Albon. Who am I addressing?”

  “I am Sei General Arman of the Prij, co-commander of this army. Fedor of Ai-Albon, you have to the slow count of one hundred to choose ten hostages. After that, we shall choose for you. Your oldest child must be among the ten. If you have none old enough, choose a child of your nearest kin. Begin.”

  Fedor nodded, and as a drum tapped out the count, he swiftly walked along the front of the gathered crowd, making a slight show of having to decide. Kei couldn’t help cringing a little as his uncle’s hand tapped his shoulder, for all he was so well warned.

  “It is done,” Fedor said, before the count was two-thirds complete.

  “Lieutenant, escort the hostages to their homes to pack. Each must take two days’ water, and two weeks’ dry food. Clan head, you will provide us with a sack of grain for every ten persons in your village. You will provide quarters for our men at the point closest to your grain stories. If there is any resistance, we will kill all concerned. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Fedor stood proud, but the officer speaking to him turned his beast and rode off without even bothering to acknowledge his acquiescence. Arrogant bastards. A soldier seized Kei’s arm and dragged him further away from the assembly with the other hostages.

  Two soldiers apiece came up beside them. “Move—you have to get ready,” one told him in clumsy Darshianese and then his guards marched him between them to his home. Kei had long ago decided what to take, but still had to actually pack since it would seem suspicious to be ready. His clothing and personal effects were no difficulty. The medical supplies were more of a problem. “What is this?” one of the men wanted to know, picking up a bottle of nitre distillation.

  Kei explained it in simple words, as if to a child. “It’s medicine for wounds. It’s deadly poison, so you mustn’t drink it.”

  The soldier put it down hastily. “Do you think we should let him take it?” he asked the other, older man.

  “Can’t see how it will harm anyone but himself. Prisoner, if you or anyone else harm themselves, or come to harm, your fellows will suffer the same fate as you, do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir. I take responsibility for all such matters.”

  The older of the two soldiers nodded. “All right. If you want to pour poison on yourselves, that’s up to you. Hey, you can’t take those!”

  Kei spread the surgical kit out. “Can they be kept safe if I need them? They can do no harm if you keep them.”

  “I’ll make arrangements with our medic and seal the things up. Better give me that poison stuff too.”

  Kei had expected this, but he hoped the medic was a reasonable man. If he needed the things in a hurry, a delay could be fatal.

  The bandages and ointments were passed without comment, so he was ready in a very short time. His hands shook, and he clenched them into fists at his side. No amount of preparation could ready him for being taken from his home under guard. The two men guarding him seemed reasonable, but he detected a lot of hostility from the other soldiers, contemptuous looks thrown in the direction of the villagers—even some fear, which was odd, considered how badly the Darshianese were outnumbered.

  He was taken back to the square where his fellow hostages were also assembled. He felt their fear, and saw it in their eyes. He tried to look reassuring, because that was what he did as a healer. He won a slight response, lips a little less tight, but not much else. Not surprising.

  The lieutenant spoke to the other officer, who nodded. The lieutenant carefully noted down the name of every hostage, and had Fedor sign the list. “Fedor of Ai-Albon, your mark on this document shows you have agreed these men and women stand as your bond of good behaviour. Retribution for any crime against Kuprij will fall first on them. You may say a brief farewell on behalf of their families.”

  Even knowing in advance what was coming, many people wept, but Kei was proud that no one broke down or shamed those who had to go by begging them to stay. Fedor stood stiff-backed and looked every inch the clan head as he clasped the hand of each hostage and kissed their cheeks.

  When he got to Kei, Fedor’s eyes were awash with tears. “My son, my nephew,” he said so quietly they were the only ones who could hear. “I wish there was some other way.”

  “There isn’t, my father. I’ll wait for the joy of seeing you again—and the rest of my family.”

  “As will I.” He hugged Kei tightly. “Gods, you are so like Keiji, but you remind me of my sister too. It hurts to let you go.”

  “I’ll be back, father. I promise.” Kei made him let go—he couldn’t handle Fedor’s pain and his own, if he was going to stay calm. His control hadn’t been the same since the day Myka and the others left. Kei suspected something had broken inside him then, but there wasn’t anything he could do except try and stop people aggravating the injury.

  There was so much he wanted to say to Fedor now the time had come, so many things he wished he could do. He had trained Misek and Meis as much as he could to act as healers, but they could still only handle the bare basics. If there was a serious outbreak of illness, or another kiln explosion, people would die because he wasn’t there. He bit his lip from saying as much. Lori was too young to make this journey. Lori’s adopted brother was much better able to handle it.

  There was no time left. The lieutenant’s patience was at an end, and without further ceremony, Kei and the others were marched out of the village. Kei didn’t know whether this was an ending or a beginning, but it was as painful as birth, and as much cause for grief as dying.

  Hope was the only comfort they had now.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Jozo was pleased. “Another annexation gone smoothly, eh, Arman? In two weeks we’ll be at Kislik, and you can turn back towards home.”

  Home, Arman thought dully. He had no home now. “Doesn’t it strike you as strange it’s been so easy? These curs today didn’t even make the pretense of a protest. It feels wrong.”

  “Come now. What are a couple of hundred simple, superstitious barbarians like that going to do when they see a thousand of Kuprij’s finest come over the horizon? They’re too busy shitting themselves to fight.”

  “Yes, but if the Darshianese were to attack Utuk—”

  “Which the gods forbid,” Jozo quickly interrupted.

  “Which the gods would never allow,” Arman agreed impatiently, “but say they did, even the smallest child would stand to defend the city. None of them seemed to care.”

  Jozo swept his
hand around. “Would you want to die for this? Utuk’s a proud, ancient city. This is just farmland.”

  “As you say. I’m going to take a guard and ride on ahead. I don’t want to be near these people.”

  “All right. Arman...I know you grieve, my friend. But this hatred, it’s not like you. It’s not the spirit that makes a good general either.” Jozo’s eyes were kind, worried for him.

  “Don’t tell me how I should feel. So long as I do my job to Her Serenity’s satisfaction, no one will have a complaint. She’ll be pleased to have her empire expanded.”

  Jozo shook his head. “Very well, if that’s how you want to play it, I won’t press you. I’ll see you at the camping grounds at noon. Maybe you should see if you can hunt us up some meat. I’m tired of eggs.”

  “Perhaps.” Arman turned his beast, and signalled to his men. He had to get away from these cursed Darshianese.

  He ordered his guard to stay well back from him. He didn’t expect any danger, but if he were entirely honest, he didn’t really care if an attack came. It was hard to care about anything any more. The only emotions he felt were grief and hate, and the latter only in bursts. Most of the time, he felt dead inside. He wanted to be dead. He avoided Jozo as much as he could, and had no interactions with his men except the necessary acceptance of meals, or receipt of information. Contact with other people made him ache, because they were not—

  He couldn’t even think the name without his vision blurring with tears. He couldn’t use his knife any more, because of the teeth marks on the handle and what they meant. He avoided his diary and the pale blond locks stored in its cover with the last message to a mother, as yet unaware of a loss that was choking Arman to death. When he lay on his pallet at night, more often than not, his hand drifted to touch a slim, warm shoulder that wasn’t there any more.