Kei's Gift

by Ann Somerville

  This brought a few cheers, and many nods of agreement. If nothing else, Arman was glad he’d been able to restore Kei to his home, even if it was in a way he’d not expected. If the others could come back too....

  Fedor made a signal, and as the men and women with him moved to flank him, a pipe played a soft lilting melody, very odd to Arman’s ears. Then, from opposite sides of the square, two pairs of people walked towards Fedor. One was Kei with Myka on his arm, looking lovely and rather pleased with herself. Her hair was coiled on top of her head and adorned with something that glittered in the lamplight. A single long lock of hair had been left free to hang at the side of her face. This odd style was matched by one of the two young men who were also coming to the front of the crowd—one, Arman assumed, had to be her fiancé, the other a badly scarred fellow of a similar age.

  Myka and her intended were led by their companions to stand in front of Fedor, then Kei and the scarred young man stood aside. The music fell silent and Fedor spoke again to the crowd. “Myka, my daughter and niece, daughter of Keiji and Erte, and Banji, son and nephew of Rin and Meis, son of Ban and Kleta, have asked for the right to be joined in marriage. Who will speak for them?”

  Kei stepped forward. “I, Kei, son and nephew of Fedor and Sira, son of Keiji and Erte, speak for my sister, Myka. I believe she is of sound character, has an honest and loving heart—and she makes the best beer in Ai-Albon, so she’s quite a catch.”

  The villagers laughed and cheered. The priests of Isik would drop dead with shock to have seen such irreverence. Prijian weddings were extremely solemn affairs.

  Kei stepped back, and the other young man stepped up. “I, Misek, son of Rin and Meis, speak for my brother and cousin, Banji. I know him to be a good and honest person, a hard and sturdy worker, and he loves beer so it’s a happy match.”

  Fedor grinned as Misek finished his speech. “Do the families consent?”

  “Aye, we do,” the older two women standing to either side of Fedor said in unison—the mothers of the couple, Arman guessed.

  “Does anyone object to the joining of Myka and Banji?”

  Arman half-expected a joking interjection, but there wasn’t a word said. Fedor spoke again. “Then as clan head, I give my consent if Myka and Banji still choose to be joined.”

  The two women who had spoken came to the sides of the young couple and did something Arman couldn’t see—but when they stepped back, Arman saw the long free locks of hair that Myka and Banji were sporting, had been twined loosely together and held in Fedor’s hand. “Myka, do you still wish to wed Banji?”

  “With all my heart,” she said stoutly.

  “And Banji, do you consent?”

  “I will take Myka as my wife with pleasure.”

  Fedor took a hand each from them, clasped them together and placed the joined locks in them. “Then may your life be joyous, and blessed with love and many children. Congratulations.”

  And that was it, Arman realised in amazement. The newly joined couple turned to the crowd to receive their cheers, music struck up again, and tables with food and small barrels on them were brought out of several of the houses and into the square itself. No robes, no incense, no priests, no sacrifices. No gods appealed to or propitiated, and no handsome gifts to the temple to ensure fertility. It was all...charming. A simple, heart-felt ceremony to fit honest and warm people.

  Now the ceremony was over, it was time for drinking and dancing. Arman was resigned to the fact he would be sitting watching other people enjoy themselves for at least an hour—any less and his departure would draw unwelcome attention. He couldn’t see Kei anymore as people milled about, nor any of the few villagers he knew. “Captain, don’t you want to join in the fun?”

  Tiko looked down and grimaced. “I’d love to. But I can’t leave you.”

  “No one’s paying me any heed, you know. They have far more important and enjoyable things to do.”

  Tiko shook his head. “Sorry, it’s too risky.”

  Arman sighed. Another crime to lay at his feet.

  Increasingly dejected at being the turd in the lily pond, he watched the revelry, wishing he could be allowed to return to the house. His guards stood stolidly in position, contrasting sadly with the dancers and those munching on a kind of small cake.

  “You look totally miserable—was it that awful?”

  He couldn’t help but smile as Kei’s happy face appeared above him. “No, I was glad to see it. But I’m stopping our friends here enjoying themselves.”

  “I can fix that,” Kei said brightly before he dived back into the crowd. Now what was he up to?

  He had his answer a few short minutes later when Kei reappeared with Misek, the scarred man who’d spoke for the groom. “Right, Tiko—Mis and I will watch the general, you men can go have fun.”

  “No, I have to—”

  Kei held his hand up imperiously. “Tiko, no one’s interested. Anyway, if you think anyone’s going to violate our hospitality in front of the brothers of the bride and groom, not to mention the son of the clan head, then you’ve really been away from home too long.”

  Tiko grinned. “Fair enough. Come on, lads, the honour of the army is at stake.”

  None of his soldiers needed a second hint, and Arman’s guard disappeared like water in sand. “Finally,” Kei said. “General, I’d like you to meet Mis, my other best friend.”

  Misek held out his hand without a hint of hesitation. “I’m Misek.”

  Arman shook his hand. “I’m Arman. Thank you for letting me share in your family’s joy.”

  “Well, it was Fedor. I can’t claim any credit. Kei’s been bending my ear about you half the day.”

  “Oh?” It can’t have been anything bad, because Misek was only curious—there was no hostility in his expression at all.

  “He says you’re going to bring our people home—is that true?”

  “I’ll do my very best. I can’t promise it because it’s not all in my control.”

  “He knows that,” Kei said. “Mis, do you fancy fighting for some gren nut cakes and beer for us? I better stay with Arman or Tiko will give me grief.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” He made his way back into the crowd.

  Kei crouched beside Arman’s chair. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. It was a very nice ceremony. Simple. I liked it.”

  “They can get more elaborate in Darshek, but really all we need to know here is that the couple are serious enough to state that fact in public and the families are happy. With those two, that was a given anyway.”

  “What if someone had objected? Does it happen?”

  Kei nodded. “It can—never seen it myself, but if there’s an unresolved attachment, things can get awkward. If it can’t be sorted out on the spot, then the ceremony is delayed until it is. But in the villages, we all know each other and so it never gets that far. She looked fine, didn’t she? I wish Ma and Pa had been here. Ma...this is the kind of thing she missed out on,” he added wistfully.

  Arman laid a hand on Kei’s back. “Don’t. How long will this go on for?”

  “Until the beer runs out. Which will be an hour or two. Myka and Banji are doing the rounds. I want to wait until they go in. Can you bear it?” he asked, looking suddenly worried.

  “Now I can. But you don’t really need to babysit me. There’s no threat.”

  “Well, not now, but when there’s drink and resentment, you can’t be too careful. Besides,” he said with a grin, “people will think twice about being rude to you if I’m here. There’s nothing to stop them coming over to talk to me if they want to.”

  “I’ll put them off, surely.”

  “Don’t be too sure about that. Here comes Mis—he’s had good hunting.”

  Misek bore three mugs and a plate full of the cakes everyone was eating. “I think that might have to do us, Kei—there’s not much left.”

  “It’s my fault, I didn’t give people time to prepare. Here, Arman.”
Kei handed him a cakes. “It’s a local speciality—gren nut cakes with honey. Go on, they’re good.”

  Cautiously, he nibbled on it. It really was good—sweet, with a nutty taste and light texture to complement the roasted nut topping. It wouldn’t shame the table of Her Serenity herself. “Excellent,” he said, which made Misek grin for some reason.

  “Misek’s mother is the best cook in the village,” Kei explained.

  “Please give her my compliments, then.”

  Misek’s expression became serious. “No offence, general, but I’m not telling her you’re eating her cakes. She doesn’t like you.”

  “No,” Arman agreed regretfully. “I wouldn’t expect she does. But the cakes are good, nonetheless.”

  Kei looked down and gave him a rueful grin, and then spoke to Misek. That gave Arman peace to finish the food and sip the beer while he watched the festivities and listened to the sprightly, joyful music provided by pipes and small drums, and something a little like a metal rattle which gave low, bell-like notes when shaken. The new couple were greeted at every turn as they wove in and out of the dancing couples.

  His own marriage to Mayl had been a seriously formal affair and the only dancing had been by the entertainers. He’d got drunk just to get through it, and what he knew he’d have to do that evening. If he’d had someone like Kei to take to his bed....

  He stamped on that thought as he did every time it reared its ugly head. Fortunately, Kei wasn’t paying attention, for which he was grateful. His young friend was in his element in this gathering, and even though the raft of happy emotions would stress him less and perhaps was no true test of his gift’s stability, he still wished Kei would trust the healing power of the love and support of his family and friends. Since Darbin, Kei had been free of nightmares and the bone-deep sadness that had dogged him for months had subsided. Arman found it very difficult to believe it was just because Kei had been almost continuously in Arman’s company since then. It made no sense—he and Kei were friends, but they weren’t lovers, and Arman had no special gift, he was certain of it. What was surely happening was Kei’s own remarkable mind was working to repair the damage, and time and distance from the awful experience of the executions had dulled the pain, even as the crippling ache of Loke’s death had eased for Arman himself.

  If Reji were not in Darshek, and Kei not very likely to meet up with him there, Arman would try harder to persuade him, perhaps even appeal to Fedor over Kei’s head to try and get his friend to stay. As it was, there would only be an unfortunate but not tragic delay to Kei returning to a normal life, although Arman still regretted it.

  Fedor and his wife—so Arman assumed—were near to them now. Kei called to them and Fedor nodded, but came no closer. “Don’t push,” Arman hissed as Kei seemed intent on bringing them over. “The man’s done enough.”

  “I just wanted my aunt to meet you.”

  Arman tugged hard on Kei’s coat. “Don’t,” he repeated. “Don’t go too far, please.”

  Kei gave him a wry look. “Getting carried away, am I?”

  “Just a bit.” Misek was talking with a young woman and Kei and Arman were alone briefly. “There’s no equivalent ceremony for same sex couples?” There wasn’t any such thing in Prijian culture, but the Darshianese were so much more practical and open, so he had to wonder.

  “No, there isn’t, nor for infertiles like me. Marriage is mainly seen as a way of ensuring the stability of a family unit for children, a commitment to raising them with each other. There’s no need for us to be wed,” Kei explained.

  Arman detected a tinge of resentment in his tone. “And can infertiles not adopt?”

  “Oh yes, they can, and should they have a lover of either sex, they can be named as an adoptive parent. There’s no ceremony, just documents. It’s very rare though—there’s usually a married relative with children who will take orphaned children in. No, it’s a carefree life for the likes of me. No wife, no children, no need to divorce if my lover ceases to please me. Who could want for more?”

  Although Arman had had hints the inability to father a child wore hard on Kei, he’d never suspected this degree of bitterness. “I’m not really in a position to sing the praises of wedded bliss,” he said mildly.

  Kei collected himself. “Gods, listen to me, as if it’s anyone’s fault I can’t have children. Banji! Myka!” He waved the young couple over, his dark mood apparently forgotten.

  Myka was all smiles—she looked radiant and pretty and very much in love—and able to have all that was denied to Kei by pure accident. Arman knew what it felt like to be excluded from ordinary happiness by circumstance. Still, he greeted his friend’s sister warmly. “Congratulations, Myka.”

  “Thank you, Arman.” She pulled her young man forward. “This is Banji. Banji-Ki, this is the—”

  “I know who he is,” her husband said quietly, giving Arman a piercing look. “Come on, Ma’s calling us.” He tugged on Myka’s arm, and his wife had little choice but to follow. She threw a look back at Kei and Arman as in apology, but then the throng swallowed them up.

  “Sorry about that,” Kei said, crouching down beside Arman’s chair again. “It’s not that Banji hates you, it’s his family—Meis really wants you to leave.”

  Depressing to be the cause of bad feeling at this happy occasion. “It’s the best thing for all concerned, really. Could I possibly go back? I’ve served politeness and honour long enough.” Although he should be used to it by now, he was tired of being slighted over and over, and it upset Kei to see it.

  Kei stood and picked up his lamp. “Of course. Do you think you can manage with just me?”

  “I’ll be fine. Why don’t you ask Tiko?”

  “Because he’s busy and we can slip away without him. Come on.”

  With Kei’s help, he got onto his crutches, and they moved slowly along the edge of the crowd, Kei politely acknowledging his friends while making it clear he couldn’t stop. It took them a good five minutes to get out of the square, but after that, he was back at the house in short order. Kei helped him into a chair and put the lamp on the table. “I’ll run back and tell Tiko where I’ve gone and say goodnight to Myka, then I’ll be back.”

  Arman caught his sleeve. “There’s no hurry. Go back and enjoy yourself.”

  “No, I want to come back. I’ve done my bit.”

  Arman watched him go in exasperation. Spoiling this celebration for Kei was precisely what he hadn’t wanted. His sister would only be married once, most likely, and Kei was missing out on it. He said as much when Kei returned a few minutes later, but his friend didn’t agree. “The main thing was speaking for Myka. There’ll be other celebrations, and right now, it’s an effort to not be overwhelmed even with everyone being happy. I’m sorry you had a rotten time. We’re not usually this rude to visitors.”

  “I’m hardly just a visitor. Don’t worry, the good name of your clan remains untarnished.”

  Kei shrugged, and then began rooting around in the kitchen. “I forgot to get something for supper—it’s going to be whatever’s in the larder, the rest of the bread and some honey. Oh, there’s still a little butter—you have that, it’s good for you.”

  “Kei.”

  “What?”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Kei?”

  “What, Arman?”

  Arman folded his arms and looked sternly at him. “You’re a dreadful liar, you know.”

  Kei stood up, holding a small pot. “I am fine, really.” He put the pot down on the table. “It’s just things being dangled in front of me I can’t have. Again. It’s a very small problem compared to everything else.” He looked in the cupboards again, resolutely ignoring Arman’s concern.

  When he came back to the table and put his finds down, Arman took hold of his wrist. “Would it help to stay? It’s not too late, you know that.”

  Kei sat down. “No,” he said gently. “This isn’t to do with...the dam
age.... This is something I’ve had to deal with all my life.” He gave Arman a sad smile. “Right now, there’s an element of wishing my older friends would accept my new one, but we can’t help that.”

  “I don’t belong to your life. You should concentrate on how you’ll return here.” Kei only shrugged at this advice. “Is there really no hope you could be fertile?”

  Kei freed himself to slice the bread. “None. And it’s not such a problem, only when I get reminded of it. I love children. I’d love to have a son or daughter of my own. But infertility isn’t restricted to those with gifts, and it’s perfectly possible to be happy without offspring. Reji definitely prefers it this way.”

  Arman wondered if Reji knew how Kei felt on the subject. “It’s ironic—I’m indifferent on the subject of fatherhood, but my balls have been certified as perfect by the Temple of Isik itself.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Kei asked, pausing as he cut the bread, his mouth open in shock.

  “When Prijian children enter puberty, they’re taken to the Temple and the priests conduct elaborate tests involving sacrificing fowls and covering them with salt and rather a lot of disgusting herbs to determine if the child is fertile is not. If they are not, then the parents can either pray to Isik and hope for a change of heart, which usually comes with a lot of bribes passed to the priests, or they can accept their child is never going to marry and they’re usually sent to serve in the temple. Unfortunately, I was found to be emphatically fertile—now I really wish I’d been less manly.”

  Kei was still gaping. “You’re surely joking.”

  “No. I still have my certificate in the house.”

  “Arman, of all the stupid, primitive, superstitious load of urs shit I’ve ever heard about the Prij, that is the worst. How can priests tell if a child is fertile by sacrificing a fowl?”