Kei's Gift

by Ann Somerville

  Jera clasped his shoulder. “Never mind. At least I don’t speak Prijian. I’ve been rather glad of that over the last day.”

  Arman rather wished he didn’t speak it either. He was kept waiting like a common tradesmen for an unnecessarily long time before being summoned to the drawing room. “Ah, I wondered when you’d dare show your face,” his father said without any pretence of welcome. “And who in hells is this?”

  “This, father, is Jera, my protection, and the principle reason I dare show my face anywhere. I’ve come to see Tir Mari, and to inform you of how I intend to dispose of my affairs here in Utuk.”

  “So it’s true—you’re really going to run off and live with the savages. Gods, when I heard that, I thought Vilkus had gone mad. What’s possessed you to throw away everything of importance to yourself?”

  “Discovering they weren’t important at all, actually. And discovering the ‘savages’ offer a damn sight more than I could ever have in Kuprij. You have no reason to regret it, surely. I’m just the second son,” he said with some venom, his sorrow over losing Karus transmuting into bitter anger that even at this last moment, his own father couldn’t summon up a shred of politeness at the departure of his child.

  “A second son and ever a disappointment,” his father spat back. “The very image of your mother with none of her sweet nature. Gods, how she must be watching you with sorrow, seeing how you grew into such a sullen, sour child, and now a cursed traitor. Why you couldn’t have been more like Tijus, I’ll never know.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you ever will, father, if you can’t understand how a child of eight might want more than to be shoved aside as an unwanted distraction. Please have Tir Mari sent for, and do me the courtesy of listening to what I have to say, so I don’t waste our time more than we need to.”

  His father glared, but rang a bell for a servant to find Loke’s mother. “And what will you do in Darshek? Plot more treason?”

  “I’m not going to Darshek. I’m going to live in a tiny little village in the middle of nowhere to work a farm with my handsome male lover, and not regret leaving this island, or you, for an instant.”

  His father laughed mockingly. “Oh, marvellous. When you make a fool of yourself, you do it in style, don’t you. You surely don’t really believe the Darshianese can hold us at bay. If Kita agrees to this nonsense, it will only be until we properly plan the destruction of Darshek.”

  “Oh, yes?” He turned to Jera. “My honoured parent would like a closer view of the ceiling.”

  Jera grinned. “Right you are.”

  Arman watched his father rise from the floor and listened to his outraged expostulations, completely unmoved. “Careful, father. Jera could just as easily send you through the ceiling as float you near it—or simply bring the entire house down around your ears.” He looked at the mind-mover. “Put him down. Be gentle if you can be bothered.”

  “As you wish.”

  Jera dumped Arman’s father into a chair and smiled politely. “I hope you enjoyed the ride,” he said with a cheeky smile.

  Arman’s father spoke Darshianese quite well, and the remark infuriated him even more. “You damned, insolent...I should have you flogged!”

  “I don’t advise you to try it,” Arman warned.

  The door opened, and Mari came in. Arman and his father hastily stopped glaring at each other, and he made the effort to smile at her.

  “Arman! How wonderful to see you—but I heard...I thought you were leaving.”

  Arman took her hand and led her to a chair. “Yes, Tir Mari, I am. I’ve come to deliver a message, and to ask a great favour of you. You know Karus died?”

  “Yes, I was so sorry to hear about that,” she said quietly.

  “I went to his funeral,” his father said. “Where you should have been. You should have spoken for him. The gods know what you owed that man.”

  Arman gritted his teeth. “Since I was technically a prisoner of war at that point, and since even you could hardly pretend I arranged Her Serenity to send me to Darshian merely to avoid Karus-pei’s funeral, I don’t think your point carries any validity, father. Kindly allow me to continue.”

  Mari looked rather shocked at the display of ill-feeling, something Arman and his father had always managed to keep from her. He was sorry she had to see it now. “Tir Mari, Karus left me all his possessions, including the house, and asked me to look after his servants, but I can’t do that living in Darshek. I’ve arranged the house to be put in your name, and I’ve withdrawn my personal funds, also placing them in your name.” He drew the documents out of his pocket. “If you want to live in the house, or sell it, that’s up to you, but I would ask you to ensure that the three people listed here never want for anything. I’d also like some books sent up from his library to the Rulers’ collection in Darshek, if you can manage it. If you run out of money, or need help, you can contact me via the Rulers in Darshek. I’m sure my father will assist you in finding me.”

  His father glared. “Are you, now. Why are you depriving me of the only company left to me, Arman? Is it not bad enough that my son is deserting Utuk, but you must take Mari away too?”

  Arman blinked at the genuine anguish in his father voice. “Father, there’s no reason why Tir Mari can’t remain with you if she chooses. This simply gives her some property of her own again.”

  “And why would she stay as a servant when she owns a house, hmmm?” His father stood and walked to the window. “But of course, you must go, Mari. It’s always been wrong someone of your rank had to work in a household like a maid.”

  She got up from her chair and came to his side. “Sei Armis, I’ve always considered it an honour to be allowed to serve you, just as my son did. You’ve both given us so much joy over the years. I would never leave your house while you wanted me to stay—but if you want me to leave, I shall.”

  He turned to her, and Arman was utterly shocked to see his father—he who never showed a weakness or a gentle emotion to anyone—was on the verge of tears. “Mari...we took your son from you. I should have given you a house of your own years ago, the gods know you deserved it...but forgive me, I wanted your presence too much. You remind me of Elda...and it meant I could think of her when I spoke to you. I’ve been selfish. I’m so sorry.”

  She took his hand. “You didn’t take Loke from me. It was the war, and that boy with a bomb. It wasn’t you or Arman. I’ve never blamed either of you, and nor would he. May I stay, please, Sei Armis?”

  His father’s face contorted with sadness. “I would be deeply honoured if you would,” he said in a gruff, quiet tone. “You’ve a home here as long as you wish it, I swear that on Elda’s memory.”

  “Thank you.” She turned to Arman, still holding his father’s hand. “I won’t live in the house then, but I’ll make sure Karus’s people are well looked after. Loke was very fond of him, and his servants. He always had such happy stories to tell me about him.”

  “Yes, I know.” Arman had to grip his walking stick hard to keep from losing control. “Then the other thing I need to tell you concerns Loke himself.”

  His father led Mari back to her chair and sat down himself, although he stared towards the window, pretending a lack of interest in Arman’s words. His eyes still looked rather red.

  Arman continued. “After I was taken prisoner, I was brought north through the villages, one of which was Ai-Darbin, where...well, where Loke died. I won’t distress you with the details, but the matter was discussed at some length by the village while I was there. It was recognised by the clan leaders that Loke’s death was a grave wrong, and they’re going to put a little memorial up to him there. I thought you would be pleased to know that.”

  She made a little sound and covered her mouth, her eyes glistening with tears. “Really?”

  “Yes. They said...that on the day when they honour their own dead, he would be honoured too. I could see no offence in such a gesture. They also offered to compensate you in some way for his los
s, but I knew my father was caring for you with great generosity, so I took the liberty of refusing.” His father glanced at him for that remark, but Arman couldn’t interpret his expression. “Are you happy with this? They would do more, if you wished it. Their regret was very deep, as was mine for my actions that day.”

  She shook her head, as tears trickled down her face. “No,” she whispered. “Thank you. And thank them...Loke would be touched, I know. I don’t blame them, Arman. It was a war we brought to them.”

  “Yes. I bear all blame for Loke’s death, Mari. For the rest of my days, I will carry that guilt, and I can only say again how sorry I am.”

  “I forgive you,” she said. “Not that it’s really your fault, but I forgive you anyway. Loke loved you, and so do I. You’re so like Elda. I know she would be proud of you.” There was a noise from Arman’s father. He didn’t dare look at him. “And will you be happy now? What of your family, your wife and son?”

  “I plan to be happy, but as for them, I need to speak to my father in private about them. Could you excuse me now while I do that? My time is short, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Of course,” she said, standing and holding out her hand to him. “I may never see you again, I suppose. Will you write?”

  “Yes, of course. I should like to hear from you too, and about Karus’s servants.”

  “Then I shall say goodbye now. Thank you, Arman,” she said, squeezing his hand and looking up at him with the same lovely green eyes as her son, and with the same openhearted kindness. “You and your family have been so kind to me and Loke. Even now, though I grieve for him, I rejoice you will be happy, and I’m glad also to remain with your father. Elda always said she had the kindest husband and the two most wonderful sons in Kuprij. She loved you all so very much. I feel close to her when I’m with you.”

  “And I to her, through you,” Arman said, bowing over her hand, and kissing it. “Farewell, Mari. Thank you.”

  She smiled, bowed to him and to his father, and then left the room. There was an uncomfortable silence, which no one seemed inclined to break. Finally, Jera coughed. “Why don’t I...have a look at the garden. Through those doors?”

  “Yes,” Arman said, rising and letting him out. “I’ll call you when we’re done.”

  He closed the doors behind Jera. “He won’t disturb us,” he said to his father, sitting once more.

  His father cleared his throat. “You wanted to tell me about Mayl and your son? Have you even seen the child yet?”

  “No, I’m going there after this. Father, I’m sending Mayl back to her home. I’ve placed her dowry back in her name, and you can take the house back. I want nothing more to do with her or it again.”

  His father stared at him in perplexity. “Why? What of your son?”

  “He’s not mine. She’s been sleeping with one of your colleagues—I found out before I left for north Darshian the first time.”

  “Blessed gods. Are you sure? That’s a dreadful accusation.”

  “Yes, I’m sure and yes, it is. But I don’t want a scandal. If I send her away, she can marry again. It’s not like I care what she does.”

  His father got up, and went over to the window again. “And here I was, so happy that at last I had a grandson. You’re depriving me of son and grandson in a single day. I suppose you think this is a perfect revenge for your childish grievances.”

  Arman shook his head. “It’s not intended as revenge of any kind, father. My future simply doesn’t lie in Utuk. I thought you’d hardly care where I was.”

  “What difference does my caring or not make to you? You made it clear years ago I meant nothing to you. I suppose you blamed me for your mother’s death. It would only be natural.”

  “I didn’t,” Arman said, rising from his seat and going to stand near his father. “You set me aside. I thought you blamed me in some way, felt that I wasn’t sufficient comfort for losing her.”

  “You look like her,” his father said in a low, harsh voice. “Gods, Arman, you have her eyes exactly, and her hair. After she died, you kept looking at me with those eyes...and all I could see was her. I couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear to see them when I missed her...still miss her, every day.... Every morning for years, when I woke, I was sorry I hadn’t died in my sleep, because I wanted to be with her.”

  “I didn’t know,” Arman whispered. He’d had no idea...he’d thought his parents had an arranged marriage, as most of their class had. He hadn’t realised it was a love match, or that his father had been suffering a grief as deep as any Arman had ever felt. “I didn’t understand at all. I’m sorry.”

  “Now you’re sorry,” his father said gruffly, “but for years you were buried in your books, ignoring us, offering nothing to us, to me. All you had to give me were her eyes, when I wanted her, I wanted her joy and her laughter, and her love. All I got in return was a disagreeable little boy who would rather read than talk to any one.”

  “But....” Had all these years of animosity been caused by two different ways of dealing with pain? “Father, I’m truly sorry. For my offence, I apologise. I didn’t know you wanted more of me. I thought no one wanted anything of me at all.”

  “Of course I did, you stupid fool. Any parent wants their son to love them. When I realised I couldn’t have that, I at least wanted you to make me proud of you. And now you’ve turned traitor.”

  “I wanted the war to end, father. It was sapping Kuprij, and would have destroyed her. Surely you can see we would never have won it? If you’d been there yesterday, you’d have seen it, had it all explained. Why were you not?”

  His father looked at him. “I’ve had enough of it. I was about to announce my retirement, hand my seat over to Tijus. I was only waiting until you were returned safe...or we got news. We’ve been waiting for weeks for news of whether you were dead or alive, heard nothing at all. I didn’t realise—” He coughed. “I’ve had enough of Kita, and the war, and the whole damn stupid business. Tired of dealing with fools like Vilkus and Mekus. I was looking forward to my grandchildren. Now I suppose I’ll never have those either.”

  “But Temir...she and Tijus will have children, surely.”

  His father snorted. “The woman’s barren—they’ve been married eight years, and she’s never even been pregnant. Oh, he loves her, of course, and won’t set her aside, but there won’t be a child there. I thought Mayl was barren too, but she caught—only it turns out it was from the wrong stud. What will you do with the boy? Send him away too?”

  “I don’t know. Its wrong that he should suffer for her sins, but I can’t find it in me to want him for myself. Father, I’m sorry for your disappointment in me. Had the war not happened, I wouldn’t be leaving. I....” Arman didn’t know what to say. He wouldn’t stay for his father, and he couldn’t offer him children where none existed. “At least you have Mari. I honestly never intended her to leave your home. I’ve been too overwhelmed by the news about Karus. I suppose I didn’t think it through carefully....”

  His father dismissed the words with an impatient wave of his hand, but his eyes were rather red again. “Never mind, never mind. You’d best be leaving and take the trickster with you. I daresay you and I will not see each other again. I’m not going to this damn banquet. I can plead the cold that got me out of the ceremony.”

  “Perhaps you should come and meet the Darshianese, father. They’re entirely different from how they’re portrayed.”

  “I’m too old, Arman. Too old and tired, and I have lost my taste for politics. Go and find your new life. My dreams are dust—yours don’t have to be.”

  Arman couldn’t just leave it at that. “Father, you’ve a good twenty years or more left of life. Karus told me to find some joy in mine before I died. I pass that advice on to you, for what it’s worth.”

  His father seemed not to hear him, and there was nothing more Arman could think of to say to him. “Farewell then, father.” He went to the garden door, intending to find Jera and leave.

&nb
sp; “Arman.” He turned and looked at his father. “What I said before...about your mother. That was wrong of me. Elda would never think you a disappointment. She loved you dearly.”

  “And I loved her. I loved you too, until I believed you no longer wanted me. I regret my temper, father. I regret the wasted years. At least I can wish you a long life and a peaceful one.”

  His father wiped his face wearily. “Don’t waste your talents on a damn farm, Arman. Use your mind. It’s a gift you have from your mother. At least be productive up there—you have the ability.”

  Arman bowed. “Thank you. Find some joy again, father. I did, in the last place I would ever have imagined.”

  His father grimaced a little. “Then you’re a fortunate man. Farewell, Arman.”

  Arman wanted to say more, something to ease the pain he saw in his father’s eyes, but it was years too late for both of them. He had a different path to follow now. He bowed again, and used the door to the garden to make his exit.

  He would never see his father again, but rather than the relief he’d been anticipating, it caused him more sorrow than he could have ever expected. He even wondered if he should delay his departure, but he couldn’t do that to Kei. No, both he and his father would have to live with their mistakes and their misunderstanding, and find peace in their own separate ways. He hoped Mari would offer his father the comfort her son had brought him. If she did, then perhaps his father would find that joy after all.

  ~~~~~~~~

  At his next destination, Arman brought the soldiers inside with him, and experienced a childish delight at the consternation this caused. “Peri, call all the servants to the kitchen. I’m going to speak to your mistress, and then to you all.”

  “Y-yes, Sei,” the boy stuttered at them. Arman swept past him, glad this was the last time he would need to interact with these people. He took Jera and the soldiers to the library and instructed him to wait for him. “This won’t take long.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want moral support?” Jera asked, his kind face showing his concern.