Falling From the Tree (Darshian Tales #2)

by Ann Somerville

  Jembis tried to stand up straighter. “I haven’t got the money, Tesei, but Cecu’s my lizard.”

  “No, lad—he’s mine,” Tesei said with a frown. “What’s yours is your father’s, and your father sold him fair and square to me. You don’t have any money at all?”

  Jembis had a quarter gelden and twenty tikel saved from the odd jobs he’d taken over the last few years, trying to get a nest egg together for when he was old enough to leave. He got no wages from his father, but even if he did, he’d not earn enough to buy Cecu back any time soon. “I could work for you. Pay it back that way.”

  Tesei stepped back, looked him over, then shook his head. “No, lad. I don’t need hands right now, and I don’t want to keep stock long enough for you to earn it. I’ve got a customer in mind for that lizard. Best forget about him. Your father had a right to sell it—valuable animal like that’s too grand for a pet.”

  “He’s mine,” Jembis said, trembling with anger. “Give him back!”

  He raised his fist in pure frustration, not intending to use it, but the man’s geniality disappeared in a moment. “Lay a finger on me, boy, and I’ll have the army here in a moment. Get out. If I catch you back here, you’ll be arrested.”

  “Tesei, please...he’s mine.”

  But Tesei had signalled to one of his large assistants, who now came towards them, wooden club in hand. Jembis was in no state for the slightest physical confrontation and had to give up. He picked up his pack and walked out of the warehouse, sick with despair as much as his dizziness. He hadn’t even told Tesei how to look after Cecu....

  He blinked up at the sun through blurry, tear-filled eyes. He was useless—he’d got Karik captured, lost Cecu, and now he was without a home or family. Or...almost....

  His aunt Sameri lived in Garok. Jembis hadn’t seen her since he was seven, when his father and his aunt had quarrelled furiously over Jembis’s welfare. His father had told her never to come near them again, and though she’d written a couple of times, his father had torn the letters up in a temper. Jembis didn’t even know if she was still alive, but there had been a husband, who he remembered as being a decent fellow, and at least two cousins. Would they take him in, just until his arm healed up?

  He didn’t know, but he couldn’t hang around here—not with Tesei’s man standing guard in the doorway of the warehouse, still holding the club in a menacing way. Jembis had a vague idea of breaking into the warehouse at night and stealing his pet back, but since standing up was almost beyond him, and with a completely useless right arm, that was unlikely. Still—he owed Cecu to try one last time. He staggered back to the man, who growled at him in warning. “Please, sir—tell Tesei not to feed him meat. Just plain green leaves, not too much, and no drafts. He’s not an ordinary lizard. Can you tell him that? Please?”

  The man grunted. “I’ll tell ‘im. Clear off, boy. You don’t want him mad at yer.”

  Jembis nodded—the man seemed to have understood, and there was nothing more he could do. He stumbled away down the street. He had to find somewhere to stay, and somehow cadge a lift to Garok, while keeping out of the notice of those who would force him back to his father, or take him into custody as a possible nuisance. If only his father hadn’t injured him, he could have easily got work on a ship, but he was no use to anyone like this.

  He hadn’t eaten for more than a day, but the very idea of food made him sick to his stomach. The smell of cooking wafting across from a food stall made his nausea spike suddenly, and he bent over and puked again. He needed a place to hide, to sleep this dizziness off. It wasn’t the first time he’d cracked his head on account of his father, though the arm was a worry, a dead, useless agony compounding the pain in his skull.

  He looked around him—he thought he knew this area like the back of his hand, but right now, everything looked alien, confusing. What he needed was a quiet storeroom, one that wasn’t used from day to day. He slipped down the gap between two of the warehouses into a back lane, where the herbalists and apothecaries had their shops and the houses over them. One of these might do...one like this big white one, with a loose paling in the wooden fence behind it. There was a shed at the back of the long garden—the family grew their own herbs, and they had a little work shelter with tools and sacks of drying plants. He broke through the gap in the fence with a bit of effort and much suppressed cursing at the pain. His plan suffered a setback when he discovered there was a lock on the shed—one he could have broken if he had two good hands, but he didn’t. Still, there was a space behind the shed, between it and the fence, and he doubted anyone would look there. The weather wasn’t too cold, and he’d slept in worse places over the years.

  He had to rest—he could barely stand, and he needed to puke again. He eased himself down onto the dirt, leant against the shed wall, and used his pack as a support for his arm. It looked bad—discoloured and swollen, and it hurt worse than anything he could remember. When he wasn’t so dizzy and stupid, he would have to see if he could find someone to help him. Maybe his aunt...after he’d had just a little rest....

  Landing Softly: 2

  “Ma, we need to order more uyris flowers—I just checked and we’re down to one bag only.”

  His mother scribbled something down in her notebook. “Thanks, Nym, I’ll add it to the list. I didn’t think we were using that much.”

  Not any more, Nym thought silently. “Healer Kazin took a sack this morning while you were out—he’s got twins with bad colds, not clearing up.”

  His mother frowned. “Oh, I hope it doesn’t turn to lung fever.”

  “He didn’t say.” Nym didn’t care about sick strangers. He’d had a bellyful of illness and lung fevers and no sympathy left for people he didn’t know and never would know. “Will Pa be back soon?”

  “I thought he’d be here by now, but I think he was going to talk to a possible new supplier with Jadin. But if you want a break, son, you go. I’ll be here for a while, until Temi gets back, or your sister does, though the gods alone know what she’s up to. She’s always running off these days, and she’s not attending to her lessons either. The teacher will be wanting a word with her, I think.”

  “She doesn’t like school work, Ma. She’s not like....”

  Her mother looked at him as they shared the same sad thought. “No, she’s not,” she said. “Go on, son. You could see if there are any more binir flowers—healer Dekwi said he wanted to try some as pain relief, and if it’s successful, we’ll start importing them properly. The academy are using nern seed, but we can’t get that here.”

  “Maybe we should try and get it grown?”

  “It’s a dry region plant, so Dekwi said. Go check on the binir for me.”

  He nodded, and went out to the kitchen to make himself some tea to drink in the garden. He wished he had Jaika’s sense of irresponsibility, then he could just run off and forget all.... But Jaika wasn’t really irresponsible. She just hated all the memories.

  He knew how she felt. He wondered if his mother realised how much it hurt going back in the garden. She probably thought it was a consolation, to work on something he and...that he had once enjoyed so much. He didn’t want to tell her it might be kinder to deal out a dozen lashes than to ask him to walk through the tidy rows, even now not straggling that much even though they’d not had much attention over the last few weeks. The planting had been well made and with love. Even though the creator was gone, the love remained, and that made entering this place more painful than a knife cut.

  But the garden was necessary to their household and the business, and to squander the work and benefit of it out of sentiment was no memorial at all. He took his mug of tea, took a deep breath, and went outside. The sun was weak—it had rained overnight—and it was cool. Good for the spring tubers, not so good for the early flowers. The purple binir had a few buds and a couple of flowers, but it would need the weather to warm again for a fresh blooming. What was there wasn’t worth the harvesting. They had some flower head
s drying in the storehouse—perhaps healer Dekwi could use them instead. They didn’t sell binir as a medicinal herb, but as a culinary colouring. If it did have a medical use, that would make it more valuable, and therefore more profitable. He thought it was worth offering the dried flowers, and they probably could do with being stored in the basement now.

  He dallied though, sipping the tea. Despite himself, memories assailed him, and he had to close his eyes, the ache like a cold stone in his chest. Brother mine, is it really only a month since you left us? It seems much longer than that. Some days Nym looked up and expected to find his brother looking at him with that shy crooked smile of his—it was a shock each time to find him not there. The space where he should be...was so empty. That was what drove Jaika from the house. She couldn’t stand being there, feeling what was missing from their lives. Neither could Nym, really. But he was the oldest, and had a job to do. A lot of the time these days, he wished he didn’t.

  He walked down the path to the store shed, and was annoyed to see some of the fence palings pushed aside. Youths again. He really should nail that loose one down hard—he’d been avoiding the task, but if children got in and caused damage, that would make more work in the long run. There was a hammer in the shed and nails. He could do it right now, and feel slightly useful. He unlocked the shed, fetched the tools, and in five minutes, the palings were firmly back in position. It wouldn’t stop someone determined to get through the fence, but would deter the casual mischief-maker.

  He checked—yes, the binir was ready to take down. He unhooked it and another bunch, then locked the shed again. He stood and surveyed the garden—had someone got in through that gap? The garden looked unharmed, but he thought he would just check behind the shed—they’d had children hiding there before, up to no good.

  As soon as he came around the side, he realised his instincts had been sound. He silently retraced his steps, put the dried flowers down safely, then picked up a shovel, because the feet he’d just spotted were not those of a child. “You! Come out of there.” No response. “Are you deaf? I can see you, no use hiding.”

  Still no motion. He held the shovel at the ready, wondering exactly what he would do with it if whoever it was decided to be aggressive. “Come on, get up!”

  Nothing. He raised the shovel higher, then crept forward, ready to smash the thing down as hard as he could if he was rushed. But there was no movement, and as he dared to approach the edge of the shed again, he realised their intruder was either asleep or unconscious. The latter, he rather thought, seeing that the man—or boy—was badly bruised, as if he’d been in a fight. His arm, held awkwardly against his side, was discoloured and swollen—it looked bad. “Oy, wake up,” Nym called, nudging the stranger’s foot. That got a wince and a mumble, but the fellow never woke up.

  Nym stepped back. He needed help with this—he just hoped Pa was back.

  Fortunately, his father had just returned by the look of it, as he still had his jacket on. “Hello, Nym—”

  “Pa, there’s someone in the garden—injured. Passed out, I think.”

  His father stopped taking his jacket off. “Blessed gods. Do you know them?”

  “No, never seen them before. A Prij, looks about sixteen—just a boy. He’s beat up bad though.”

  “Beaten up? Karin, you better come out here!”

  His mother came up from the store cellar with a box, which she set on the counter. “Letu, what are you shouting about now?”

  “Ma, there’s an injured boy in the garden,” Nym told her.

  “A Prijian boy,” his father added as Ma stared at them both in shock. “Nym, you and I better go and look. Karin, where’s Jaika gone?”

  “No idea, though I wish I did. You better go—I’ll watch the shop. We can send for a healer if we need to.”

  Nym followed Pa up the garden. “He must have got in through the fence—his clothes are all wet. I think he might have been there all night, Pa.”

  “If he’s injured, that’s not good,” his father said. Nym stayed close behind him, ready to assist if the boy turned out to be awake and violent, but he was in the same position as before—hadn’t moved an inch. Pa crouched down, and shook the boy’s shoulder. “Wake up, son.”

  Though he winced a little, the boy didn’t really rouse. Pa touched his face. “Fever. Broken arm too, by the look of it. We’ll need that healer. Nym, fetch Joti if he’s free, then come back and we’ll get him inside. Send Jaika if she’s back.”

  “Inside? You mean here in the house, Pa?”

  His father frowned up at him. “Yes, of course. The lad’s hurt. We can’t turn him out on the street.”

  Nym clenched his jaw, and silently cursed this invader. “I’ll get Joti. Be careful, Pa. If he’s used to fighting, he might wake up and attack you.”

  Pa only gave him a wry smile. “Nym, I’d make two of him. Go on, hurry.”

  That didn’t stop Nym worrying, or resenting that their lives were being imposed upon in this way, but he obeyed his father and ran back to the house. He found Ma in the middle of sternly ticking off his sister. Jaika looked pleadingly at him and he was glad in a way to give her an escape this once. “Ma, the boy needs a healer. Pa said to send Jaika for Joti.”

  “A boy? What boy?” Jaika asked. “Where?”

  “In the garden, injured. Pa says he’s got a fever.”

  “Oh, gods,” Ma said. “Jaika, fetch Joti—if he’s not there, find another healer. Just use your common sense. Or what passes for it,” she added dryly.

  “Ma, what boy? I want to see!”

  Nym put his hands on her shoulders and held her back from rushing off out into the garden. “No. Fetch the healer quickly, bring him back yourself. And don’t wander off again, we might need you.”

  She gave him a dirty look, but nodded before racing off, the doorbell of the shop clanging as she slammed it. “Another excuse for her to neglect her books,” his mother said, shaking her head. “Nym, I need to watch the shop. Can you get the bed in the back room ready, put out what Joti will need?”

  “Do we need to have him in there?”

  “Where else would we put him, Nym? Can’t treat him in the shop, or the garden. Once we find out who his people are, we can fetch them and they can take him away. Go on,” she said, giving him a gentle push. “Soap and water, don’t forget.”

  “Yes, Ma,” he said dutifully. As if he didn’t know better than his own name how to prepare for a healer’s visit by now.

  His heart felt like someone had closed their fist over it, as he went to the back room and pulled the dust cover off the bed. No one had used it in a month—no one would have dreamed of sitting on it, like it was just another bit of furniture—but now they were going to let some dirty beggar off the street, likely some thief or ruffian, bleed all over it as if it meant nothing....

  He glanced over at the coil of hair on the shelf under the mirror, and the fresh flowers Jaika had set there yesterday. I’m sorry.... He could only hope they could send this fellow on his way quickly. He couldn’t have come far, not with those injuries. Probably had some stupid fight with another of his kind over a girl or something. There were always fights and quarrels in the streets of Utuk. Any Darshianese with half a brain knew to keep away from the Prij in this area, especially when there was drink involved. If there was trouble and any of the Darshianese were within calling distance, the Army—some of the soldiers, at least—always made things as unpleasant as they could.

  As if we would start anything, Nym thought angrily, going to the kitchen and drawing hot water into a bowl, fetching fresh soap and drying cloths for the healer. Lomi asked if she could do anything, but Nym told her to get on—the household was already disrupted enough, and his mother needed their housekeeper to do her job, not look after some idiot who’d got himself beaten up.

  He found the house’s medical kit and laid everything out so Joti would have it all to hand as he examined the boy. He was about to return to the garden when he heard the f
ront door bell again, and moments later, Jaika and Joti were there. “Hello, Nym,” the healer said. “I understand you’ve got a murdered man out the back,” he added with a slight smile.

  Nym sighed. “Jaika, did you tell him that?”

  “Not exactly—but you didn’t tell me much,” she said with a pout. “I want to see.”

  “I want to see, young lady,” Joti said, his mild tone still managing to convey his professional authority. “Nym, would you mind?”

  “Of course. Jaika, stay out of the way.”

  That only got him another annoyed look, but he ignored her. He was in no mood for her skittishness. Joti didn’t need directions—he knew their house as well as they did by now—and headed up the garden path with Nym and Jaika trailing behind him. Pa was still crouching by the boy—the boy’s eyes were open a little but he hardly looked awake or sensible. Joti knelt down, and touched the stranger’s face. “Hello, young man. I’m Joti, a healer. Can you open your eyes? Can you hear me?”

  Nym waited impatiently for Joti to examine the boy. Jaika watched it all with eyes big with excitement, chewing her lip. “How did he get here?” she whispered. “And who is he?”

  “Through the fence and no idea. Shhh.”

  Joti and his father conferred in low voices, then Pa lifted his head. “Nym, we’re going to move him indoors. We’ll need a carryboard. You and Jaika fetch one, big enough for him.”

  They got the carryboard from the shop, then they brought it out into the garden and laid it down. “Right,” Joti said. “Letu, take his shoulders, Nym his legs. Very, very gently—don’t bump his head or his arm again. Jaika, take his pack, go ahead and hold the doors open. Now...easy, very carefully....”

  Though they were as careful as they could be, the boy still cried out, but he wasn’t coherent, just uttering weak, wordless sounds of pain. “He said ‘Cecu’ a couple of times,” Pa said. “Wonder if that’s his sister or brother—it’s an odd name.”