Kei's Gift (6 page)

“Have Rin’s family rebuilt?” Reji asked quietly. His concern was natural. Rin was well-liked, and his family brought a steady income into the village, although the ore was little use directly to the village itself.

“They’ve started. It was one of the lesser kilns, one they were thinking of knocking apart and rebuilding anyway. Meis originally thought it was kisu contamination, but now Rin believes the kiln was ready to give out. If any one blames himself for Ban’s death, it’s Rin.”

“It’s ill luck. This talk of blame gets no one anywhere,” Reji said with some impatience.

“People can’t help it,” Kei said, stepping through Reji’s front door into his small house. It seemed scarcely big enough to hold such a tall and brawny man, but Reji always said it suited him fine. Kei took their cups of beer and set them on the small table. “Someone they love dies or get hurt, of course they feel guilty.”

Reji took Kei into his strong arms, and Kei nestled against him. He’d missed the feel of Reji against him, the way his long, dark hair felt under his fingers, how they fit together, two tall men almost of the same height, hip to hip and firm thigh to thigh. “Yes, and then two people I care very much about are left without their parents, for no good reason I’ve ever been able to see.”

Kei pushed him away a little. “Ma was sick. Sick in mind and heart and she had no healer but me to help. I should have been here, don’t blame her. I don’t want to listen to this again.”

Reji sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He pulled Kei close and pressed a kiss on his forehead. “Sorry, little brother.”

“Huh, not so much with the ‘little’, you big oaf. You know, Myka was right about one thing.”

“Oh yes?” Reji asked, slipping his hands up inside Kei’s shirt, making him shiver.

“You do stink,” he said, grinning, ducking away from Reji’s grasping hands. “We could wash each other’s backs.”

“Maybe I want to bathe alone, since I’m so offensive,” Reji said, his quirked mouth making a liar of his tone.

Kei insinuated himself close again and looked soulfully into Reji’s eyes. “Would you deny me this little pleasure, Rei-ki? I mean, it’s been two months since I was able to run my hands here,” he slid his hand up under Reji’s shirt and along the fine skin over his ribs, “or touch you this way,” his other hand cupped Reji’s groin carefully, applying a little pressure, “or lick your—”

“Enough!” Reji growled as he crushed his mouth on Kei’s and kissed him hungrily. “Gods, were you always this infuriatingly desirable, or have you been practicing?”

“Just...ah...missing you...oh, yes, do that again....”

And then Kei gave up teasing, because he needed to concentrate on the wonderful things Reji was doing with his mouth and his hands, and talking was by no means what he wanted to be doing for the next few hours with his lover.

“
The winds are with us, Arman. A good omen,” Jozo said, coming to the rail of the ship.

“That it is. I hope the weather holds until we cross the mountains.”

“I hope this blasted secret route is as good as the mapmakers claim,” Jozo replied, his lips pursed. “I don’t fancy being on top of an urs beast on a mountain pass if there’s a rock slide.”

“Trust in the gods, Jozo,” Arman said calmly, slightly amused by Jozo’s anxiety. Jozo far preferred to travel by boat or on foot to riding an urs beast, disliking the hairy animals intensely—but there was no doubt they were supremely well adapted for the Darshian terrain. The smaller, lighter jesigs were fine on Kuplik and the rest of Kuprij, but would make heavy going of the sand and long mountain passes. Arman rode either as and when they were needed, and rather enjoyed the higher seat and rocking motion of the beasts. They made an imposing impression en masse, which was often useful in suppressing rebellion.

“I’d rather trust in decent maps.” Arman frowned at his impiety, even though he too, like any decent military man, wanted good intelligence and maps to guide him as much the will of the gods. “I hope those idiots in Urshek have the supplies right this time. We can’t go scampering back there from mid-Darshian because they haven’t calculated the weight of lem flour properly. Morale is going to be hard enough on this campaign as it is without the men going hungry.”

“We’ve spent months on this. Ritus will have impressed on the granary merchants the importance of the task to Her Serenity.”

Jozo barked out a laugh. “And if that doesn’t put the fear of the gods into them, nothing will.”

“General Jozo? Sei General Arman?”

Arman turned and saw his staff sergeant waiting politely. “What is it, Staff?”

“The priest is ready for the sacrifice, and begs your attendance on the quarter deck.”

Arman nodded, and the staff sergeant left. Jozo groaned. “Ugh, the smell of burning blood always makes me want to vomit. Maybe I’ll go join Loke and his bucket.”

Arman grinned and clasped his fellow general’s shoulder firmly. “I thought you were made of sterner stuff. That’s not much of an example to set the men.”

“Half of them are puking too. Why aren’t generals allowed to be sea sick?”

“Because it would harm the dignity of the crown, that’s why. Come on.”

Their troops and most of the ship’s crew were assembled on the deck, where the ship’s captain waited with the elderly priest for Jozo and Arman to join them. They took their place behind the priest on the poop deck behind his portable altar, and waited for him to begin.

The priest lifted his hands to the sky, and spoke in a high, quavering voice. “Lord Niko, ruler of the heavens, we ask your blessing on this mighty venture, so your people may spread the glory of your name, and crush the ignorant.”

Arman winced as the man’s voice cracked unpleasantly on the last words, and hoped the gods would not take offence.

Rather more certain in his actions than in his voice, the priest took a black feathered fowl from the basket next to him, and, holding it over the brazier, slit its throat neatly, the blood hitting the coals with a sizzle and a sickening stench. The dying bird struggled briefly, then was still. The priest dipped his finger into a bowl of sacred oil sitting on the altar and smeared it along the cut in the bird’s neck, before nodding to the three military leaders, who came closer and knelt in front of him, heads bowed. “Bear the mark of this offering to Lord Niko, and let your deeds be also an offering to him, so that he will bless and guide them,” he said to each in turn, using his thumb to make a bloody smudge on their foreheads.

Arman murmured, “May he bless them,” as he received the mark.

They remained kneeling as the priest cast the corpse of the fowl across the railing, into the water. “Lord Quek, ruler of the seas, also bless this endeavour for the glory of your brother Niko, and all the gods. Preserve this ship from harm.”

The sailors among the assembled men quietly chanted the name of the god Quek, needing a special contract with him since their very lives routinely depended on his mercy. The priest muttered a few more prayers and then doused the brazier with the last of the oil, making it flare up and spatter, clouds of acrid smoke briefly billowing up, before he quenched the fire with a dipper of water.

That was their signal to stand. Arman was glad of the god’s mark on his face, but it itched rather unpleasantly. Reminding him of the bargain—a continent’s subjugation for the glory of the gods.

The priest bowed to them and withdrew. Arman also bowed to the captain. “A propitious beginning, Ard Peku.” It was always good to show proper respect to the man who held your life in his hands, at least while they were on the water. Besides, the captain was the best and most senior in Her Serenity’s navy. Nothing had been left to chance on this campaign.

“That it is, Sei Arman,” Peku rumbled. “A fair wind, a clear sky. Lord Quek smiles on this work, and on your journey.”

“I can only hope he does,” Arman agreed. “Right, Jozo, I’m going below to get some rest. I’ll join you for lunch if you haven’t tossed your guts by then.”

Jozo was looking a little green around the gills, it was true, and he gave Arman a sour look. “Do you have any weaknesses at all? You don’t get hangovers, you’re never sick, and you love the sea. It’s unnatural.”

Arman laughed and clapped his shoulder. “It can’t be unnatural if the gods have willed it thus. Go, drink some wine, it will clear the stink from your mouth.”

Jozo grumbled, but headed in the direction of his cabin, very likely to follow the advice. Poor Jozo. He was more set in his ways every year. Arman was very fond of the older man, who had been his mentor and who had pushed for his promotion to the rank of general at a ridiculously young age. Arman’s family background had helped him win the sovereign’s favour and thus promotion, but that hadn’t been all there was to it. He worked hard not to dispel Jozo’s faith in him, or to show any weakness that might make an observer question his fitness for the role.
Seems I do too good a job
, he thought wryly,
if Jozo thinks I have no flaws.
He had plenty. He just didn’t believe in giving ammunition to his enemies.

He knew well enough what to expect by now when he reached his cabin. Fortunately, he wasn’t revolted by the smell of sickness. Loke, poor lad, had missed breakfast, but still hadn’t held onto the little that was in his stomach. The odour of vomit hung in the air. Arman covered the bucket with a drying cloth, which cut down the smell, then poured out a small glass of wine and moistened another cloth with clean water. He sat down on the bed next to his suffering page, stroking back his sweaty blond fringe off his pale face. Loke’s eyes told him eloquently of the misery he suffered, and he shivered as Arman wiped his mouth and face clean. And this was on a good trip. Loke on a ship in foul weather was possibly the most pathetic creature that could ever be seen, but there was nothing any physician could do about it. Arman had discovered letting him ride it out and rest was the best thing for him, and he usually recovered quickly enough after the journey.

“Here, rinse your mouth with some wine.”

Loke gave him a queasy look but let Arman help him up long enough so he could rinse and spit into the bucket. Arman urged him to take another swallow, because he was convinced it would help settle him a little, and then got Loke to put his head on his lap so he could stroke his hair and keep the cloth on his face. “My sad little landlubber.”

“Sorry,” Loke whispered, thick misery in his voice.

“Don’t be a fool. Even General Jozo gets sick on a boat. Just rest and we’ll have you on dry land soon enough.”

Loke stared back with a bleary confused expression, clearly not entirely himself at that moment. Arman made him close his eyes and began a careful massage at the base of his neck which he hoped, at least on past experience, might let Loke sleep out the worst of his seasickness. It seemed to work, the tense unhappiness in Loke’s face easing and his body going limp. Arman got comfortable, leaning against the back of the bunk. He had nothing else to be doing right now, nowhere else to be for the next few hours, and he’d had little sleep. The stuffy warmth of the cabin soon had him dozing too, but his dreams were troubled, and his rest less than restful. He hoped this didn’t bode badly for the rest of his journey.

~~~~~~~~

Kei reached out to wave his fingers close to the little fireball floating above his bare chest, using his gift to see if he could make it change direction. He could, but only a little—he had more luck altering its shape slightly, forming a long bright peak above the main orange ball. “I wish I could do that,” he said drowsily.

“Make fire? Damn useless power. I can light my path, or start the stove, or a pipe. That’s about it. Not like you, healing people.”

Kei got his fingers a little too close to the flame, but Reji snuffed it out before he could get burned. Immediately, another sprite formed, this time over his belly, and was joined by another which orbited it gracefully, merging and splitting from it in a unrepeating pattern. Kei didn’t mind being the stage for the dance of fire. The warmth from it was curiously pleasant, and he trusted Reji not to set fire to anything important. “It’s so beautiful, Rei-ki,” he murmured. “No one can see what I do inside a body. This...this makes people happy.”

Reji floated the sprite up Kei’s body until, with a slight whoof of air, it popped out of sight right in front of his nose, making him laugh. “So I see,” Reji said. Kei felt too lazy to shift and look up at Reji’s face to check, but he knew he was smiling. “But is it worth the price?”

Now Kei did twist, and found Reji looking back at him with an odd expression. “Huh?”

“I saw you when I mentioned the Lady’s pregnancy, little brother. It still bothers you, being an infertile, doesn’t it?”

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

Kei felt Reji’s shrug as much as saw it. “I’ve got used to it. Not having ties has its advantages too, you know.”

Kei kissed his lover’s broad chest, and licked off a little of the salty sweat raised by their lovemaking. “Why do you come back? I mean, to Ai-Albon. There’s so much more for one like us in Darshek.”

The matter was even stranger when one considered Ai-Albon was only Reji’s adopted home. He’d moved from his birth village even before he’d reached his majority, offering to himself as apprentice to the traders in Fedor’s clan with whom his own family was loosely related by marriage. He’d never gone back home after that, and had in time, become the main trader for the village, the older ones having decided to settle down and farm quietly after thirty years of travelling.