Many Roads Home (3 page)

As the lifeboat beached, dawn was breaking. Hope filled the weary faces of the passengers as they saw the sun, and realised they were safe and on dry land. They stumbled out of the boat, falling onto their knees in thankfulness for their salvation. Only Yveni remained, until the sailors came. “Let’s get the two of you out now, boy,” Hiljn said, not unkindly.

They handled Gerd’s body with dignity, carrying him far above the high-tide mark. “We’ll need to bury him soon,” the other sailor, Pati, said. “When we’ve got things sorted out.”

Yveni could only agree. He removed Gerd’s belt and pouch, items of use to him and the rest of the survivors. He took off his boots, for shoes were too valuable to bury. The clothes would have to come off, maybe, too, but he couldn’t bear to do that. The most he could stand was to wrestle off Gerd’s jacket and cover his face with it.

No one was capable of moving, and Hiljn and Pati, like the passengers, flopped on the beach, trying to regain strength in weary, frozen limbs. As the sun came up, it became easier to move. The children recovered first, walking around and asking for food and water, though there was none to be had. Yveni felt too numb and sad to respond to the plaintive questions, and the youngsters, seeing his lack of interest, wandered off to torment the adults.

He sat, letting the sun ease cramps and sore muscles, but unable to do more than that. They were on a wide beach of golden sand and small reddish pebbles, and behind it, trees and low, bent bushes, some covered with odd fruits and flowers. The abundant birdlife meant water somewhere, the trees meant shelter. Beyond the fringing vegetation, perhaps there were people. But how would they leave this place with the ship lying wrecked on the distant reef?

Once the sun gave them the full force of its warmth, Hiljn roused himself and stood, peering out towards the wreck and the treacherous rocks.

“Wreckage heading this way. We’ll need all that comes in.” He turned to Yveni. “Boy, you and those two men there, take the older children and keep watch, haul it ashore. While you’re doing that, I want you to collect shellfish off those rocks. We’ll use ’em for bait. We’ve got fishing lines in the boat.”

Having something constructive to do helped take Yveni’s mind off his grief. The children threw themselves happily into the task, though one boy asked hopefully about his missing father a couple of times. Yveni couldn’t offer him any comfort. He didn’t want to lie either. One of the men steered the child away, murmuring something about not bothering the “poor boy”. Of course—they thought him newly bereaved of a parent. Almost true.

Hiljn sent the other men and some of the women off to look for edible fruits, firewood and signs of fresh water. Over the next few hours, the incoming tide brought treasures—barrels that once held rain water on deck, rope, timber, crates of fruit, waterlogged sacks of grain, even a trunk of personal possessions. And bodies, among them, the woman and child Yveni had tried to save. Somehow she’d found her son in the foam, but they’d still been lost. Did she have a husband? Was he lost too? Yveni didn’t know. By noon, five more corpses joined Gerd’s, high on the beach. That accounted for thirty of the sixty-seven souls.

The children scrambled over the large formation of dark red rocks on the southern end of the beach, picking off the shells and using the tongues of their belt buckles to prise the creatures out. These, though few and tiny, made excellent bait, and the men casting lines caught ten fish in an hour. Not much to spread between twenty-four, but the fish, the fruit gathered and the food floating in, and the tart juice of succulents, eased the burn of thirst and the ache of hunger for now. At least they wouldn’t lack for fire. Pati had that gift, and there were matches in the lifeboat’s small survival kit.

The heat of the day relented hardly at all by afternoon, and the air grew unpleasantly humid. Hiljn decided the dead needed to be buried before they became foul smelling, but as three men and Yveni, using makeshift shovels made from driftwood, began work on a deep pit that would take all six bodies, Hiljn lifted his head and squinted along the shore. “There are more of our people.”

“Where?” Yveni peered. “I can’t see anything.”

“You haven’t the Vision, boy. They’re there. First mate, I see him. Can’t spot the captain.” He looked down at Yveni, his expression kind. “Maybe it wouldn’t be such sad work for you to run and find them. Do you really want to dig your father’s grave, Gaelin?”

Yveni looked down at the shifted damp sand, and his stomach turned over. “If you won’t think less of me…”

Hiljn clapped him on the shoulder. “You run, find out if they’re better set, or we are. We’ll leave covering things over until you return. We’ll say the words then.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t dare tell Hiljn that he minded digging Gerd’s grave less than that of the little boy. A ruler should not ask others to do what he could not, his father had always said, but Yveni’d had a gutful of graves and funerals.

Hiljn told him to go straight along the beach and he’d see the others soon enough. Yveni walked for a good kilometre or so before he spotted the group. First mate Sorke stood out with his height and his ever-present red bandanna. He greeted Yveni calmly as he walked up. “Saw you’d come,” he said, tapping his temple. “How many of you?”

“Twenty-four. Six dead. My…my father being one.” He felt horrible for lying but not to mention it at all would be odd.

“Oh, lad. I’m sorry. We’ve twenty-six souls alive. Two dead. We buried them.”

Sorke’s companions were all grown men. Yveni saw no sign of flotsam, and he explained that they were harvesting from the wreck. “Then we’ll come to you,” Sorke said. “I’ll have two men row the boat down the shore to your position. In two days, help will come. I’ve Seen it.”

“Help? You mean another boat?”

“No, but help all the same.”

The arrival of the second group meant happy reunions for two families, sorrow for others, yet nine people were still missing—three crew members, and an entire family. Sorke’s talent gave him no clue if they were alive or dead. He couldn’t See them appearing in the next four days, and though that likely meant they were lost, Hiljn said it wasn’t impossible they could turn up.

Under the stubby trees, crude shelters of branches and leaves had been put together while Yveni had been gone, and the newcomers set to making them stronger and more watertight. But the sun was close to setting and the dead had still to be decently buried. As senior crewman present, it fell to Sorke to say words of farewell and blessing to the six, lead a prayer to the gods, and ask the relatives to fill the grave. The man who’d lost a brother shovelled in grim silence, but the husband, bereft of wife and son, wept openly, heartbreakingly. Yveni’s chest was too tight even to cry, but by the time he covered Gerd’s body with sand, he could no longer see what he was doing for tears.

Others completed the task, then went to finish making the camp. Left alone, Yveni knelt by the grave mound for a little while, praying to the gods and talking to Gerd’s spirit, thanking him. He hoped one day that he would be able to tell Gil that the little poacher he’d saved from prison had died saving others, and as bravely as any man could hope to. But that was far in the future, if at all. Yveni only knew now he missed Gerd’s solid company and his practical advice. He hadn’t been an upright man, but he’d been a good one for all that.

At last the long, wearying day was over, and the survivors had shelter, food, and enough water in various forms to keep them alive for a few days. No one talked about the future, or even the recent past. No one had energy to do more than eat and huddle up next to their neighbours against the surprisingly cool night air. Yveni felt so tired, he could have fallen asleep standing against a tree.

Sorke set a watch and told them to keep the fires burning high all night to help those who were coming find them.

“And then?” Yveni asked. “How will we get to Horches?”

“We don’t. We’re close to Karvis, maybe only fifty kilometres from the border. When help comes, some of us can walk to the nearest town and ask for a boat to be sent. We only have to make sure those who stay can survive so long.”

Yveni’s heart sank. He could
not
go to Karvis. Not only would information have been sent there from Sardelsa about his disappearance, but Konsatin and his brother had strong ties to the country and Sardelsa’s chief minister, Lord Timur, strongly suspected Konsatin was quietly recruiting there for his own plans. Walking into a Karvin port was as good as going up to the duchy’s castle and handing himself over to Konsatin for slaughter.

For now he had to stay with this group because he couldn’t survive on his own. Somehow he had to avoid going on any ship bound for Karvis. A problem for later.

He offered to take a turn at keeping the fire going that night, but Hiljn told him to get some rest. “Had a tough day and night of it, lad,” he said kindly. “You can take your turn tomorrow.”

Pride argued Yveni shouldn’t allow himself to be coddled, but practicality told him he’d do better to follow Hiljn’s advice. The men not on watch slept on the sand around the cluster of bodies under the shelters, pressed tight together for warmth. He’d never slept like this, even while hunting, but the chill air removed any qualms he might have held. The fires threw out a decent amount of heat, and pinned tight between two older men, Yveni was almost comfortable. Too tired to care about the “almost” part, he closed his eyes and knew no more until the next morning.

Chapter Four

The youth stared at him the entire time Paole tended to his sister. The young woman was suffering from mastitis, and her brother acted as chaperone in the absence of her husband and parents. Not an unusual situation, but the boy’s frank admiration was new. Actually, not new, since Paole had attracted such looks before, but new in that for the first time in his life, he could stare back if he wanted.

But he found it hard to break a habit of such long standing, and besides, his patient needed his attention. “Plenty of fluids, especially tea with these herbs,” he told her. “Massage and heat before you feed the baby. If the pain grows worse, use cold compresses.”

“Will it get better?”

Her voice trembled. Her first child, and her parents gone to market, she needed reassurance as much as anything. He fixed her firmly with his gaze. “Yes, it will. Your child’s healthy, and so are you. There’s no infection. I can See it.” He touched his temple.

She relaxed at once. “Thank you. My mother would say I’m being silly—”

“Not at all. I’ll be in the area another two days. Your brother knows my camp if you need more help.”

She thanked him again, and he accepted the modest fee. The family were comfortable, successful farmers, so could pay in coin. Many of his patients paid in kind, which suited him just as well. And those who couldn’t pay at all except in gratitude, offered him something he treasured more than gold—their trust and their respect.

He left the house near sunset. He’d seen a good number of patients today in this village. Tomorrow he would set out his stall and dispense. That had been Mathias’s pattern, and Paole saw no reason to alter it. First day, call in at the herbalists and dispensaries, and make his availability known. Next day, call on the sick—word went round pretty quickly, especially as he’d treat the poor for free. Then set up his stall for a day or two, and make more calls if needed, never staying in one village more than a week, because it upset the local healers. Mathias’d had a good relationship on his route with his fellow practitioners, and Paole would do nothing to disturb that. He had his own practice to build now. It could take many years before he was accepted as Mathias had been. Paole was patient. He would wait as long as it took.

He stretched his back, and thought about what he could make for his supper. He jumped a little as someone spoke from behind him.

“My sister wanted you to have this, Master Paole.”

Paole turned. The doe-eyed youth, Lorn, held out two loaves of seed bread.

“That’s very kind, but not necessary. You paid my fee.”

“I know. It’s a gift. Maybe…I could carry it to your camp.” Lorn lowered long lashes over those soft brown eyes.

“How old are you, Lorn?”

“Eighteen. My sister isn’t alone. There are servants.” The boy had it all planned out.

“Then if you want to come to my camp, you’re welcome.”

Lorn was overeager and clumsy, but he was a beauty to behold, with perfect brown skin and long, clean limbs. To Paole, who hadn’t been touched this way in more than ten years, the boy made a feast almost too rich to dream of. His kisses made Paole headier than a mug of strong beer, the feel of his fingers delicious and strange. Lorn, for all his youth, took the lead and Paole gladly let him, for what did he know of this act except a few fumbled gropes in the dark, and brief furtive rutting where the masters couldn’t see them.

Lorn tugged at Paole’s belt and opened his trousers. Paole’s cock poked rudely out, exposing it to Lorn’s liquid and still admiring gaze.

“Do you…are you…?”

“Shhh,” Lorn whispered, and bent his head.

Paole woke in the predawn to gentle kisses, and went to wrap his arms more closely around his companion. But the boy pulled away, though with one last kiss to Paole’s cheek.

“No, I have to go. My parents return today.” Lorn yanked his boots on.

Paole sat up and pulled his shirt closed. “Thank you…for the bread.”

Lorn turned and smiled. “Maybe I’ll bring you some more next time you come through the village.” He leaned over and kissed Paole on the lips. “Until then, Master Paole.”

Paole felt cold and a little empty when the boy had gone, like a wisp of mist burnt off by the rising sun. The sex had been fine. The companionship had been what he craved. One sweet night left that craving unsatisfied, sharper than before.

Now he understood why Mathias had bought him as a slave. Until the last two years of his life, the old man could manage his practice perfectly well on his own, though Paole made it easier, no doubt. But Mathias had been lonely. It was no life for a wife, and a servant could leave for another employer any time they wanted. A slave, though, had to stay. Guaranteed company, for a price.

The only problem, it was a one-sided arrangement, though Mathias had been as kind and generous a master as any slave could hope for. But no slave really wanted a master at all, and good-hearted as he was, Mathias had never once asked Paole what he truly desired from life. Now he had the freedom he’d always longed for, but it hadn’t given him the satisfaction he’d thought it would.

For a few brief moments, with his arms around the beautiful boy, Paole thought he’d found that, but it had been an illusion. If he could find it for real, then maybe his freedom would bring him the happiness he’d always hoped for.