The medic returned, Arman wasn’t sure how much later. Regretful eyes, damning words—nothing had changed, he said. “But the bleeding is slowing,” Arman hissed, drawing the man out of the tent so Loke could not hear him.
“Sei, he’s bleeding inside. I’ve seen this before.”
“Then why in the name of all the gods don’t you know how to treat it?”
“It’s been tried, general. The patients suffer agonies, and die of infection anyway. None survive. I wish I could offer you better news. Loke is a good lad.”
“Get out of my sight,” Arman growled. The man nodded and walked away, unperturbed by his general’s anger. Such acceptance only made Arman more enraged, but there was nothing and no one he could vent his anger against.
He turned to go back into the tent, but heard his name called. He stopped and waited for Jozo to reach him. “How is he?” Jozo asked.
“The medic says he’s dying. The man lies.”
“A gut wound, I heard. I’m sorry, Arman.”
“Everybody’s sorry. No one has an answer.” He forced himself to rein in his bitter temper. “I apologise for leaving you to deal with things...but when I saw—” He shuddered and drew a breath. “Have you found the perpetrator?”
“Not yet. We’re secured the supplies and hostages have been selected. We won’t move until you’re ready.”
Until Loke dies.
“They will pay for this outrage, Jozo. Loke was no threat to them. We have killed no one on this campaign.”
“No, I know that, and they will pay, I promise you. But for now, you’re relieved, my friend. Go to him and give him comfort.”
“Wait—the men who died. I don’t want their bodies anywhere near this wretched village.”
“We’ll carry out rites for them tomorrow. Don’t trouble yourself.” Jozo clasped his shoulder. “I know this is hard, my friend. But it’s war.”
“Loke is not at war with anyone,” Arman bit out, and shrugged off Jozo’s hand. “I’ll be on duty tomorrow.”
“As long as it takes,” Jozo said kindly.
Arman stalked back into the tent, and was immediately struck by the stink. Loke had soiled himself, and was distressed by it.
“Never mind, it’s nothing,” Arman said gently, soothing his anguished friend’s embarrassment, cleaning up unobtrusively and settling clean blankets around him. Even these gentle careful movements caused Loke acute pain, every bitten off cry like a knife in the heart to Arman.
But at last he was settled again. “I’m so cold, Arman. Hold me?”
“Of course.” He tucked more blankets around the shivering body and sat on the pallet, lifting Loke’s head and shoulders into his lap. “Is that better?”
“Yes,” Loke sighed. “It doesn’t hurt so much now.”
“That’s good,” Arman said with a sinking heart. This was not relief that came from anything but the beginning of the final struggle. Unbidden, tears trickled down his cheeks, but Loke’s eyes were closed, so he could not see them, thank the gods. He forced himself to smile, so his voice sounded cheerful. “Did I ever tell you about the time Tijus and I stole two jesigs and decided to race them across my father’s garden? I was only eight.”
“No,” Loke whispered. “Tell me.”
So Arman told him about the escapade and the unholy mess they’d made, then about the time they trained Karus’s pet tuktuk bird to swear. And how he had once tried to make the fish in his mother’s pond turn pink by feeding them clisel berries, but all it did was to send them into a frenzy, and the gardener had had to net them and separate them before they fought themselves to death. Loke laughed a little, even though it clearly hurt him. “You...were a bad child, Arman.”
“Very naughty. Karus said I was one of the worst boys he’d ever taught.”
“And...the best...man. He said...you...the best man....”
“Only because he never taught you, my friend.” There was no colour at all in Loke’s face now, and his breathing was ragged, each breath a struggle. Arman helped him sit up a little, which eased his breathing, but pained him so much Arman had no choice but to let him lie still. “Loke...I need to tell you....”
Loke opened his eyes a little—even that effort seeming to exhaust him. “Yes?” A word or a puff of air, it was hard to tell.
“I have always valued you. I wish I had made that plainer.”
“You did.” The barest whisper. “Always...felt treasured.”
“You were. You are. I love you, and I can’t bear.... Please don’t go. Stay with me.” Tears dripped unhindered down Arman’s face. He brushed them carefully off Loke’s hair where they had fallen.
“I’ll...try. Don’t...weep. I...love...Arman.”
Arman bent low and kissed Loke’s forehead, and laid his hand on Loke’s cold cheek. Loke reached his own hand up and weakly held Arman’s fingers as Arman grieved as silently as he could, his sorrow a wild, uncontrollable agony in his chest, the depth of his loss immeasurable and indescribable.
He didn’t know when Loke finally passed. All he knew was Loke’s hand had dropped away, and the shallow breaths had ceased, the body that had suffered so long, now lax and free of pain. He still checked, his palm against Loke’s mouth, a finger against the missing pulse. Then he slid out from under Loke’s shoulders and laid his head down gently, before bending and kissing the cool forehead again. “Farewell, dear friend. The gods grant you a home in the heavens.”
He covered Loke’s face with the blanket and then stood. He pulled his armour back on, strapped on his sword, and walked out of the tent. Two soldiers stood on guard. “No one goes in,” he said curtly, then he strode off towards the village, calling for someone to fetch Jozo, and for the men to fall in behind him.
He found the villagers assembled in the main square, kneeling in the dirt, under close guard. “Which one of you threw the explosive?” His anger was cold as snow in his chest.
No one responded to his call, so he stalked over to the clan head and dragged her up by her hair, drawing his sword and holding it to her throat. “Let the man who threw the bomb step forward, or she dies now.”
At first there was no reaction, but as he pressed the edge of his sword against the woman’s neck, a voice cried out in distress. “No! It was me, don’t!”
Still holding his captive, he scanned the prisoners. “Come forward, you coward.”
A teenaged boy stood, and was immediately dragged out and over to Arman, cast on the ground in front of him. Arman pushed the clan head away from him. “Who is kin to this boy? Who are his mother and father?”
A man and a woman stood, and were also dragged over to him. Arman had them held facing him, as he pulled the boy up, his arm around his throat. “You are his parents? Answer me!”
“Yes, lord,” the woman said, her voice trembling. “He is our son, our only child. Please, I beg you, be merciful.”
“Merciful,” Arman repeated with heavy irony. “I know another woman with an only son, an only child. At least, she
had
a son. I have his last note to bring to her. Will that comfort her, do you think? Will she rejoice to know your child killed hers, who never harmed anyone or anything in his life? I think
not
,” he spat at her in anger. “You ask for mercy?” He took his sword and thrust it suddenly up under the boy’s ribs. He heard him choking, and let him fall to the ground. “There is your mercy. You can bury him. That’s more than she will have.”
The woman screamed and fell to her knees, clutching the boy’s body to her chest. The man raised his hand at Arman in anger, but the soldier knocked him to the ground before he could strike. Arman ignored him and stepped away from the pitiful scene, in which he had no further interest. “This is how it will be, you honourless bastards. You kill one of my people, we will kill yours. If you kill my soldiers, your hostages will die, and we will take more. If you strike again, your village will be razed to the ground and every one of you sent to work in the torkezi mines until you die of exhaustion. The Prij will not tolerate rebellion. I will not tolerate cowardice. I will pray to Lord Niko for the rest of my life that yours will be short, miserable and filled with grief.” He spat on the ground to show his disgust. “This village is damned. I curse it and all of you.”
He turned. Jozo watched him with an unreadable expression, and as Arman approached, he gripped his arm. “Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have done that, or we will be at odds,” Arman said through gritted teeth.
“No, you did what I would have done. Do you want any more executed? We lost five other men.”
Arman glanced back at the villagers. The mother with the dead boy still keened over his corpse. “No,” he said coldly. “For once I started, I would want every one of them destroyed and that is not Her Serenity’s will. But I want the camp moved. I don’t want to breathe the same air as these curs a moment longer.”
“Yes, of course, I’ve already given orders.” Jozo hesitated. “And Loke?”
The sound of the name made his eyes fill again, but when he spoke, his voice was cold and calm. “I will see to him. He is still in my care.”
And ever in my heart, my dear and beloved friend.
Gren nuts were plentiful this year, but Banji still had to wrestle Reji to prevent his friend stealing so many they wouldn’t have a respectable amount to take back to Meis. Reji cracked them cheerfully as they walked back. “You’ll have no appetite tonight,” Kei warned.
Reji only grinned and tossed another shelled nut into the air before catching it and chewing it. “Oh, I’ll have an appetite, I promise you. I’ll be stocking up for the long ride, when I have nothing but camp cakes and dried berries to eat.”
“Huh. Stock up any more, Rei-ki and you’ll have to ask Myka to let out your trousers.”
Reji stuck his tongue out at him. Kei rolled his eyes and dropped back to where Banji and Risa were walking more slowly. “Can I beg a handful of nuts for Myka? She’s fond of them.”
“Only if you don’t give them to that glutton,” Banji said, scowling at Reji, but he filled Kei’s pockets anyway. “You should run home before he strips you to find the food. He’s worse than a tuktuk.”
Reji heard that comment, and turned to sniff indignantly at them. “If you’re going to be abusive, I’m going home. I’ll see you later, Kei, if you can manage not to be mean to me for more than five minutes at a time.”
Kei made a rude gesture at his lover’s departing back. “That damn man,” he said with a sigh.
“Kei, do you love Reji?”
“Eh? What kind of question is that, Banji-ki? And in front of Risa too.”
Risa scowled. “Love talk, yuck. I’m taking these home to Ma before someone steals them.” Banji ruffled his cousin’s hair and gave him the other basket to carry, still only a small load for Risa’s sturdy legs.
They were left alone and Kei changed direction, heading over to the edge of the waterhole, so he could sit in the shade of a tido palm. “Why the sudden interest in my feelings for Reji? You’re not going to declare you love me yourself?” he teased.
“Gods, you’re the most irritating person. I don’t know why I bother trying to have a serious conversation with you.”
Something was biting Banji’s tail today. “Neither do I. Of course I love him. It’s not romance, it’s more like...well, brothers or something. We’ve known each other a long time. And since we’re the only infertiles, it’s not like we have many other choices.”
Banji stared. “Is that all it is? Just for want of something better?”
“Hells no. It’s just lucky we like being together, that’s all I meant. If we didn’t, we’d have nothing, most likely.”
Banji nodded, as if that was clear enough for him. “But when did your feelings change? I mean, you didn’t always want to sleep with him, did you?”
“Of course not. He was seventeen when he got here. I was only ten. What in hells do you take him for?” Kei said, grinning at Banji’s discomfort. “I don’t know when. Something just...clicked when I came back from Darshek, and we got into bed and we liked it. I keep expecting him to say he’s found someone in the city, and I’d say good luck to him if he did.”
“But that would leave you alone.”
“Yes, I guess it would. But I have no claim on Reji, and I don’t want one. He’s too free a spirit.” He flicked a grass seed at him. “Want to tell me what’s put you in such a mood? Is it this person I’m not allowed to mention?”
Banji gave him a look that told him Kei was right. “It’s just...if you’ve known someone for a long time, why do you start seeing them differently? Is it just...being close to them all the time? Just convenience?”
“Promise not to hit me for this...but you wouldn’t be talking about my sister, by any chance?” Banji’s blush was all the answer Kei needed. “By the gods, that’s wonderful!”
“No, it’s not,” Banji said with a grimace.
“Hey, you’re not going to malign my sister to me, are you? Myka has her faults—”
“No, gods damn you! You’re not
listening
!”
“You’re not
telling
me. What in hells is the problem?”
“The problem is I used to help your mother change Myka’s nappies for her and I’m not sure I’m not just feeling grateful for her being kind after Pa was killed.” Banji’s expression was pure challenge. “Plain enough for you?”