Falling From the Tree (Darshian Tales #2) Page 33

“I’m sorry, grandfather. Apologies, uncle Arman,” Tije said contritely.

  “No, I’m sorry, nephew, for not being able to promise something that I would very much like to do. All I can promise is that if it becomes possible for both of us to visit in a manner that causes no harm, we will, and that you—all of you—will be welcome in whatever home we have, for as long either of us live.”

  Tije looked rather solemn at Arman’s words, which, on reflection, were not the cheeriest he could have come up to reassure a young boy. “May we write to you, uncle Arman? I write very well now.”

  “I would be honoured and pleased, Tije, and I promise to write to you as well. It’s about time you took an interest in the world outside Kuprij.”

  That raised a slight smile in the boy, but his sister seemed to have only got the point that her uncle was probably not coming back to Utuk. “Won’t we ever seen you again, uncle Arman?” she asked quietly, twisting around to stare at him with sad eyes.

  “Of course you will. You’re my dear niece, and my family. How could I bear not to see you again?” he gave her the warmest smile he could and she returned it a little uncertainly. “And here we are.”

  “I expect you two to set a good example,” Arman’s father said severely, as the footman opened the door and offered a hand to help him step down.

  “We will, grandfather,” Tije said.

  “I wasn’t talking about you,” his grandfather replied, looking across his head to Arman, and this time, there was no mistaking his expression. Arman smiled back. Gods, he would miss the old man.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Stepping across the familiar threshold brought such a pang of grief that he had to hang onto the door frame briefly to get his composure back. And yet there were subtle changes in the decoration, in the sounds coming from behind doors, the smells of young children and their activities, that reminded him, if he needed it, that Karus had long since departed his earthly dwelling, though his spirit was evident in every fragment of his house.

  Mari took them to Karus’s old library, now the main classroom, and the pupils stood respectfully to greet their distinguished visitors. Their tutor—an elderly man who had once worked as Karus had, teaching the elite—bowed, and then Arman’s father told them to carry on.

  It was a practical lesson in mathematics, and though there was a mixed age group, the tutor expected—and got—full participation, while Arman’s family watched for half an hour or so. After that, they were shown another class—this time for the mothers of the children—being run outside in Karus’s still beautiful garden.

  He was deeply impressed with all he saw, and he couldn’t help but think how pleased Karus would have been to see his legacy enable such good work. His household servants had long since retired, or been found good situations, and they had needed only a small portion of Karus’s money to secure their futures. Some more funds had been invested in case they fell upon hard times, but the rest had been joined to Arman’s money to keep the house intact, and to educate the children of the working poor—specifically, the children of craftsmen who had died and left their widows dependent on charity. Mari had hired teachers to teach such skills with which women could earn a living, and used her network of friends and like-minded noblewomen—of whom there were a surprising number—to find positions for those inclined to domestic service. Their children were assisted into apprenticeships, and those who wanted, were offered the opportunity to learn to read and write, a rare thing for the underclass. Compensation for the time taken for tutoring was paid to their employers, and those with ability were encouraged to continue with their studies. In many cases, the children had got better positions than their apprenticeships alone would have got them, and two had travelled to the Urshek academy to study on Darshianese scholarships. Kei was keen to encourage more to travel to Darshian, either north or south, as they wanted.

  It was only a small thing amongst the poverty and hardship of the Prijian underclass, but Mari had more capacity to help than she had people looking for it. The poor were suspicious of formal education, especially for their womenfolk, and had Mari been less gentle and kind, the scheme would have failed utterly for lack of trust. Arman’s name was kept quite out of it, which suited him, but he was delighted to be part of reducing ignorance, in however small a way. It had been Karus’s goal in life, and his spirit infused the entire venture.

  For Mari’s part, she honoured the memory of her beloved son, who had not been allowed to reach his own potential. She wanted to help the children of other women in a way she hadn’t been able to help her own. In doing so, she had assuaged some of her own grief, and had grown in confidence and happiness herself. Even though Arman had exorcised a little of his own grief and guilt over Loke’s death in helping her set it up, those feelings had returned in full force as he had listened to the children reciting their numbers, eager young minds that would, one hoped, grow into fine young adults.

  Though they had made the visit as brief as possible, it was nearly two hours before they returned to his father’s house. Rather to Arman’s surprise, Mari asked if she could speak privately to him in the garden, while Tijus and his family were occupied in the house. “Is there a problem, Mari? Is it the school? Gods, Father hasn’t decided to not fund the new one in Garok because of me, has he?”

  Mari put her hand up to his lips to make him shut up, an intimate gesture which astonished him. Prijian women normally didn’t do such things except to their husbands or children in private. “Hush. There’s nothing wrong. We’re delaying the school in Garok but not for financial reasons. The political climate is too difficult, and we don’t want to be seen as a cause of unrest. The school here has been running long enough and quietly enough not to attract attention. But now is not the time to be seen as stirring up the poor.”

  “Yes, I understand,” Arman said. He frowned. “But...what do you need to talk about?”

  She indicated they should sit on a long marble bench where the late morning sun was warming the garden. “I do love this place,” she said quietly. “It holds such happy memories. I remember when Loke and I first came to live here, it was one of the things which eased the pain of losing our own house, the fact it had a lovely garden. And of course, you,” she added. “His new friend.”

  Arman’s jaw tightened instinctively against the pain of the memory. He still found it odd how deeply the memory of that loss hurt, so many years later. He could remember every moment of that terrible day with astonishing clarity. “And look how well I served him,” he said bitterly.

  “And this is what I wanted to talk to you about. We don’t have much time left with you, and I don’t want to deprive your father of what we do have, but I wanted to talk to you. Eren was right—you looked very sad earlier. And now we’ve been to the school, you’ve become more depressed. Is it going back to Karus’s house?”

  He took her hand and tried to smile. “Yes, and...do you ever wonder what Loke would be like now? What kind of man he would be?” He hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but it had been on his mind for hours. “I’m sorry.”

  She held up her hand. “No, don’t be,” she said softly. “Because, yes, I do. Every time I go to the school, in fact.”

  “I think of him every day. After all these years...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t...your pain was so deep....”

  “As was yours, my dear Arman. Why be ashamed to share that with me? Don’t you think it pleases me to know he is still remembered and loved?”

  “How could he not be?” Arman said with more force than he meant. “Gods, if only I hadn’t—”

  Again she made that curious gesture with her hand, and made him stop speaking. “No. This is the only thing that must stop now. Too many years have passed, too much good has been done in his name, for me to allow you to tarnish your love for him with the stain of unnecessary guilt. I ask this of you. Indeed, I beg it of you. Let it go. Your love for my son is one of the purest things I’ve ever known, and the happiness I get from knowing he knows how yo
u loved him, knowing he watches over both of us....” She shook her head and smiled, though her eyes were bright with tears. “I know he watches us. He sees the fine man you are, he sees the work we’re doing, he sees the happiness you bring to your father. Don’t, I beg you from the depth of our friendship, continue to diminish what you and he shared.”

  “I caused his death. Words cannot wash that fact away.”

  She sighed. “No, but your interpretation of events does no justice to him or his judgement. If only for my sake, dear Arman, I wish you would finally forgive yourself.”

  “I’m sorry. I do try—Kei has helped me a good deal. It’s just today...and leaving you all. I feel I’m deserting you. It’s not helping me feel less guilty about anything.”

  She shook her head again. “You and your father share a flaw, did you know?”

  “I imagine we share several,” he said dryly, sorry to see her so saddened by his words.

  “Not as many as you think, you know. But both of you have a terrible habit of placing obstacles in the path of your own joy. Now look at you. You’re returning to the man who adores you, to a life you love, to a role you enjoy greatly. You go with Armis’s blessing, and still you fret because you can’t be in two places at once. All he wants in his life is the happiness of those he loves. You and he are exactly the same in that respect. But you forget that we want the same for those we love.”

  “I just...he’s getting old. He is old. And death...Tije is right, you know. Not coming here because of a few vicious old senators is just cowardly.”

  The look on her face suddenly reminded him of Karus and the withering expression his tutor would wear when Arman had said something well below what was expected of someone of his intelligence. “If the situation were that simple, I have no doubt you would have come to Utuk almost every year. Your father knows that. Yes, he—we all—miss you terribly, and unfortunate though it has been for the boy concerned and that poor young man at the embassy, it has been a blessing to have you here. But the time is wrong for you to stay, and you know it.” She patted his hand. “Your father is only sixty-four and vigorous with it. You will see each other again. I’ll make sure of that.”

  “And if there is a civil uprising? If he contracts a fever and there isn’t a decent healer to help him? I can’t protect you up from Darshek.”

  “My dear Arman, you can’t protect us here either,” she said gently. “We want you here for you, but your father can look after himself, and he has Tijus as well. Unless you plan to actually install Kei in the house, you can’t prevent any of us becoming ill. I come from a long-lived family, so does Armis. You have done what a good and dutiful son ought to do—you have made your father proud, given him your love, and let him give you that in return. Go home with his blessing—and with mine.”

  He held onto her hand, quite as sorry at the thought of being parted from her as from any other member of his family. “Will you not marry Father now? Surely your independence doesn’t mean so much to you?”

  She raised an eyebrow at him and looked rather amused. “Matchmaking, Arman?”

  “He mentioned it, not me.”

  “Yes he did.” She sighed. “The truth is, there’s hardly any point. My position is as honourable as one could wish in this society, and neither of us wishes to replace the other’s spouse in their heart. We’re too old for romance,” she added with a slight twinkle in her eye.

  “Now that’s nonsense.”

  “Perhaps, but I’m perfectly happy, I assure you. If I thought marrying your father would increase his happiness, I would ask for it and he would agree. But it wouldn’t. He merely wants me to be protected, and he has done so most admirably. Go home, Arman, and be with Kei. I know you’ll miss us, and we’ll miss you, but you will have us in your heart and that’s the most important thing. As it was with Loke.”

  And so they came back to that. “I just...lost him before he could be a man...and I waited so long for my family.”

  She only looked at him as if to say “one must make the most of what one has”. “Then let’s not waste any more time in regrets. Come inside, Arman and let’s make these few hours happy ones, for all our sakes.”

  Voyaging: 19

  Karik hadn’t been surprised when Yuko had said the message from Arman had asked that Karik be kept at the embassy. He would have been amazed if Arman had suddenly wanted his presence in his family home. He just wished he could be allowed to return to Darshek without the older man’s supervision, but that would cause Arman to lose face. One thing he’d learned in the past month was how important honour and appearances were to the Prijian nobility.

  Yuko was very kind to him, and it was a relief to be able to speak freely to people other than Mykis, and in his own tongue. Prijian wasn’t difficult, but it represented all that repelled him, and Karik felt it would be a long time, if ever, before he could contemplate studying it again.

  But just because he could speak freely, didn’t mean he wanted to talk about the previous few weeks. Yuko had repeated his offer to allow him to speak to his mother—Jena—but Karik didn’t want to have that conversation with her through another person. He needed time to collect his thoughts, and he wanted to keep them entirely private.

  Yuko’s two sons, eight and five, were, as he said, rather noisy and boisterous, but they were so normal and open-hearted that Karik couldn’t help but enjoy their company, knowing he didn’t have to endure it forever. Yuko’s wife, Lesa, reminded him a little of Myka, and seeing their family together made him desperately homesick. He missed Gyo too, and wondered if his friend was still upset about everything. Hopefully he and his parents had had the message that Karik was safe now, but Gyo probably still blamed himself for the whole thing. Karik didn’t want him to do that—but the idea of talking to Gyo about the mess of his real family made him cringe. At least Gyo’s mother had had the best reason in the world for taking him away from his real father. Nothing Karik could come up with showed Arman to be anything but a scoundrel and a bully, and that just didn’t fit with what he knew of the man.

  Arman’s message said that he would come to collect Karik in good time before their boat sailed, which meant Karik was at liberty most of the day. Part of him was full of raw impatience to get on the ship and be on his way. The rest of him was dreading facing his parents and almost wished that bad weather would blow up, preventing any boats sailing that day. But it was not the season for storms in Utuk, so there was little hope of that.

  The library was some distraction. He had missed reading in Darshianese so much, and the embassy library was nearly as wonderful as that of the academy. There was a copy of the book that Kei had given him for his birthday—oh, a lifetime ago it felt like—and its companions. Karik hadn’t realised there were eight in a series covering the flora of all Darshian. Perhaps Kei had been planning to give him the others for his next few birthdays—it would be the kind of thing he would do. Karik was desperate to read something that wasn’t Prijian history or outdated so-called ‘natural history’ that was largely a lot of superstition and folklore. He’d tried to correct the tutor several times over the simplest errors of fact, and had been soundly and painfully reprimanded. It hadn’t been worth trying it again.

  If he followed Kei’s suggestion, he could maybe be a part of ending that vast ignorance. Perhaps if he could just...prove himself somehow. So that it didn’t matter what colour his hair was, or how badly he stuttered. If....

  He stopped himself. Making Arman proud of him was not only futile but pointless. Arman had hated him before Karik could have ever been a disappointment.

  He leaned his chin on his hand and closed his eyes, trying to understand his feelings, but failing. He loved his parents—Reji and Jena, he amended, since he now had two sets of claimants to that title—and always would do. They were undoubtedly the most important people in the world to him. He didn’t know if he could ever forget that the two people who’d given him life had found him so unimportant that they’d just handed h
im over to others to raise. He wished he could go back two months to when he had never known his real mother, or who his father was. When the most important problems in his world were how he could fend off Meran’s advances without hurting her feelings, and whether a baby merko would accept food from his hand.

  He read for a while longer, distracting himself a little from his miserable thoughts until Lesa came to invite him for lunch. Ado claimed him afterwards and wanted to talk about Jena, which was both a pleasure and a torment, but the conversation then turned to recent medical discoveries. Karik told him what he and Kei had discussed in Darshek, which Ado was most interested in. It had been a while since anyone had talked to him as if he was anything but a half-wit and a nuisance, and he couldn’t help but enjoy Ado’s cheerful company.

  There was a knock on the open door of Ado’s office. It was Yuko. “Arman’s here.”

  “Already? I n-need my pack.”

  “I’ve got it.” Yuko seemed rather hesitant and Karik wondered what was wrong. “Er, it’s not just Arman who’s come.”

  “My muh-mother?”

  “Uh, no, lad, I’m afraid not. Arman’s father, Senator Armis, is with him, as is his brother, Senator Tijus. I thought I better warn you in case you were overwhelmed. Anyway, it’s time for you to go.”

  Karik stood and bowed to Ado. “Th-thank you.”

  “No, thank you, Karik. Please give Jena my best wishes. I’m so glad she has a son with such an able and curious mind.” Ado ruffled his hair and looked a little sad. “And your hair will grow back soon. Wear your braid with pride when it does, my boy, for you are a true son of Darshian.”

  Karik stared at him, speechless with surprise at the praise. Yuko nodded in agreement. “Well said, Ado. Now come along, Karik,. It’s time to get you home.”

  Karik felt his stomach tightening up as he walked at Yuko’s side up the hallway to the main foyer. He didn’t know how Arman would react to seeing him.

  There were quite a number of Prij in the foyer—Arman, of course, and two tall men, one much older than the other two, both dressed in the fine and elaborate robes that Mekus also worn, though without the panache of these men. But there were two women and two young children too—who were all these people? “Here he is, finally,” Yuko announced cheerfully. “Karik, may I introduce Senator Armis, and his son, Senator Tijus. This lady is Tir Mari, a friend of the family, and this is Sei Temir, Sei Tije and Sei Eren.”