Lord of the White Hell Book One lotwh-1 (13 page)

K
iram found Nestor in the library, drawing as always, and settled down into a chair opposite him.

"Something bothering you?" Nestor asked.

Kiram nodded but didn't know exactly how to approach it. His encounter with Fedeles had been strange and troubling. To his relief Nestor didn't prod him. He waited patiently while Kiram gathered his thoughts.

"Can I ask you about Fedeles?" Kiram asked at last.

"What about him?"

"Is he." Kiram paused, weighing his words carefully. "Could he hurt someone?"

"On purpose?" Nestor raised his brows, as he met Kiram's gaze. "No. Never. He's simple and a little lost, but he couldn't harm a living soul. That's not in him, never has been, not even when he was.well. If you could have seen him before, you'd know. He was always speaking up for me -or anyone-when Javier and Elezar got too rough." Nestor shook his head sadly. "He was great fun. Everyone loved him."

"But he's not the same now."

"No, he's not. But under all that madness, he's still Fedeles. You can see it when he's with the horses and when he plays with the other boys. He's just not mean."

Kiram picked up a book that another student had left on the table; a slim volume of Bishop Seferino's musings. He still had not found the book that Javier had told him about, Concerning Ardor. Instead Kiram read through On the Nature of Vice and Virtue.

"Why do you ask?"

"He was putting flowers on that murdered groom's grave and saying…things."

"They were friends, up until.you know," Nestor said.

"Until the groom was murdered," Kiram responded. "Why doesn't anyone seem to care about that?"

Nestor flushed slightly.

"You can't tell Javier that I told you about this, all right?" Nestor leaned across the table, dropping his voice to the softest murmur.

"Told me what?" Kiram too lowered his voice.

"Victaro was too.friendly with Fedeles." The flush coloring Nestor's cheeks darkened to scarlet and he lowered his gaze down to his hands. "There were rumors that he took advantage of Fedeles' innocence."

"You mean he raped-"

The alarm in Nestor's face silenced Kiram.

"I'm just saying that there might have been a good reason for Javier to do what he did, but talking about it would only humiliate Fedeles. Do you understand?"

Kiram nodded slowly. It was all so very Cadeleonian and Kiram wasn't sure he believed it in any case. Fedeles had clearly stated that murdering Haldiim had killed the groom. And why would he be placing flowers on the grave of a man who violated him?

But Kiram knew it would be no good to press Nestor further. Instead, he nodded to the papers tucked into the textbook at Nestor's elbow. "How's your math assignment coming along?"

"Very slowly," Nestor confessed.

"Can I help?"

"You know you can." For the next hour Nestor labored over his mathematics and Kiram offered explanations and answers. Later, when Kiram finally found an opportunity to ask Nestor if he had ever noticed any carvings in the trees near the stream, Nestor said, "They're devils that come out of the trees at night. Everybody knows that."

"I didn't."

"Well now you do." Nestor finished his class work and stretched in his chair. He studied Kiram for a moment, absently sketching him on a parchment, and then noted that neither of them fit into their clothes so well any more. Kiram had to agree. Nestor had lost enough weight to require several tucks in the waist of his trousers. Kiram's shirts were tight across his shoulders. "You're going to end up bigger than Elezar."

"I doubt it, but you just might," Kiram replied.

"He did have to lend me a couple of his shirts," Nestor said and Kiram could see that he was pleased to be favorably compared to his older brother. "You know, my arms are getting bigger." Nestor flexed his bicep.

"Did Elezar have the shirts washed before he gave them to you?" Kiram asked, as casually as he could. "Or have you stopped taking baths?"

Nestor flushed bright pink as only a pale Cadeleonian could. "I washed yesterday-no two days ago, but it's not that bad…Is it?"

"It's a little bad."

Nestor sighed. "Well, I suppose I ought to go wash before bed. Otherwise the stench might kill Upperclassman Atreau."

While Nestor retired to the second floor dormitory, Kiram remained in the library, skimming through the Bishop Sefarino's cautious contemplation of ardor. The numerous floral and gastronomic euphemisms the bishop employed to avoid any reference to actual copulation, while still expounding upon the pleasures of 'that most physical act' struck Kiram as funny and kept him reading. This was exactly the sort of book Javier would like. He wondered if he should bring it up to their room. It wouldn't be long before last bell.

At last, he closed the book and stretched. Then suddenly he realized that Javier was there. Javier leaned against the doorframe and watched him. Kiram felt stupidly happy to see him.

He said, "I was just reading this book-"

Then Elezar and Atreau rushed up. Elezar grabbed Javier around the neck, playfully throttling him and Javier had to turn away to fight him off. Atreau lounged against the wall, yawning and occasionally critiquing Elezar's style.

Kiram felt a surge of annoyance. Elezar was always like this after Master Ignacio took the Hellions out riding. Elezar wouldn't stop grappling with Javier until the night warden called for lights out. Leaving the book behind, Kiram waited until the two of them lurched clear of the door and then slunk out of the library and up to the tower room where he gladly embraced the oblivion of sleep.

T
hat night something terrible haunted Kiram's dreams. Above him, dark shadows crawled across the ceiling like seeping tar. Droplets struck Kiram's face, spattering his mouth and eyes. He tried to move away only to find himself sinking deeper into an engulfing black. The harder he struggled, the deeper he sank until oily fingers curled over his face and dragged him into a suffocating cold.

He jerked upright and nearly collided with Javier, who knelt at his bedside. Kiram couldn't be sure but he thought Javier looked worried.

"What are you doing?" Still only half-awake Kiram blurted the words out in Haldiim.

"Ybu called out for me," Javier spoke the Haldiim words with a slight accent and Kiram stared at him, not sure if he'd heard correctly or if this was the lingering of his dream.

"Was it bad?" Javier asked and this time his words were clearly Cadeleonian.

"I was suffocating, I think." Kiram wiped his face, as if he could scrub his dazed confusion away. "I can't really remember it now."

"Probably for the best." Javier stroked his back once, lightly, and then stood. A thin shaft of moonlight briefly illuminated the naked expanse of his chest as he headed for his own bed. "We should get what sleep we can. The morning bell will be sounding soon enough."

Kiram didn't think he could fall asleep again, and yet in a few moments he slipped back into another dream.

Again a dark weight lay atop him, but this time it felt warm and living. The mass became flesh. Naked skin pressed against his own. Thick black hair fell across his face. Soon it became Javier's body thrusting down onto him, pinning him to the bed.

Kiram woke up embarrassed, erect and alone. Javier had already left for his morning penance. Kiram spent most of the morning in a daze, trying not to think of Javier and yet unable to think of anything else.

After lunch, Kiram was so distracted that he walked directly into Scholar Blasio. He apologized and offered to help carry a few of the books that he had dashed out of the Scholar Blasio's arms. Blasio accepted and made polite conversation as they walked to the mathematics lecture hall. When Kiram shelved the books incorrectly twice, Scholar Blasio inquired if something was wrong.

"I'm just distracted," Kiram said quickly and this time he shelved both books properly.

Scholar Blasio straightened a stack of papers that the first-year students had piled up on his desk. "How are things going for you with the other boys?"

"Fine, I think." Kiram wasn't certain what Scholar Blasio meant.

"It's just that you were forced into Javier Tornesal's company and he runs with a very, energetic crowd of young men." Scholar Blasio awkwardly flipped through the stack of papers teetering at the edge of the desk.

"Upperclassman Javier has done well by me." Kiram shrugged. "Most of the Hellions have."

"Yfes, but you're very different from them. You have such potential, and the Hellions have so little-" Scholar Blasio seemed to suddenly realize that he was deriding a duke and at least two noble heirs. "I mean, intellectually speaking. They aren't great thinkers, and Master Ignacio doesn't really encourage development in the academic realm-"

Suddenly the papers slid out from beneath Scholar Blasio's hand and spilled to the floor.

"Damn it," Scholar Blasio muttered.

Kiram helped him gather the papers. Scholar Blasio seemed embarrassed. He turned to the bookshelf against the far wall and picked up a heavy, wooden bookend that he plunked on top of the papers and as if some gust had been to blame for the earlier fall. The bookend had been beautifully carved into the shape of a dove.

"I suppose I'm just trying to warn you," Scholar Blasio said at last. "It may seem exciting to drink and fight and be one of those kinds of young men, but I hope it doesn't come at a cost to you. I hope you don't feel like you have to behave that way just to fit in with them."

"No, sir, I haven't been out drinking with them and the only fighting I'm doing is in Master Ignacio's class." Kiram was only half thinking about the conversation; instead he was observing the bookend. It strongly resembled the carvings Fedeles had shown to him.

"I'm not so good at fighting that I would engage in a brawl as recreation," Kiram added. He was rewarded with a smile from Scholar Blasio.

"No, you're no Elezar Grunito. You're not like any of the young ruffians in that group. I know that Master Ignacio would have it otherwise. More than likely he'll exert as much pressure as he can to reshape you into the kind of brute that he can impress. But you should know that outside of the academy there are quite a few thinking men who do not share Master Ignacio's values."

It struck Kiram suddenly that Scholar Blasio was probably speaking from his own experience as a student at the academy. Scholar Blasio wasn't really that much older than Kiram. Master Ignacio could well have been one of his instructors. Kiram couldn't imagine Scholar Blasio excelling in Master Ignacio's classes or commanding much respect from his fellow students.

For an instant Kiram thought that there was even a kind of resemblance between Scholar Blasio's nervous, awkward interactions and the uneasy exchanges Ladislo attempted from time to time. Kiram chose not to consider the comparison too closely.

"When I was a student here I had my brother to confide in," Scholar Blasio said. "I just want you to know that if you need it, I will always make time to talk with you."

"Thank you, Scholar Blasio." Kiram did feel touched by Blasio's offer, though he doubted that Scholar Blasio would remain so friendly if Kiram described the details of the dream that had been distracting him all day.

A silence hung between Scholar Blasio and himself for a moment and Kiram realized that the scholar was expecting some kind of confession or confidence.

All Kiram could think of was a question.

"I was wondering where this carving came from?" Kiram touched the smooth surface of the dove's neck.

"That?" Scholar Blasio looked a little relieved that Kiram hadn't actually dredged up his personal troubles. "My brother made that. He's quite accomplished at carving."

"You mean Scholar Donamillo?"

"Yfes, yes. Scholar Donamillo." Scholar Blasio looked amused at the formality. "He doesn't carve very often anymore. He's much too busy. But I think you can still see his artistry in his mechanical cures. They're actually quite beautiful."

Kiram nodded. Though he rarely considered the question of beauty in a mechanism, he had to admit that the luminous panes of glass and beautifully etched supports of Scholar Donamillo's machines made the mechanical cures seem like works of art.

Still, Kiram judged them on their performance. A machine that functioned perfectly was lovely to him even if it stank and looked like a heap of refuse. And there Scholar Donamillo's mechanisms were more than pretty objects; they were inspiring.

He had personally seen the difference they made in calming Fedeles and relieving him of his bouts of paranoia and strange anxiety. Kiram couldn't help but wish that one of his own mechanisms could someday do so much so well.

"You might mention your admiration for his carving to Scholar Donamillo." Scholar Blasio's words brought Kiram back to the subject at hand. "Solstice isn't all that far away and who knows? You might just get a gift from him."

"I wouldn't want to trouble him," Kiram replied. He hoped that Scholar Blasio didn't think he was one of those boys who complimented someone's belongings just in hopes that they would be given to him.

"I don't know that it would be too much trouble," Blasio replied. "He likes you, you know. We both do."

"Thank you, sir." Kiram couldn't help but feel both pleased and shy at the same time. "I should probably get to my riding class."

"Yfes, but be careful." Blasio glanced up at him. "Don't fall on your head attempting some mad leap."

Kiram assured him that he wouldn't and then hurried out. He had no desire to irritate Master Ignacio by arriving late. Of course, he managed to irritate Master Ignacio in countless other ways throughout most of the class period. And then, near the end of class, he made a spectacular error.

Kiram shifted his weight in the saddle and twisted his leg against Firaj's side. At the same time, while reaching to scratch his knee, drew back a little on his reins. Somewhere in the chaos of Kiram's motions Firaj picked out something familiar to him.

Firaj went stock-still. Then slowly, and very mechanically, the big black horse began to prance backwards across the arena. Kiram was utterly shocked. He hadn't thought a horse could be trained to walk backwards, much less prance. He could tell from the tension playing through Firaj's body that this was not a simple maneuver.

Firaj held his head high and twisted his ears back, straining for any hint of what was behind him. Kiram sat like a stuffed doll atop Firaj, too worried about startling his horse to move. Once they reached the center of the arena, Firaj came to a halt and gave a soft, pleased noise as if he were extremely proud of his performance.

All around them other students sat atop their mounts, staring. Then Nestor laughed and it seemed to release a torrent of snorts and giggles from the other students. Kiram flushed. He patted Firaj, assuring him that he had done well -whatever he had done.

Only Master Ignacio remained stony faced. He ordered Kiram back to the other riders with a loud shout.

Throughout the rest of the class, Master Ignacio was relentless in his growling criticisms. He barked out angry reprimands at every one of Kiram's motions.

If Kiram was down in his saddle properly, then Master Ignacio snapped at him to pay attention to what he was doing with his knees. His hands were moving too much. He wasn't watching his surroundings. He was sitting too far back, and then too high up. Master Ignacio's constant recriminations destroyed Kiram's concentration and soon he was making mistakes that he had overcome months ago.

He prayed that some other student would attract Master Ignacio's wrath but Kiram was not so lucky. Even after he dismounted and turned Firaj's reins over to a groom, Master Ignacio wasn't through. He gripped Kiram's elbow and pulled him to the side of the arena.

"Do you know what your problem is?" Master Ignacio demanded. Kiram knew the question was rhetorical, and so he suppressed his response: at the moment Master Ignacio was his problem. Master Ignacio continued, "You are exactly the kind of distraction that gets soldiers killed! I don't ever want to see you show off like that again, do you understand?"

"I wasn't showing-"

Master Ignacio struck Kiram across the face so hard that Kiram stumbled back and almost fell to the arena floor.

"Yfes or no?" Master Ignacio growled. Kiram remembered Javier saying nearly the same thing to Genimo.

"Yfes," Kiram managed to reply. His entire jaw felt as if it had been ripped from its ligaments.

"Good." Master Ignacio took in a deep breath and only then seemed to become aware of the other second-year students lingering around the arena, gaping.

"Get to your classes and mind your own business!" Master Ignacio shouted.

Kiram saw Nestor start forward towards him, but when Master Ignacio stepped between them, Nestor fled with the other second-year students.

Master Ignacio turned back to Kiram. "I expect you to take my classes seriously. I'm not instructing you in some nonsense of numbers or dates. I am teaching you how we Cadeleonians make war. These skills have protected and maintained our kingdom for generations. This is how the greatest Cadeleonian men have lived and how they have died! You understand that? My instructions make the difference between life and death."

Master Ignacio had never lashed out at Kiram like this before, despite the fact that Kiram had made far worse mistakes in his classes. In fact during the first weeks the master had ignored Kiram, allowing him to fumble ineptly through his training. But Kiram had not been one of the Hellions then. He suddenly wondered how deeply that must have vexed the war master. A skinny Haldiim mechanist fraternizing with his brutal, muscular favorite students. His great Cadeleonians.

Kiram could hear the voices of men coming closer. The third-year students were gathering for their lessons. Master Ignacio glanced to the doors of the arena. "Haldiim genius or not, I expect you to take my instructions seriously. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir," Kiram responded.

"Good." Master Ignacio turned his back on Kiram. "Now get out of my sight."

Kiram was glad to leave. And he wasn't surprised to find Nestor waiting for him outside the stables.

"Are you all right? I thought your head was going to come right off."

"Genimo hits harder," Kiram said. It wasn't true but the lie was the only revenge Kiram could take against the war master.

Nestor grinned. "You've got balls, Kiram. Really."

"Thanks."

Though the rest of Kiram's afternoon classes were less eventful, a feeling of alienation clung to him. The bruise on his face was slow to darken but it ached. Kiram decided that he would rather not see the other Hellions at dinner and instead retreated to his shed to tinker with his mechanisms and feel more in his element.

Blue light streamed in through the small window in the north wall. The smell of machine oil settled around Kiram and instinctively he felt safer.

He turned a long, threaded bolt between his fingers and wondered just who had first realized that the threaded shaft would offer a stronger anchor than any nail.

Someone who could see a place for innovation, Kiram imagined, as he fed the bolt into place and tightened its nut. Someone who knew that he could make something better than anything that had come before him.

Kiram smirked at the train of his thoughts. He was describing his ideal version of himself, of course. His ancient inventor was probably just a thick-headed bastard who wanted to sink a support without bothering to get up and find a hammer.

Kiram stepped back and studied his boiler. It looked good. Its glossy, black, iron mass filled a third of the cramped shed. The secondary steam chamber had yet to be assembled. The pistons and rods lay on a shelf. The condensation chamber only existed as a heap of iron plates leaning against the wall and a series of measurements in Kiram's mind.