“Of course, Abbess. Thank you!” Tierna exclaimed.
“And now it is past time we should introduce this young man to his new home.” Ethene stood up and walked around the desk, and Michael stood up quickly and made a small bow. “Quite the gentleman, isn’t he?” she commented.
Ethene introduced herself to him, returning the bow, and explained that he’d now be under her care at JhaPel Orphanage.
“There are many other children here, and I’m sure you’ll make friends with them. It’s just before midday meal now, so we’ll go to the dining hall, and I’ll introduce you to the other boys with whom you’ll be sharing a dormitory.”
Whiltierna knelt down to his eye-level. “Michael, I have to go back to Landsend Charity now. I’ll see you at Holy Prayers every quarter-moon, and I promise I’ll visit you. Bring you new pencils and paper, all right?”
“Thank you.” He blinked as his vision blurred with unshed tears. He wouldn’t cry and embarrass her in front of Abbess Ethene. “For everything.”
“I just wanted to say—about your name. It was my cousin’s name. He died about a year ago, and you remind me a little of him. So that makes us almost family. All right?”
Michael nodded, feeling very honored by this.
“It’s a good name.” Tierna caught him in a crushing hug. “And he was done with it. It’s bad luck to name people after the living, but it’s good luck to keep a good name alive.”
And she was gone. Abbess Ethene smiled at him and placed a guiding hand on his shoulder. He caught only the faintest impression of sympathy at her touch. She was not as easily read as most people were, but he liked that. It made it easier to pretend his dangerous abilities away.
“Come this way, dear.”
The dining hall was a short walk down a wide corridor, half-open to a neatly-groomed courtyard, and Michael could hear the growing roar of a large number of young voices.
He froze for a moment in the door, staring at the sea of children and nannas. Most of the children were standing in a queue holding thin wooden trays though a few of them had made it through and were seated in growing clusters at the long trestle tables which filled up the enormous, high-ceilinged space. Ethene escorted Michael up to the head of the line where she stepped in front of a boy almost as tall as she was, picked a tray from the large stack standing just in front of the row of nannas waiting to serve the children their meals, and explained to Michael how the food queue worked.
“Now, you must never do what we just did,” she said as they passed down the line collecting soup, bread, a medium-sized, reddish-pink fruit Michael didn’t recognize, and a mug of water. “When you reach the dining hall, you must stand at the end of the line no matter how long it may be. Only a nanna is allowed to squeeze in ahead of everyone who’s patiently waited.”
The other children’s minds were much noisier than Nanna Tierna’s had ever been. The hospital had been a bit noisy, but he’d been far enough away from the other patients to avoid feeling and hearing more than a sort of background mutter. Here the other children surrounded him, bumped into him, brushed past him, and were all but unavoidable.
Ethene didn’t seem to notice the chaos but it overwhelmed Michael, and he felt no appetite for the contents of the tray he now carried as he followed Ethene through the maze of tables.
They reached the particular table she sought, and Ethene turned to take the tray from him again. “This is Michael,” she announced to the three boys as she set the tray down beside one of them and motioned for Michael to sit. “He’s going to be your new roommate, and I want you all to help him adjust to things here. He isn’t from Camarat, so he won’t necessarily understand you straight away. I expect you to be patient with him. He’s had a very difficult time recently, and I’m counting on you boys to make him feel at home.”
The boys muttered their acceptance of this charge and all of them smiled tentatively in Michael’s direction. Another boy came up to the table at that moment and everyone called out his name as if he’d just returned from the wars.
“Pol!” They all began to talk at once, each one eager to tell their apparent ringleader about the new boy.
Ethene didn’t seem troubled by this, and she leaned down to say a final word to Michael before abandoning him to his fate. “If you have any trouble at all, tell any one of the nannas I’ve said they’re to bring you straight to see me, all right?”
Michael nodded and said, “Yes, Abbess Ethene. Thank you.”
Everyone stopped talking for a few moments, unsure of how to proceed now that there was a new, mysterious boy to consider. Michael looked around at his new roommates with wide, dark golden eyes. Their thoughts were as easy to read as if they spoke aloud.
His eyes are beautiful, too, the newcomer thought. But aloud, all he said was, “Hi. I’m Pol.” Michael wondered how he would draw the soft brown color of this boy’s skin or capture the friendly, dark eyes. His hair curled messily around his face, framing an infectious grin.
“My name is Michael,” Michael replied with a small nod and a smaller, answering smile. The thoughts all piled up together, with someone thinking his accent was lovely and someone else thinking how sad it was that he looked so unwell and a third someone thinking that someone named Telyr would need to be watched-out for. Michael couldn’t sort out what thoughts matched which boy. Except for Pol.
“What’s in your bag?” one of the boys asked, leaning over Michael’s shoulder to try and get a look. He turned to see a shock of bright orange hair over a face so covered in freckles, the pale skin between them seemed to glow white.
“His name’s Ned, by the way.” Pol gave the redhead a reproving look, but the boy’s only reply was an indifferent shrug.
“These are my drawings,” Michael pushed his tray to one side and pulled the booklet Nanna Tierna had given him out of the pack he’d been holding on his lap. It was far too fine for an orphan like him, but Tierna had not seemed to notice this, and Michael loved it, considering it a piece of art all by itself. It consisted of two wafer-thin but sturdy pieces of highly polished wood with maybe a hundred sheets of heavy paper sandwiched between them, and the whole thing was bound together on one end by two thin leather straps. Michael flipped the booklet open.
“It’s Nanna Tierna!” Ned’s eyes widened in surprise.
“You know her?” Michael asked, pleased.
Pol reached across the table to turn the booklet a little so he could have a better look. Michael sensed the sharp edge of his surprise at how perfect a likeness it was.
“Yes.” Pol belatedly answered Michael’s question when Ned failed to. “If we ever have to go to hospital, Nanna Tierna looks after us. She lives here, you know, but she spends most of her time at Landsend. She does always come with the healers for inspections when they want to make sure we’re not secretly diseased.”
Michael’s new roommates crowded around him then, all trying to see the picture. They pressed against him, the contact making their thoughts even clearer than they’d been before. Michael bit his lip, fighting back nausea. The thoughts were too loud, too many, but this was his new life. He’d have to find some way to cope with it.
When Pol moved to turn the page, a new voice called, “Wait!” and Michael sensed the other boy just then realized that their table had become the center of what seemed to be the entire dining hall’s attention. Boys and girls of all different ages crowded close around the table, all trying to see Michael’s drawing.
I can’t take this, Michael thought, and he untied the straps binding the booklet together and took the picture out so it could be handed around. This led to something of a melee, and the noise level in the hall—already quite high—rose noticeably, but the epicenter of the crowd shifted away.
Hands attacked the booklet, snatching several pictures in quick succession. Michael watched, wistful but resigned, as one of his earlier attempts—this one of the view from one of his hospital ward’s windows, framed by realistically draping curtains—d
isappeared. Once the crowd had moved off, trading around the pictures and shouting, half the drawings in Michael’s notebook had vanished and were making their ways around the dining hall to much acclaim.
“Aren’t you upset?” Pol asked as Michael calmly retied the straps on his now much skinnier booklet. “You’ll probably never see those again.”
Michael shrugged. “I can always draw more. He smiled across the table at Pol and added in a conspiratorial whisper, “Those are not my favorites. I still have those.”
Pol seemed almost surprised to find himself grinning back. “Come on,” he said as he stood. “I’ll show you our room.”
They were interrupted at the dining hall door by a group of boys and girls, all older than they were, all talking at once. Michael made out the words, “Draw me!” repeated several times in several voices, all very insistent. He took a step back, retreating from the noise both outside and inside his head but hands reached out and caught him.
He wanted to scream at them all to stop touching him, but his throat had gone dry and his head whirled. And then someone’s back blocked his view, and the hands released him.
“Leave him alone!” Pol shouted, annoyance rolling off of him in oddly-comforting waves. “Can’t you see he isn’t well? He’s just left the hospital.”
A flurry of words, again, but Michael heard, “Sorry,” among them.
“Yeah, well,” Pol said as he turned around to check on Michael who saw the group dispersing. “You all right?”
Michael still couldn’t get any words out, but he managed a nod.
“Vail Above Us, but you look awful,” the other boy commented, but his smile had returned. “Don’t mind them. They’re nice enough, and they like your pictures. You can trade them for stuff you want!”
Michael had no idea what that meant, but when Pol said, “Let’s go,” Michael followed along willingly, re-shouldering his pack which contained his sketch book, his saved, special pictures, and some odds and ends of charity clothing. Everything he had, Nanna Tierna had given him, but now he was one of these children. One of JhaPel’s orphans.
Kiska. They call us kiska.
He caught Pol’s attention as they climbed a steep staircase. He’d regained his composure but now needed a moment to catch his breath. “Excuse me, but what is a ‘kiska?’”
Pol snorted derisively. “Nasty word, but it’s what we are, I guess. Well, most of us.”
“What does it mean?” Michael persisted.
Pol stopped on the step and turned to look down on Michael. “‘No one’s.’ It means we don’t belong to anyone, but it isn’t a nice word. I mean, the law says that’s what we are, but kids in the street are really kiska. Nasty, useless, bullying, thieving—that’s kiska. They have no one, nowhere to go, and they can’t be trusted.”
“I do not like this word.” A frown creased his forehead as they proceeded on up the stairs and into another wide corridor.
“Yeah,” Pol agreed. “So, here’s our room!” He shoved open a large door a few lengths down the corridor from the stairs and waved at the dim interior. Michael stepped through cautiously, squinting. “We just had a guy get apprenticed, so we had a spare bed. That’s probably why Abbess Ethene put you with us.”
The empty bed was at the far end of the room by the window. There were four other beds. Michael liked that his had a view, though he thought it must not be a preferred choice since none of the other boys had moved to take it.
“It’s drafty,” Pol explained, apologetic.
“I like to see outside.” Michael dropped his pack onto the bed.
But I’m going to be cold. He’d figure something out for that. Maybe he could wear extra clothes to bed. Or now. He hunched his shoulders. The room was already chilly even though the sun was out. It would be freezing at night, he imagined.
Pol tapped on a wooden box standing at the foot of the bed. “This is yours, too. Put your stuff in here and no one will bother it. Well, mostly. There are a few guys in here you have to watch out for.”
Michael frowned again. “In our room?”
“Oh, no! I didn’t mean us,” Pol exclaimed. “I mean in the whole place. The boys’ side. Watch out for Telyr. He’s just mean. He likes to hurt you.”
“Why would he want to hurt me?” Michael asked, confused. “I don’t know him.”
Pol let out an exasperated breath. “Sorry. I need to say stuff better. I know you don’t really understand yet. He doesn’t want to hurt you; he wants to hurt kids because he’s mean. He likes to hurt people.”
Michael nodded but bit his lip, worried. He picked his pack back up and emptied its contents into the chest Pol had indicated was his.
“You need more stuff.” Pol shook his head at Michael’s belongings in disapproval. “We’ll go see Nanna Mabbina. She takes care of supplies.”
Michael followed Pol through the maze of JhaPel once more, taking in everything. JhaPel was completely different from the charity hospital. It felt far older and in spite of the stone walls and stained glass windows, it felt shabby and neglected.
They found Nanna Mabbina sooner than Pol seemed to expect, nearly colliding with her as they rounded a corner.
Pol straightened his shoulders as if shrugging off embarrassment and muttered, “‘Scuse me, Nanna.”
“What is the meaning of this, Master Rayvin?” The woman arched a disapproving eyebrow. She looked plump and comfortable, but her mouth pinched downwards, lengthening her pointed chin, and the lines on her face showed she narrowed her eyes a lot.
“We were looking for you,” Pol shot back. “Michael needs stuff. He hasn’t got anything but what he’s wearing.”
“‘He doesn’t have,’” Mabbina corrected. She looked Michael over, eyes narrowing. “So this is Tierna’s discovery.”
Pol glanced over at Michael but said nothing in answer to this, so Michael stayed quiet as well. He made a bow of his own, though, just to be safe.
“Very pretty,” the woman added. The tone of her voice made this seem like a failing on Michael’s part. “And all that hair.”
“The healers think he’s Reinra,” Pol offered.
“Yes,” Mabbina agreed. “I was informed. Come with me.”
By the time she’d led them the rest of the way through the maze of corridors that made up JhaPel, loaded Michael up with changes of clothing and under-things, soap and towels, a brush, comb, small supply of ties for his hair, and an extra blanket when Pol explained his bed was by the window and the previous boy had taken his extra with him, Michael was glad he didn’t have to find his way back to his new dorm room alone. Pol helped carry his new things and, unburdened by Mabbina’s severe presence, pointed out landmarks to make Michael’s future navigation of the orphanage easier.
After evening meal, all the boys returned to the dorm together. Pol, acting his role as group leader, introduced Michael more formally to everyone. Along with Ned, Jiin and Lee rounded out the group, and they seemed nice enough. While they settled in to various games and conversations, Michael reviewed all of his things and tried to adjust to his new reality.
Maybe it’s easier that I don’t know what I did before. I can’t compare this to anything but the hospital. The hospital hadn’t been so different. The rooms, cordoned off by white canvas curtains as they were, each still contained several people.
His head ached from the noise of all the minds around him. He didn’t hear words unless someone’s thoughts were particularly focused or unless he was focusing his attention on understanding them, but he heard them all, nonetheless.
If you don’t want to see, you just close your eyes. What do you do if you don’t want to hear? Sticking his fingers in his ears did nothing to silence the noise in his head.
At the hospital, he remembered, reading had helped. He went to his chest and dug around until he found the little, leather-bound book Healer Tineson had given him upon learning he could read. It was a book of tales about the Kingdom of Camarat.
When he mov
ed back to sit on his bed, a couple of the other boys looked up. Ned, seeing what he was doing, blurted, “You can read?”
Michael’s eyes widened in surprise at the tone of Ned’s question. “Yes,” he said. “Can’t you?”
The question came out almost too sharply, but Michael’s impression that everyone could read came from somewhere—all the healers and nannas had been able to read—and his surprise at Ned’s reaction startled him into bluntness.
Ned snorted. “No! No one here can read. That’s for highborns. What do we need with that?”
“Maybe he is highborn.” Pol smiled as he looked up from the piece of wood he was whittling. “No one knows, so he could be.”
Another snort came from Ned, who said, “Sure. He’s the long-awaited SanClare come to judge us unawares.” They all laughed at this, even Pol.
“Is that a tale?” Michael asked. He’d not heard or read that one.
Pol nodded. “Yeah, the highborns love that one, too, because they think the SanClare will come someday and tell them they’re doing a great job and this is the true heart of the One Kingdom, and they’ll get some great reward when it’s restored. My mother always said they had it wrong and that the SanClare would be really angry at what the highborns had done to...” Pol trailed off and didn’t finish his thought, but he and the other boys all exchanged nervous looks.
Michael had too many questions he wanted to ask about that, but he could feel the other boys’ nerves and irritation from across the room and instead tried to move the subject away from these SanClares.
“The stories in this book are tales,” Michael ventured. “I could read them to you sometime. They are very good.”
“We know all the tales.” Jiin flicked one of the dice out across the floor a bit too violently, and his wildly curly hair bounced in apparent irritation. Ned grumbled at the interruption.
“Oh. All right.” Michael sensed he’d made a misstep. He pulled his legs up onto his bed and turned more toward the window, trying to maximize the waning light.
But Pol spoke, his voice low. “You can read them to me. I’d like to hear them.”
SanClare Black (The Prince of Sorrows) Page 8