by Ginn Hale
Kiram studied Nestor's face intently.
"I'm not making it up," Nestor said. "Ask anyone. That's really what happened to Fedeles."
"It doesn't mean he doesn't need some help."
"If he needs help, Javier will give it to him." Nestor waved his hand as if brushing the thought aside. "Javier doesn't let anything happen to Fedeles. Why do you think everyone puts up with Fedeles running all around the academy?"
That afternoon, Kiram tried to concentrate on his work but throughout the fine arts class his mind continued to wander back to that brief glimpse of terror contorting Fedeles' innocent face. The image found its way into each of the charcoal studies that Kiram produced.
At the end of the class the instructor raised one wiry white brow and inquired about the brain fever that had apparently burned away his sense of good taste.
Kiram apologized and promised to make the work up on his free day. In the hallway a few minutes later, Nestor simply handed him a few of his own sketches to copy.
"Thanks." Kiram was genuinely touched by the offer.
"No problem," Nestor replied. "I really liked the studies you did. They looked like those devil-haunted souls that are always carved into the underside of chapel altars."
"Is that so?" Kiram pulled one of the piteously contorted faces out from his leather satchel. It didn't strike him as anything like a holy image, but then he knew little of Cadeleonian iconography. Haldiim were not permitted in Cadeleonian chapels unless they were undergoing conversions.
"The eyes are too flat," Kiram said.
"Yeah, but that makes it all the creepier." Nestor grinned at the image. "He looks like he's been lost for a hundred years in the sorrowlands and is turning into a wraith."
"You want it?" Kiram offered.
"Of course." Nestor took the drawing happily and tucked it away with his own, far superior works.
In history class, Kiram was far too occupied to think of Fedeles. It took all of his willpower not to argue with the doughy instructor, Holy Father Habalan, while he rhapsodized over the glorious reign of King Nazario Sagrada. Among the Haldiim, King Nazario was remembered as the Crowned Impaler. His rule had been a time of mass executions and public torture. His purges were the reason that even now huge walls surrounded the Haldiim district in Anacleto and archers still stood guard atop them. Haldiim mothers might pay taxes to the Cadeleonian kings, but the memory of Nazario's atrocities ensured they would never trust Cadeleonian lords to protect them.
Kiram had no idea of how he would write an essay chronicling the king's innovations without his writing degenerating to a string of obscenities. He had to bow his head just to keep the plump holy father from seeing his revulsion.
Afterwards Nestor asked if he was sick.
"Just tired." Kiram forced a smile. It was difficult to look at Nestor and know that his ancestors were probably among those noblemen who hunted Haldiim shepherds for sport and impaled lovers for their evening's entertainment. And yet when he did meet Nestor's gaze, no such malevolence showed in his expression. Kiram felt his anger drain away. Nestor wasn't responsible for his ancestry. He couldn't help being Cadeleonian any more than Kiram could take credit for being born a Haldiim.
"I'll feel better after dinner," Kiram said.
"Maybe not," Nestor replied. "It's bean night tonight."
They shared a scowl at the thought of the flatulence- inducing stew they would soon be served. Then Kiram smirked.
"Poor Javier." Kiram smiled maliciously. "His white hell demon may well choke to death on the fury of my fart demon."
Nestor responded to that with scandalized laugh and clapped him on the back. "That's the spirit, Kiram!"
Nestor's company buoyed Kiram through their riding lessons and dinner. Though when Kiram noted Fedeles' absence from their table Nestor just replied that Fedeles did as he pleased, and more than likely, eating a sludge of beans didn't suit him.
After dinner Nestor left to attend his upperclassman and Kiram found himself alone, pacing the vast corridors of the academy library.
Kiram adored the Sagrada Academy's library.
Walls of knowledge surrounded him. Shelves abounded with rare texts, written before printing presses came into use, and displaying page after page of beautifully detailed illuminations. Filed among countless tomes lay treasures of unpublished scientific studies, penned more as letters between the scholars than as formal presentations.
Any other day Kiram would have been happy to pour over them for any details that might aid him in his project for the Crown Challenge. But this evening his mind wasn't occupied with steam pressure or cooling chambers. Instead he kept remembering Fedeles' tortured expression and Nestor's offhand explanation of his condition. He thought of the white flickers that played between Javier's fingers and his gaze fell upon the gilded spine of a book titled On the Nature of Hells and the Damned. What did it mean to be one of them? What kind of force was hellfire and how could it hunt a particular family? How could a script be legible only to the eyes of the damned?
Kiram took the book from the shelf and, feeling almost ashamed of his interest in Cadleonian superstition, he scurried up to the privacy of his room with the text tucked between two history books.
He cracked open the book and turned its ornate pages carefully, enjoying the leathery scent of the vellum as it wafted over him. Reading through the pompous language and gilded letters he soon discovered that many of the people described as possessed by the Cadeleonian priests would have been diagnosed with 'dancing nerves' by a Haldiim physician, like his uncle Rafie.
Again the image of Fedeles' terrified grimace came to him. It hadn't been nerves nor mimicry that Kiram had seen in his expression but terror and pain, and Kiram was now positive that Fedeles had been genuine in his appeal for help.
After considering the matter for a moment, Kiram decided that Javier would be the person to tell about Fedeles' troubling plea. After all, Javier took responsibility for Fedeles. He would want to know this and only the pettiest of men would withhold something so important.
It would be a relief to put his pride aside and just talk to the man, and he couldn't have asked for a better reason to do so.
Now if only Javier would make an appearance. Kiram glanced out one of the high windows. He knew from Nestor that several of the upperclassmen routinely went off academy grounds and rode down to Zancoda city to solicit the prostitutes at the Goldenrod Inn.
Kiram found it difficult to imagine Javier waiting in some dank tavern for his turn to dally with a worn-out barmaid. But there weren't many other places he could be spending his evenings. Kiram had wandered the grounds on many previous nights and while he refused to admit that he had been looking for Javier, he certainly hadn't stumbled upon him during any of his rambling walks.
Outside, the summer sun sank into the shadows of the surrounding orchards. Clouds glowed like beaten gold against the darkening blue of the sky. Maybe another half hour of light was left. Then the night warden would call for lights out, and the last roll would be taken to assure that all students were in their beds.
Kiram stood and paced the length of the room. Now that he wanted to talk to Javier, where was he? Probably having a big-breasted Cadeleonian woman scrub his back in just the way he liked.
"Kihvash," Kiram spat the Haldiim insult as crudely as a salt merchant. He glowered down at the stables. Then he noticed a tall figure in the shadows. His hair was black enough and his skin pale enough to be Javier. Even the man's height was close enough to have passed, but the way he moved was completely wrong. The figure shied back into the cover of ornamental hedges and then bolted wildly to a water trough. His arms flailed out, waving a piece of paper and then clutching it back to his chest.
It had to be Fedeles. He was already at the stable doors. An instant later he disappeared inside. Even Kiram knew that it would only take a few wild movements for Fedeles to spook one of the horses and get himself killed.
Kiram didn't pause to think about wh
at he should do. His common sense would make a coward of him and he knew it. Of all Master Ignacio's lectures, it was the one Kiram hated to hear the most, and yet it fueled his sprinting legs and pounding heart as he raced out of the dormitory.
Chapter Four
The interior of the stable was dim and hot. Strong, earthy smells of horses-their feed, their bodies and their excrement-saturated the still air. Warm light streamed through the open door, casting a long shadow at Kiram's feet. All across the packed dirt floor, broken pieces of straw caught the light, glinting like flecks of gold.
From the deep, shadowed stalls, horses watched him. There seemed to be something disapproving about the way their dark eyes followed his movements, as if they knew that he was only a second-year student and not allowed in the stables unescorted. Fedeles was nowhere in sight.
He walked the long aisle between the stalls, searching for any sign of Fedeles, and at the same time too afraid of the big horses to approach any of the stalls.
"Fedeles?" Kiram couldn't bring himself to shout and risk being discovered. Instead the words came out in a forced whisper. The horses' ears pricked up at the sound.
He was rewarded with a soft, almost cooing response from farther down. Kiram hurried ahead. He saw Firaj-his own big black gelding-before Fedeles. Then, as he came closer to the stall, he realized that Fedeles stood inside the stall with his face pressed into the big horse's shoulder. With one hand, he absently stroked Firaj's neck while the other still clutched the drawing Kiram had given him at lunch.
To Kiram's relief and surprise, Firaj seemed completely at ease with Fedeles' presence. The horse lowered his head and snuffled through Fedeles' tangled black hair.
Kiram tried to sound firm while keeping his voice low. "bu have to come out of there right now. Ybu're going to get in trouble."
Fedeles lifted his grinning face from Firaj's dark coat and shook his head. Even in the dimness of the stable, Kiram could see the wet tracks of tears on Fedeles' cheeks.
"Killing him." Fedeles' voice was soft and melodic, as if he were singing a lullaby. "Don't make me go. Don't make me. They'll hurt him."
"Someone is hurting him?" Kiram glanced to Firaj. Had Fedeles seen someone treat Firaj poorly, or simply misinterpreted the ministrations of some groom? Either way Kiram was touched by Fedeles' concern. Perhaps this was what Fedeles had been asking Kiram to help him with earlier. And when Kiram had failed to understand him, Fedeles had gone to protect Firaj alone. "Are you guarding him?"
An expression of wonder and relief came over Fedeles' face. He nodded, and then to Kiram's surprise he released his hold on Firaj and stepped closer.
"Who is hurting him?"
Fedeles opened his mouth but only a choked groan came out. A grin jerked across his face and Fedeles clutched his hands over his mouth. He leaned heavily against the wooden slats of the wall and more tears poured down his face.
"Help me," he whispered.
"I will," Kiram assured him, though he had no idea how. He wasn't sure who, if anyone, was threatening Firaj or if that was even the real problem. In the two weeks he had been at the academy he had never seen Fedeles like this.
"Don't cry." Kiram spoke in the gentle tone he usually reserved for his nephews and nieces. He wrapped his arm around Fedeles' shoulders, offering him a loose hug, which Fedeles returned. Feverish heat radiated from his body and the smell of hay clung to him.
"It's all right, Fedeles," Kiram whispered. "Firaj is fine. Look."
The horse pulled a mouthful of hay from the small heap in his feed trough. He chewed sleepily while gazing at Fedeles. Then Firaj lifted his head, studying something farther down the aisle of stalls. Kiram looked back but couldn't see anything.
Fedeles tightened his grip and suddenly Kiram realized how very strong Fedeles was.
He whispered, "Don't make me go."
"We both have to go. We're not supposed to be in the stables right now and the night warden will be calling-" The rest of Kiram's words were drowned out by a furious shout from the far west door of the stable.
"Fedeles!"
All around, horses' heads came up, their ears pricking at the sudden intrusion of noise. Fedeles released his grip on Kiram and edged back into Firaj's stall.
"Fedeles, if you make me look through this entire fucking stable I swear I will beat you blind!"
It was Upperclassman Genimo.
Fedeles caught Kiram's hand and pulled him into the shadows of Firaj's stall. Kiram wondered just how much trouble the two of them would be in if they were caught here.
"Fedeles." Genimo's voice was much closer now. Kiram could see the black silhouette of his body moving through the gloom of the stable. "If anything happens to these horses, it will be your fault. The grooms will blame you and never let you come in again."
Kiram felt Fedeles tense. His grip on Kiram's hand almost hurt, but Kiram didn't dare to pull free for fear of drawing Genimo's attention.
"If Lunaluz were to lose an eye, even Javier would hate you then. They would have to put him down because of you, Fedeles. A blind horse is no good to anyone."
"No! Lunaluz!" Fedeles bolted out of the shadows, pulling Kiram forward with him.
Kiram wanted to run for the door but Fedeles didn't budge. He stood in the center of the aisle, grinning as Genimo closed the distance between them. Kiram didn't like the way Genimo swung his riding crop as he approached them.
"What in the three hells are you doing here?" Genimo demanded of Kiram.
"I came to find Fedeles," Kiram replied.
"And what? Hold hands?" Genimo sneered at Kiram. "Practicing your filthy Haldiim seductions on the idiot, are you?"
Kiram's outrage momentarily overpowered his fear. "I just wanted to get him out of the stable."
"I don't want to go!" Fedeles gripped Kiram's hand desperately. "I don't want to. Firaj, Lunaluz, Firaj-"
"Oh, shut up!" Genimo snarled at Fedeles.
"No!" Fedeles began a panicked chant. "No, no, no, no… "
Seeming to catch Fedeles' agitation, the horses stamped the ground, releasing short nervous snorts.
"No, no, no, no." Fedeles seemed hardly aware of Kiram. He clenched his eyes shut as if focusing all his attention on just repeating his refusal.
"Shut the fuck up!" Genimo snapped. "Shut up!"
"Calm down," Kiram told Genimo. "You're only making him worse-"
"Ybu never speak to me in that tone, heathen!" Genimo lashed his black riding crop across Kiram's cheek.
The shock of being struck stunned Kiram more than the explosion of pain. He barely registered the wet heat of his own blood spilling down his jaw.
Never in his life had anyone treated Kiram with such disrespect. Pain and outrage flooded him. He jerked his hand free from Fedeles' grip and slapped Genimo's face.
"Khivash," Kiram spat.
The blow resounded with less brutality than Kiram would have liked, but it took Genimo off guard. He staggered back half a step. Then he launched himself at Kiram. His first punch forced the air out of Kiram's lungs and threw him back against the wall.
Fedeles wailed, "Lunaluz! Lunaluz!"
Kiram tried to regain his balance but Genimo was already up against him, pinning him against the wall. In desperation Kiram sank his teeth into Genimo's forearm.
"Whore!" Genimo drove his knee into Kiram's groin. Blinding, nauseating pain shot through him. His knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground.
"Ybu piece of shit," Genimo snarled. "How dare you lay your filthy, heathen hands on me?"
Genimo hauled Kiram up by his hair and punched him again, this time in the face. White flashes exploded through Kiram's vision. The sickening hot, wet sensation of blood gushed from his nose and poured over his lips. He choked as blood ran down the back of his throat. He could hardly think for the pain.
"God, you're pathetic." Genimo smirked at Kiram. "You're a worm. A piece of shit-"
Suddenly a greenish mass of horse dung smacked into the side of Genimo's
head. His face flushed scarlet with rage and he released his hold on Kiram to turn back to Fedeles. Kiram slid down the wall to the ground. Beside Fedeles stood Javier, hefting a muck shovel in one hand.
"No, Genimo, what is clinging to your hair is a piece of shit." Javier's tone was light, and his expression almost friendly as he strode closer. "What you had the poor sense to toss around just now is something entirely different."
Genimo's fury seemed to dissolve into a stunned fear. He backed away.
"If you run," Javier said, "I'll bring the white hell out to hunt you. So I wouldn't if I were you."
Genimo froze. Javier glanced to Kiram and for a moment his playful smile disappeared. Then he turned his attention back to Genimo.
"You ought to ask before playing with my things." Javier wiped the back of the filthy shovel across Genimo's chest. "And if you break something of mine, you know I'm going to be annoyed, don't you?"
"Scholar Donamillo sent me to fetch Fedeles for his treatment and-" A terrified tremor ran through Genimo's voice.
"Not what I want to hear." Javier jabbed the shovel into Genimo's chest.
"I.I." Genimo's face was bloodlessly pale. His eyes were so wide that Kiram thought that he could see white all the way around Genimo's black, gaping pupils.
Kiram suddenly remembered his uncle describing the men he had treated during the bread riots. Many had died in states of terrified shock. His uncle always said that they had rabbit eyes. Kiram thought he knew what his uncle had meant now.
"I'm sorry, Javier." Genimo swayed on his feet and then sank to his knees.
"You're sorry?" The sadistic amusement in Javier's voice disturbed Kiram, and yet there was a part of him that was deeply pleased to see Genimo on his knees and covered in excrement. "I can't imagine what you could be sorry for. Except that I caught you."
"Please.Javier, I swear I won't do it again."
"You certainly won't." Javier gave a hard laugh. "In fact you may not do anything ever again."
Javier held his left hand out over Genimo's head. White sparks flickered between his fingers.