by Ginn Hale
"What about your brother? Wouldn't he protect you?"
"Oh, of course." Nestor grinned. "Elezar just about killed Cocuyo Helio for spitting on me. You can tell the twins apart now because Elezar broke Cocuyo's cheekbone and it didn't heal quite straight."
Kiram involuntarily searched the dining hall for the whip- thin Helio twins. Nestor was right; Cocuyo's right cheek was slightly too flat to be a perfect match to his brother Enevir's jutting features.
"But that's not my point," Nestor went on. "I'm not rooming with my brothers, and they won't always be able to protect me, especially if the king sends me to serve in a neighbor's lands. But now everyone knows that even if I'm away from my family Atreau will defend me. And more importantly for Atreau, everyone knows that the Grunito family is allied with him now. So now he's got Elezar and Timoteo both on his side in a fight."
"Yes, but it's not going to do Javier any good to have everyone know that he's allied with the Kir-Zaki family. No one here even knows my family."
"Kir-Zaki of Kir-Zaki Candies? Everyone eats them." Nestor rolled his eyes as if Kiram were thick as a pillar. "But, yes, you're right that Javier doesn't need allies. But you do. You can bet that all the bullies and bastards in the academy-especially the twins-have been waiting for someone to do something to you to see if Javier would ignore you or if he would do his duty. Now everyone knows that suffering penance isn't going to keep Javier from protecting you."
"But wasn't rescuing me enough? Doesn't that prove that he'll defend me?" Kiram challenged.
"No." Nestor frowned at him intently. "The penance is the most important part. It shows everyone that he's serious. You know, it's almost like a kind of ceremony. It proves the strength of his conviction. It shows everyone that he doesn't care how much he may suffer, he'll still beat the crap out of anyone who threatens you."
"I guess I understand that," Kiram admitted, though he thought the entire matter sounded brutal and primitive. "But I don't like the idea of someone else being whipped on my account."
"Don't worry about that. Javier is tough. He'll probably just shrug the penance off. Father Habalan isn't all that harsh anyway." Nestor lowered his voice. "My mother hits a lot harder."
Kiram smiled at that.
He wondered if Nestor was right about the penance. Maybe he was overreacting. If all the Cadeleonians accepted penance regularly, they couldn't all be enduring hideous whippings.
"I'm more worried about you and me right now." Nestor carefully cleaned the small lenses of his spectacles and then replaced them on his nose. "I imagine we're both going to have to keep clear of Genimo from now on. He's the type to hold a grudge."
"Do you think Fedeles is in danger, then? Isn't Genimo his upperclassman?" Kiram asked.
Fedeles just gave an oddly amused snort.
"Genimo would have to be suicidal to do anything to Fedeles. Javier would flat out kill him. He's said as much." Nestor lowered his voice slightly. "Don't tell anyone I said so but Genimo is Fedeles' nanny really. He has to keep track of him, give him baths, brush his hair, and make sure he gets to Scholar Donamillo for his treatments."
"Rats chew him up if he's mean." Fedeles picked up Kiram's bowl and pushed it back to him. "Eat up, skinny."
Nestor eyed Fedeles almost suspiciously. "You're making more sense than usual, Fedeles."
"It's a curse," Fedeles muttered. He didn't look up from his book.
"Well," Nestor went on, "Fedeles is right about you needing to eat. You and I are both on Master Ignacio's double training list. Elezar posted it this morning and told me. We're going to have two extra hours of war arts starting today and going on until the autumn tournament."
"Two extra hours?" All thought of Javier and his penance suddenly dissipated. "That's insane! Not only will it kill me, but there's no point. It's not as if I'll ever have to don armor and defend my holdings."
"No, but you will have to don armor and defend your honor in the autumn tournament." Nestor's tone was deeply resigned. "Trust me, you do not want to be beaten by a bunch of first-year underclassmen from the Yillar Academy."
"But not me," Kiram protested. "Surely Master Ignacio can't expect me to compete."
"I think he does, actually," Nestor replied. "He expects everyone to compete. More is the pity for both our sorry asses."
For the third time, Fedeles grinned and told Kiram, "Eat up."
Kiram obeyed almost numbly. Who in their right mind would send him out to compete on the tourney field? There had to be some kind of mistake. And yet deep inside himself Kiram felt a terrible certainty growing. Master Ignacio wasn't going to let him get out of the tournament just because he was utterly unsuited to battle. The lanky war master simply wasn't that reasonable.
An hour later, when he and Nestor took their second tier seats in the circular lecture hall for mathematics, Kiram's fear was confirmed. Scholar Blasio beckoned them down to him and informed them that they were to report to Master Ignacio. Though he paused midway through to frown at Kiram's beaten condition.
"I got into a fight with Upperclassman Genimo," Kiram explained. He had considered lying but he wasn't practiced at deception and he doubted that both Javier and Genimo would tell the same lie that he would. "I didn't start it."
"No, of course not. Javier said that you got caught in the middle of an altercation between himself and Genimo, but I had no idea that you had been so directly involved." Scholar Blasio winced as his gaze moved over the scab on Kiram's cheek. "A little extra training in war arts might not be such a bad idea. It couldn't hurt for a young man such as yourself to learn a little self-defense."
"But I'll fall behind in mathematics," Kiram argued.
"I very much doubt that you could ever fall behind in mathematics, Kiram." Scholar Blasio offered him a sympathetic smile. "And you will only miss my class on the odd days. Even days the two of you will be excused from fine art."
At this Nestor's expression crumpled. Kiram saw a brief amusement flicker over Scholar Blasio's freckled face. "It will only be for a few months and you'll both be happy for the extra practice come the week of the autumn tournament."
"Certainly some students must be excused from participating in the tournament." Kiram lowered his voice, as three other second-year students entered the lecture room and took their seats.
"Fedeles doesn't compete, but his is a very rare case. Barring broken legs, high fevers, or black pox, I couldn't imagine Master Ignacio excusing either of you. You're both healthy young men. Though." Scholar Blasio cocked his head just slightly and studied Kiram. "There is a possibility that Scholar Donamillo could request that you be excused, since you're already spending your free hours working on the Crown Challenge."
"What about Nestor?" Kiram asked quickly. "He's been. helping me."
"I have," Nestor agreed, though his response sounded almost as much like a question as a statement.
Scholar Blasio shook his head. "I doubt that Scholar Donamillo will believe Nestor's assistance is that necessary to your work, but you could always ask. He should be attending the infirmary now, so why don't the two of you ask him?"
"Yes, sir." Kiram nodded respectfully as did Nestor. They both pretended not to hear the derisive comments of the other students as they left the lecture room.
Chapter Seven
As they walked along the vaulted hall towards the infirmary, Nestor forced a smile. "At least you may have a way out."
"No, it's either both of us or neither." Kiram had decided. In the past two weeks Nestor had offered him his sketches, advice, and support. He wouldn't abandon him to endure Master Ignacio's merciless tutelage alone.
"Really?" Nestor looked truly touched.
"Absolutely."
"Let's hope Scholar Donamillo excuses us both, then."
A strange, howling noise cut through Kiram's agreement. Kiram stopped in his tracks. The howl stretched out, echoing through the hall. A deep grinding sound, like the deep rumble of an eyestone crushing through wheat, rose over the
cry.
"What was that?" Kiram asked Nestor.
"Probably one of Scholar Donamillo's mechanical cures." Nestor pretended to shudder. "Sounds like he's testing it on some poor dog, doesn't it?"
Kiram nodded. He had only ever seen mechanical cures as diagrams on theater flyers or in paintings outside circus tents. His uncle disparaged them utterly, but Kiram had always been curious. The sound of this one was terrible, and Kiram couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the poor animal trapped within its iron grasp.
As they came closer to the infirmary the howling cries faded to soft little gasps. The grinding of iron gears only grew louder. When they reached the huge, double doors of the infirmary, Kiram knocked but there was no response.
"I doubt that Scholar Donamillo heard that," Nestor shouted over the grinding roar.
Kiram raised his hand to pound on the door but then suddenly the heavy mechanical noise stopped. The following silence was so complete that it startled Kiram a little. Then peals of dreamy laughter and singsong syllables drifted through the infirmary doors. Kiram recognized Fedeles' voice at once and realized that he must have been the howling creature. Doubtless it was the treatment that both Genimo and Javier had mentioned.
Kiram had to step back as one of the infirmary doors swung open. To Kiram's horror, Genimo stepped out of the infirmary and leaned against the door, propping it open. When he caught sight of Kiram he looked like he might spit on him but then seemed to think better of it.
Scholar Donamillo stepped through the open door, leading Fedeles by one arm. He frowned at the sight of Kiram and Nestor.
"You're here for your injuries?" Scholar Donamillo asked Kiram.
"No, sir. But Scholar Blasio said that we should speak to you."
"In a moment, then." Scholar Donamillo returned his attention to Genimo.
"Fedeles is still weak. You'll need to keep a close watch over him for another hour or so."
Genimo nodded. Kiram studied his cheek for any sign of their altercation, but his blow hadn't left a mark. Only the purple bruise on Genimo's forehead attested to his involvement in the previous night's fight. Though Kiram was sure that if Genimo's sleeve were rolled back there would be bite marks.
Fedeles seemed unaware of any of them. He swayed, as if listening to a melody no one else could hear, smiling serenely and gazing at the far wall as if it were a vision of encompassing beauty.
"Come, Fedeles." Genimo caught one of Fedeles' hands and led him out of Scholar Donamillo's grip as if he were taking a dance partner. He placed one of his hands against Fedeles' back, steadying him.
"I'll send word to Scholar Habalan that you should be excused from his class this afternoon," Scholar Donamillo told Genimo.
"Thank you, sir." Genimo politely bowed to Scholar Donamillo and then led Fedeles down the hall and up the stairs. Kiram watched them go, unsure of what to think. The night before Genimo had threatened and terrified Fedeles, and now he was leading Fedeles like a doting uncle tending an invalid child.
"So, Scholar Blasio sent you?" Scholar Donamillo prompted.
"Yes." Kiram quickly turned his attention back to Scholar Donamillo's severe gaze. After two weeks of classes with the scholar, Kiram no longer found his expressions daunting. From time to time he even thought he caught glimpses of affection crossing the older man's face.
Nestor, on the other hand, was not one of Scholar Donamillo's favorite students. He bowed his head and kept his distance.
"Scholar Blasio said that we should speak to you about being excused from the additional war arts training because I'm already spending most of my free time-" Kiram would have gone on but Donamillo cut him off with a shake of his head.
"Unfortunately this morning when I put the question to Master Ignacio, he would not allow the exemption. Apparently he has already made arrangements for your training. Upperclassmen have been pulled from their free hours to tutor the two of you." Scholar Donamillo studied Kiram's cheek for a moment. "Did anyone treat that?"
"Upperclassman Javier applied a salve to it last night," Kiram replied. He wished he had known what exactly the salve was. He guessed that Scholar Donamillo did because he nodded approvingly.
"It looks clean, but if it should become red or painful come to see me." For an instant an almost sly look flickered over Scholar Donamillo's hard features. "I wouldn't want all the practice of war arts to cause you to develop a fever in the injury. That could keep you from practice for quite a while."
"Ahm. Yes, sir." Kiram wasn't quite sure of how to interpret Scholar Donamillo's words. It sounded like he was telling Kiram to pretend that his injury was worse than it was. In fact, Kiram was almost positive that was Scholar Donamillo's meaning. But it would also mean lying to Master Ignacio, the prospect of which terrified Kiram.
"You had both best report to Master Ignacio now." As Scholar Donamillo stepped back into the infirmary, Kiram caught a brief glimpse of huge iron supports curving like the ribs of a globe around a sphere of milky glass. Golden lights flickered from within the mechanism, then died away. Then the door fell closed.
"They are going to wipe the floor with us," Nestor groaned.
"What are you talking about?" Kiram asked, still thinking about the majesty of the mechanism he'd glimpsed. "Who are you talking about?"
"The upperclassmen." Nestor looked at Kiram as if there could have been no other answer. "Scholar Donamillo just said that Master Ignacio had pulled them out of their free hours just to tutor us. They are going to be furious!"
"You don't think that they'd actually hurt us, though?" Even as Kiram asked the question he realized that hurting the two of them was bound to be part of their training. No doubt the more Kiram or Nestor annoyed any given upperclassman, the more often he would seize on the opportunity to train them a little too hard.
"We are bent over a barrel," Nestor said flatly.
Kiram simply nodded. The two of them made their way from the main building to the dark low structure of the sparring house like condemned prisoners.
Chapter Eight
Like the stables, the sparring house seemed suffused with the living presence of its occupants. Here, instead of horse feed and leather, the heat and sweat of men filled the air. The pungent scent saturated the gray mats of the wrestling ring as well as the sawdust-strewn floor. Even with windows all along the length of the gallery propped open, the heat and smell of men remained.
Here and there dark spatters stained the sawdust. He had always wondered if those spatters were blood and felt afraid to touch them. Now that he had some idea of how easy it was to draw blood, he realized that the sawdust was there in the first place to catch the dribbles of gore and keep the floors beneath from becoming stained.
"At least we aren't the only ones," Nestor commented.
Master Ignacio had listed three other second-year students for intensive training. They lounged beside the wrestling ring, standing in the shafts of hard light that fell through the open windows. Kiram knew all of them by sight but not well enough to have any opinion of them as individuals. They moved among the mass of second-year students who snickered at Kiram's accent and squinted at Nestor, mocking his poor vision. They were neither instigators nor protestors, just followers.
All three possessed a blandness of appearance that made them hard to tell apart. Pale, splotchy skin, lank brown hair, long faces and bodies like marionettes with all their weight built up in their jutting joints. None of them were as slender as Kiram or as big as Nestor and all three seemed pained to see that they had been classed with the two of them.
"That's Ladislo in the middle, there." Nestor squinted at the young man, then whispered, "To be honest I can't really see why Procopio bends him. He's not much to look at, is he?"
Kiram tried not to stare at the plain young man. He seemed a little more fine-boned than the other two but otherwise there was nothing exceptional about him.
"Bland," Kiram decided.
"I guess Procopio is just too broke to buy anything
better in town."
As they drew closer to the wrestling ring, Ladislo seemed to notice them. He spat into the mass of wood- shavings and sawdust on the floor.
"If I were Procopio, I'd save up." Kiram couldn't keep from making the comment. Nestor gave a soft laugh but then cleared his throat as if he could play it off for a cough.
Kiram and Nestor stopped at the edge of the wrestling ring. Nestor kicked a few wood shavings across the boundary lines painted on the floor. The other three students gazed at the two of them with studied disinterest.
"Is Master Ignacio somewhere around?" Nestor's tone was amiable as always, despite the cold looks he received from all three of the other second-year students.
"He's showing the upperclassmen where the fencing gear is stored and having them bring down medical supplies in case someone puts out his eye." Ladislo looked pointedly at Nestor.
"Did you hear which upperclassmen-" The rest of Nestor's question was interrupted by another of the second-year students-Kiram thought his name was Chilla -jamming his thumb against one nostril and blowing a huge glob a snot out of the other.
"No," Chilla said flatly.
The third boy, Ollivar, glanced uncertainly between Chilla and Nestor. Then he broke from the other two and joined them at the edge of the wrestling ring.
"I think Master Ignacio decided to use our own upperclassmen to tutor us and make sure that it sticks." Ollivar glanced briefly to Kiram, mainly to eye the red scab on his cheek.
"My brother Elezar is your upperclassman, isn't he?" Nestor gave Ollivar an easy smile and Kiram felt a brief shot of annoyance at Nestor's unflagging friendliness. He'd probably smile at a dog after it bit him.
"Yfeah," Ollivar replied. "Ybu've got Atreau Vediya, right? What's that like?"
"He's a northerner." Nestor gave a shrug. "He's never cold enough. Dead of winter and he has to have the window propped open. I don't mind, though. I don't get cold easily. None of us Grunitos do."
Ollivar nodded as if this were some kind of sage wisdom. He looked down at his feet and then at Nestor, but he never looked at Kiram. Even when Kiram stepped closer to Nestor, Ollivar simply tilted his head away so that he didn't make eye contact. Kiram wondered if Ollivar, like so many Cadeleonian sailors, believed that the Haldiim cast curses with their pale eyes.