by Ginn Hale
“The shajdis were sealed to keep King Nazario from controlling any of them when he was purging the country of Haldiim,” Kiram quickly explained, before Javier had to ask.
“Every single shajdi?” Javier raised his dark brows.
“It was a desperate time,” Alizadeh said. “All of us who were in possession of the shajdis sealed them and accepted a blood oath, which forbade us from opening any shajdi until the White Tree in the Circle of Red Oaks was again illuminated.”
Kiram stared at Alizadeh, caught by the revelation in his words. “You were there? Then?”
Javier too stared at Alizadeh. Even exhausted and streaked with soot, he hardly looked forty.
“I was there and I took the oath, but none of us thought that it would hold for so long. We expected to be in hiding for a few months then gather at the Circle of Red Oaks. Between us we would still have had enough power to ignite the White Tree. But Nazario’s purge lasted fifteen years. By the end he had hunted and killed so many of us that we were too few to reignite the White Tree. Now there are hundreds of Bahiim but they have grown indifferent to our obligations. They talk about demon hunting as if it were philosophy and shajdis as if they were metaphors.”
Alizadeh’s gaze shifted to Javier. “But it would only take one with the fire of an open shajdi to reignite the White Tree. And once that was done the oath would be ended. The Bahiim would have to disperse and battle the demons of this world once again.”
Kiram wasn’t quite sure how to respond to Alizadeh’s words. After all only a year ago he himself had thought that shajdis were metaphors rather than reality. Javier, however, had never labored under any such misconception and Kiram could see that he was at ease with Alizadeh’s ideas.
“I see,” Javier said after a moment. “So, you need me as much as I need you.”
“It’s an opportunity for us both,” Alizadeh agreed. “But unlike yourself, I can afford to be patient. Other shajdis will be stumbled upon. For me waiting only means enduring an easy life among lazy peers. But you, Lord Tornesal, are facing a curse that will not relent until it has destroyed your entire line.”
Pain flickered through Javier’s expression. Kiram shot Alizadeh a hard glare.
“It’s the truth, Kiram.” Alizadeh shrugged and settled back more comfortably against the oak. “I’m only asking that Javier consider it.”
“There’s nothing to consider. As you say, I don’t have the leisure to pretend that there is,” Javier stated flatly. “Most of my family has already been killed. My one remaining cousin is going mad.”
“Javier, no!” Kiram couldn’t keep silent. “You can’t do this. If anyone in the Cadeleonian church found out that you’d taken a Bahiim’s oaths, they’d charge you with heresy. They’d kill you.”
“Not if I legally converted,” Javier spoke as if this was the first thing anyone would have thought of. “Technically I’d be a heathen, not a heretic. Bishop Seferino set the precedent in 1298 when he judged a Cadeleonian woman who had converted to her Haldiim husband’s beliefs. The royal bishop accepted the ruling, which makes it valid as lord’s law. At the worst I’ll be scourged, excommunicated and exiled.”
Javier’s quick, offhanded response made it clear that he’d already been considering conversion. That made perfect sense. He’d been reading ancient Haldiim texts even before he’d met Alizadeh and he’d obviously been familiarizing himself with Bishop Seferino’s most obscure writings. He had put more than an afternoon of thought into this.
Still the danger of it made Kiram’s heart race. “Are you listening to yourself? Scourged? You’d be whipped bloody. Excommunication would strip you of your title, your lands, and your name. Everything! And on top of that you’d be exiled to a desert in Yuan or the Mirogoth forests or some other terrible place.”
“Weren’t you suggesting that we run away to Yuan just a few months ago?” Javier arched a black brow and flashed that handsome, arrogant and—at this moment—infuriating smile of his.
“I wasn’t thinking that you’d take steps to make it a legal necessity,” Kiram snapped. He could feel his face flushing. How could he bring that up in front of Alizadeh?
“I’m not planning on being found out.” Javier brushed Kiram’s hand with his own but then drew back. “This has to be done. Fedeles is losing his mind, you were nearly killed, and I will be hunted by this curse all of my life. If I can save him, protect you and free myself, it’s worth the risk.”
Kiram clenched his jaw, not wanting to admit anything and yet unable to deny Javier’s reasoning. He glanced to Alizadeh, who watched them both in calm silence.
“Isn’t there any other way?” Kiram asked.
Alizadeh’s response was a simple, “No.”
The plainness of his response struck Kiram with far more force than any number of arguments could have. The single word felt irrefutable.
Kiram glared down at the scorched circle of grass, and noticed the two patches of green leaves where Alizadeh’s feet had shielded the plants beneath. White clover blossoms poked up from between the verdant blades of grass.
Javier had made his choice. And in his place, Kiram knew he would have done the same.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Kiram asked and he noted the relief in Javier’s expression.
“Not here, not yet,” Alizadeh told him. “But if you’d tell Rafie what we’re doing I’d appreciate it.”
“What are you going to be doing?” Kiram stood.
“We’ll try opening the shajdi without Calixto’s medallion. We should be done by the fourth bell.”
“I’ll tell Rafie.” Kiram eyed Alizadeh. “If you hurt Javier I’ll never forgive you.”
Javier looked embarrassed and Alizadeh just laughed at the warning. “I wouldn’t risk incurring your wrath, Kiram. Have no fear. Javier will be perfectly safe with me.”
Kiram found Rafie in his office. Instead of the desk a businesswoman would have used a large marble pharmacist’s table stood at the center of the room. Medical tomes and jars of dried herbs filled the shelves. Rafie was engaged in grinding dark violet flowers in one of several mortars. Kiram noticed the fresh, white prayer clothes folded at the side of the table.
Rafie was neither pleased nor surprised to be informed that Alizadeh had decided to begin Javier’s training that afternoon.
“I should have known he wouldn’t wait.” Rafie handed Kiram a small clay jar. A milky cream filled the red interior. It smelled a little like cut grass.
“Halda salve,” Rafie informed Kiram. “You should take it with you after your duke and my Bahiim are done.”
Kiram resisted the urge to poke a finger into the cream. Instead he closed the jar and set it aside.
“I don’t suppose any of this has made you rethink your decision to become involved with a Cadeleonian nobleman?”Rafie inquired.
Kiram suppressed a laugh. It wasn’t as if he had carefully considered a relationship with Javier and then decided to become involved. Reason had nothing to do with any of it.
“It doesn’t change anything.” Saying the words made him feel stronger, more assured.
“Well, then you’d better pay close attention, because you may well need to know a few of these things when you find yourself fleeing into the Mirogoth forests.” Rafie beckoned Kiram to his shelves and handed him a book titled The Physician’s Garden: Poisons and Cures.
Kiram spent the next two hours learning to recognize and prepare the most basic of medical herbs. Halda for burns, duera for pain, yellow coinflower to cleanse, and sunvine to waken.
While Rafie displayed and explained the habitat and preparation of each plant, Kiram cleaned, peeled, and then ground the white pulpy mass of a halda root into a creamy salve. He plucked and crushed deep violet duera flowers with wax-dipped fingers to keep the juice from numbing his hands. Twice he mashed his thumb while attempting to crush the slick seeds of a sunvine. A pungent, earthy smell rose off the dried heads of the coinflowers as they steeped in hot water
. Kiram wasn’t sure if he liked the fragrance or not. Either way it made him sneeze.
Very distantly Kiram heard the city bells ringing. Rafie carefully siphoned the duera Kiram had made into a vial, then sealed that with a daub of black wax.
“There’s enough in that vial to kill a grown man, you realize,” Rafie said.
“I’ll be careful,” Kiram assured him.
“Yes, you should be very careful if it comes to that.” Rafie gazed intently at Kiram. “Cadeleonian beer will hide the taste and color of duera and so will a beef stew, but remember that duera burns off if it boils.”
Kiram wasn’t quite sure of what to say. He couldn’t imagine poisoning someone, but clearly Rafie could. Perhaps he even had.
Rafie met his shocked silence with amusement. “I’m not telling you to go out and murder people, Kiram. I’m just telling you how it can be done—either to you or by you. Someday you may need to know.”
“Have you needed to know?” Kiram couldn’t keep from whispering despite the fact that they were alone.
“Yes, I have,” Rafie replied. “And fortunately I reheated the stew enough to boil off most of the duera before I ate it. I was dazed for most of a week but I survived.”
Before Kiram could pursue the subject farther, Javier leaned in through the doorway. His hair looked as if it had been whipped by storm winds and his skin shone, both with a sheen of sweat and the pink glow of a slight sunburn. That, combined with Majdi’s red coat and the sword he wore, lent Javier the definite look of a sun-beaten pirate.
“You look like you’ve just come back from sea.”
“I feel more like I’ve been walking on the sun,” Javier said.
Kiram could see his fatigue in the way he leaned against the doorframe. His muscular arms hung languidly and his dark lashes shadowed his eyes. Kiram thought he hadn’t seen Javier look so tired and pleased with himself since he took the Grand Champion’s cloak at the autumn tournament.
“We’ve finished. Alizadeh wants to know if he can have those clothes now.”
Rafie scooped up the clothes and withdrew to the garden without comment, leaving Kiram and Javier alone.
Kiram picked up the jar of halda salve that Rafie had shown him how to make. “You need a bath and a bed.”
“Are you offering yours?” Javier asked.
“You know that I am.”
Javier’s lips parted as if he would make some flippant remark. But then he simply smiled.
Chapter Thirteen
Kiram led Javier along narrow back alleys, avoiding the busy crowds thronging Gold Street. After a day of so many surprises he felt that he, as well as Javier, needed the quiet and peace of empty spaces. A black crow flew above them but it didn’t make him feel protected as it once would have.
Javier walked unusually close to him, perhaps too tired to restrain himself. As they passed under flowering almond trees, their arms brushed, their shoulders touched. Heat radiated off of Javier’s skin and the smell of sweat hung in air.
“You’re quiet,” Javier commented.
“Just thinking.”
“About anything I would understand? Or is it all pistons and steam chambers?”
“It ought to be, but no.” Kiram wanted to tell Javier that he was worried for him and for himself. Instead he said, “I was just wondering what I should pack ahead of time so that when we have to flee for Yuan in the middle of the night I’ll be prepared.”
“Really? What were you considering?”
“A heavy coat, or two light ones?”
“Probably all three. You’re terrible with the cold.” Javier looked thoughtful. “You know, we’d be wiser making north to the Mirogoth lands. The border is closer and Cadeleonians are common enough there not to attract too much attention.”
“I’ll fit right in with all the Cadeleonian mercenaries and Mirogoth wild men.”
“If we rubbed a little kohl around your eyes, got you a few bracelets and rolled you in the dirt you could pass for one of the Irabiim.”
“I’ll pack dirt and bracelets along with my coats then.” Kiram smiled as if they were both joking, but he knew that they weren’t, not really. Humor made the thought of exile easier to face. If it happened, then it would happen. Brooding wouldn’t stop that.
The perfume of honey wafted over them from the Kir-Zaki candy shop. Kiram’s mother waved from the door. Kiram waved back but then pulled Javier through the house gates before either of them could be asked to sample the sweets. In the courtyard Kiram dodged his sisters’ invitation to lunch, assuring them that he and Javier had already eaten.
“And you two have been to the Civic Gymnasium as well.” Dauhd gave Kiram a knowing grin. Kiram couldn’t believe that word of his encounter with Musni had gotten around so quickly. Siamak’s silent, reproachful glance assured him that it had, and no doubt the story had become more interesting in the retelling.
“We didn’t have a chance to sample the baths while we were there and it’s been such a hot day. We both need to wash before we could offer any decent company.” Kiram began backing towards the house.
“Kiram is speaking for himself. I smell like a bed of roses.” Javier followed Kiram’s quick retreat.
“You’d better tell me the whole story, Kiri!” Dauhd shouted.
“Later!” Kiram assured her then he ushered Javier into the cool interior of the house and led him to the men’s bath.
The bath bore all the hallmarks of one of Kiram’s father’s indulgences. The natural luster of the oak walls stood unadorned and the tub was little more than a trench of marble sunk deep in the floor. But the plumbing was displayed like a masterpiece. Brass plated pipes snaked along the walls and coiled down into a red boiler. Etched valves, engraved levers and ornate faucets glowed as shafts of afternoon light angled in through slit windows high in the walls.
Javier flopped down on one of the two wooden benches. He studied the boiler as he worked off his boots.
“I didn’t get a chance to ask last night but is that some kind of steam engine?” Javier asked at last.
“No,” Kiram laughed. “It’s just a boiler. On winter mornings we use it to heat bath water.” Kiram patted the mechanism. “This pipe on the left draws water straight from the civic pipes, which are usually pretty cold. The pipe on the right curls around the boiler so that by the time the water gets to the faucet it’s hot.”
Kiram twisted one of the levers and water gushed out into the deep sunken tub.
“Unfortunately for us no one stoked the boiler so we’re going to have to live with tepid water for our bath.”
“The horror.” Javier smirked. He carefully set Majdi’s coat aside and then stripped off his shirt and trousers.
Kiram forgot what he’d been about to say and simply took in Javier’s naked body. The sharp definitions of Javier’s body hair, the clefts and planes of his muscles were familiar but still breathtaking. Kiram had stroked and kissed every inch of him: thick thighs, jutting hips, broad chest, strong arms, even that ugly brand on his shoulder.
The glint of the cheap piglet charm lying against Javier’s chest seemed distinctly out of place.
“What happened to Calixto’s medallion?” Kiram asked.
“It burned and broke into pieces when Alizadeh released Yassin’s ghost.”
Kiram frowned at the sunburned expanses of Javier’s shoulders, cheeks and arms. In all the time Kiram had known him, Javier had never gotten the slightest burn or even the hint of a tan, not even after days of riding in open fields. Now a few hours in a garden had left him pink.
Normally the white hell shielded him and absorbed any injury, but now without Calixto’s medallion he couldn’t easily open the white well. If something as innocuous as sunlight could harm him now, what would happen when the holy father administered Javier’s customary dose of muerate poison?
“Alizadeh told me what this piglet symbolizes.” Javier tapped the tin charm. “It’s a Mirogoth charm for the best luck in bad times.”
Javier stepped close to Kiram and slid his hand over his chest. “Are you going to undress or is that something you’d like me to do for you?”
“I think I can manage for myself.” Kiram gazed into Javier’s dark eyes and took in the playful smile on his lips. He looked so happy. Kiram released his anxiety, not wanting to ruin Javier’s mood. Kiram shed his clothes and the two of them slipped down into the full tub. The water was only a little cooler than the air but Javier shuddered as it washed over his sunburned skin.
“Does it hurt?” Kiram asked.
“Not much.” Javier sagged against the side of the tub. Kiram leaned next to him, relaxing. Absently he pushed a lock of wet, black hair back from Javier’s face.
“It’s getting long,” Kiram commented. It felt like silk between his fingers, far finer than Haldiim curls.
“Shorter than Atreau’s,” Javier replied. He glanced to Kiram. “Don’t you like it?”
“It suits you, but shouldn’t you look as little like a Bahiim as you can? Especially now.”
“Probably,” Javier agreed but there was something in his expression that told Kiram that he wouldn’t cut his hair. He wore a similar expression when he flirted with men at the Sagrada Academy, as if he harbored some secret desire to be exposed.
“Do you want us to be found out?” Kiram asked softly.
“No.” Javier laughed at the question. But then he met Kiram’s gaze and his sure smile faltered.
“Sometimes. I get so frustrated with hiding and lying that I want someone to call me out as a bender. I want to face a living man who I can fight and destroy and have done with all of this.” Javier’s gaze was distant, his expression angry. He dunked his head under the water and swept his hair back from his face. “You can’t understand it, can you?”
“I think I can a little,” Kiram answered. “At first I was worried that you were like the Cadeleonian man Rafie was involved with. He obviously felt so guilty about being an adari that he sought out punishment and confessed to a holy father. But that’s not how you are.”