Lord of the White Hell Book One

by Ginn Hale

  “Resist? Javier didn’t do anything to me.” Kiram suddenly realized what Nestor was implying. “He certainly didn’t force his attentions upon me.”

  “Didn’t he?” Nestor asked, his expression lifting for the first time all morning. “I thought…you know, because you’re Haldiim and pretty…and who’s going to say no to Javier Tornesal?”

  “It was nothing like that.” Kiram needed to stop the direction of Nestor’s thoughts. He himself didn’t want to think too much about the vulnerability of his position with Javier. It led him too quickly into confusion, remembering Javier’s gentle touch and at the same time his cynical smile and those white sparks skipping between his fingers. “I got into a fight with Upperclassman Genimo last night.”

  “You didn’t win, did you?” Nestor looked strangely hopeful.

  “I wish,” Kiram said. “No, Javier took care of Genimo.”

  Nestor’s eyes went wide. “Did he kill him?”

  “No, he didn’t even hurt him. He just scared him. And Genimo deserved what he got.” Kiram scanned the rows of students crammed in around the long wooden tables, searching for Javier. He had not seen him since last night. This morning when Kiram had first woken, he’d discovered Javier already gone. Only the faintest hint of the woody scent of his soap lingered in the washroom and the tub had been perfectly dry. Kiram guessed that Javier must have woken very early, perhaps even before sunrise.

  “You haven’t seen him, have you?” Kiram asked.

  “Genimo?” Nestor asked. “Not this morning. He’s probably hiding from Javier.”

  “I was thinking of Javier, actually.” Kiram took another taste of his porridge. It wasn’t so bad. He supposed that if he got hungry enough he might even begin to appreciate its paste-like qualities. He imagined that his mother would have sieved it to make some kind of edible glue for one of her sugar bouquets. His uncle might have used it for a medicinal plaster.

  “Chapel,” Fedeles announced.

  Kiram looked at him, unsure of what had prompted the statement.

  “Javier’s taking his penance in chapel,” Fedeles clarified. He looked and sounded so reasonable that it surprised Kiram. Nestor also took note, squinting at Fedeles over the rims of his glasses. Then Fedeles’ sober expression melted into a wide smile. He stroked one of the heavily defaced pages of his book. “Lunaluz. Ghosts are looking for him.”

  “Well, ahm, actually Fedeles is probably right.” Nestor sounded as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. “Not about ghosts, but about Javier being at chapel. If he did assault another student, then he’s probably submitting himself for penance.”

  “What do you mean, penance?”

  “We all have to submit to chapel punishments when we sin.” Nestor pulled a distasteful scowl. “But Javier, being hell-branded, is much more vigilant than the rest of us. Ever since that groom was killed he’s taken penance weekly. My brother Elezar says that the punishments keep the white hell from growing stronger.”

  “What kind punishments are they?” Kiram disliked the sound of all this.

  He couldn’t help but think of the filthy, bleeding Cadeleonian penitents who whipped themselves outside the churches of Anacleto during the week they called Our Savior’s Misery. Once, when he had still been a child, he had witnessed two zealous penitents lashing each other’s genitals with wire whips. His mother had clamped her hand over his eyes but he had already seen flesh ripping away in fatty globs. Droplets of blood and gore had spattered the sleeve of his shirt. For weeks after that Kiram had woken, shouting and thrashing from violent dreams.

  “Sometimes Holy Father Habalan orders bleedings, sometimes caning,” Nestor said blandly. “It all depends on the sin and the circumstances. No matter what he’ll give Javier muerate poison to keep the demon in him weak throughout the physical punishments.”

  The porridge in Kiram’s mouth suddenly felt too thick and sticky. He forced himself to swallow it, and then shoved his bowl aside.

  “He shouldn’t be punished for defending me from Genimo.” Kiram started to his feet but Nestor caught his arm and pulled him back down to the bench.

  “He could have called one of the scholars over if he had wanted to,” Nestor said. “He knew what he was getting himself into. You’ll only embarrass him if you go running in and make a scene like some girl. It’ll make both you and Javier look… strange.”

  “But no one should have to suffer for doing the right thing.”

  At this, Nestor just rolled his eyes. “You’re making too much of the penance. Javier does it all the time. We all do. Only crybabies like Ladislo make a production of it. If Javier really did protect you, then respect his decision and don’t embarrass him. It’ll be for your own good.”

  “How can his pain be for my good?”

  “It’s not a bad thing to have the whole academy know that your upperclassman will take his responsibility to protect you seriously. You know, before you got here, Atreau got into an outright brawl with the Helio twins on my account and he had to do a full week of penance for it. But after that everyone in the school knew that Atreau wouldn’t just stand by and let certain things happen to me.”

  “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? I
sn’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 o
ne 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.”