by Ginn Hale
Kiram's mother still wore her gold candy apron over her fine linen clothes. Her long, curling gray hair was pinned back, though a few delicate white curls hung loose. Kiram didn't think she looked anything near her fifty-eight years.
The smell of honey and almonds enfolded Kiram as she knelt down beside him and hugged him.
"You look terrible, Kiram." His mother drew back inspecting him. "Absolutely filthy. Haven't you had a bath?" Over her shoulder Kiram saw his father give him a friendly wink. His father too wore his work clothes, but unlike his mother's spotless gold apron his father's leather apron and canvas pants were stained with machine oil and singed in places. His hair burst out from his head like a wild nimbus cloud and black grease streaked his forehead and nose.
Kiram's mother licked her thumb and then reached up and scrubbed it across Kiram's cheek as she had done countless times when he had been a small child. As her warm finger brushed over his scar again and again Kiram realized that she was trying to wipe it off as if it were road dust.
Kiram caught her hand.
"It's just a scar, Mum." Kiram tried to sound offhanded.
His mother looked horrified. "How on earth did. this happen? Did one of those Cadeleonians do this?"
"It just happened during battle practice. I don't even remember how." Kiram prayed that his mother wouldn't be able to tell that he was lying. To his relief his brother Majdi laughed.
"Mum, you've got to stop babying him." Majdi strode forward and plopped down on a pillow next to Kiram. He squinted at Kiram's face. "That's hardly a scratch! He probably got it picking a pimple."
Kiram's pride flared at having one of the worst injuries of his life described as no more than a pimple but at the same time he sensed that his brother was right.
Majdi was a year younger than their widowed sister Siamak but had traveled much more widely. He shared their uncle Rafie's sun-beaten dark skin and short Cadeleonian hairstyle. When it came to worldly experience he seemed to effortlessly outshine Kiram. As if to prove this, Majdi rolled up the sleeve of his light linen shirt, exposing a long jagged scar that ran from his wrist up past his elbow. "That was just from some piece of rope that got loose when I was in the rigging. Nearly tore my arm off, but I hardly noticed it at the time."
"Don't encourage your little brother." Kiram's mother pulled Majdi's sleeve back down.
"He's not a baby anymore, Mum," Siamak protested from the doorway. Of all of them she most resembled their mother, her face round and almost childlike in its youthfulness, her hair kinked and thick as rope. She was also the one who most often quarreled with their mother.
"He certainly is," Kiram's mother replied and she gave Siamak the kind of look that told Kiram that the two of them had been arguing about this earlier. "No child ever stops being a mother's baby, no matter how old she or he gets."
"We're adults-" Siamak began.
"Won't Uncle Rafie and Alizadeh want to see Kiram?" Dauhd suddenly suggested.
"Yes, absolutely," Kiram's father agreed.
Siamak scowled but allowed the subject to drop, which Kiram appreciated. He didn't feel up to listening to a fight just yet.
"Majdi," Kiram's mother decided, "go ask Fiez to inform your uncle Rafie that Kiram has returned, early. Or better yet, why don't you go yourself? You aren't doing anything, are you?"
"Nothing important," Majdi replied, then he leaned in close to Kiram. "Enjoy your freedom while you can. A couple of days from now she's going to be ordering you around as well, you know."
His mother batted Majdi's shoulder but he just gave her an easy, teasing smile. He stood and ruffled Kiram's hair. "Welcome home, Kiri."
Just as Majdi started for the door, Fiez appeared with a tea platter. Rafie and Alizadeh stood behind her in the dim hallway. Kiram waved at the two of them, but something seemed wrong to him. Rafie appeared as youthful as ever-his skin richly dark and his hair the color of cotton. But as they came closer Kiram was shocked to realize that Alizadeh walked with a cane and leaned heavily on Rafie's arm. His lean body seemed almost emaciated and his skin seemed faintly gray.
"Well, looks like my work's done," Majdi said. He dropped back down to a pillow.
"What good timing!" Kiram's father exclaimed.
"You're looking much better, Alizadeh," Siamak commented.
Dauhd nodded her agreement and took the tea tray from Fiez. The entire family choose pillows and sat around the low table. Alizadeh took his seat next to Kiram and offered him a warm smile. Kiram's father poured the steaming, fragrant tea into small green glazed cups and Majdi passed them around the table.
"Do you know what made you so ill?" Kiram asked Aliza- deh. He suspected that he already knew what might have harmed Alizadeh so badly. He could remember Alizadeh's voice in his ear, warning him that the curse required blood. At the time he'd just been relieved to have lived, but now that he considered it, he couldn't help but think of the immense distance Alizadeh must have reached across to draw those crows to Kiram's defense and of their horrific deaths. How much of their suffering had Alizadeh shared?
"You know." Alizadeh shrugged and offered Kiram a quick conspiratorial smile. "One picks these things up every now and then. The worst is long past. So don't worry yourself. I'm on the mend."
Kiram hugged Alizadeh fiercely and everyone in the room laughed because it doubtlessly looked like a wildly sentimental action.
"He's fine, Kiram," Siamak told him. "You're such a child."
"I'm not," Kiram replied. Even to him, his tone sounded petulant and babyish. "I just wouldn't want anything to happen to my family, that's all."
"I didn't say it was a bad thing," Siamak replied. Kiram's mother nodded her agreement as well.
"Familial affection is charming in a young man." Kiram's mother sipped a little of her tea and then looked pointedly at Majdi. "In an old bachelor, on the other hand, it might seem like he's just gotten spoiled, living at home."
Majdi grinned and accepted a spoonful of honey from Kiram's father.
"We brought this for you, Kiram." Rafie pushed a small box across the table to him.
"Thankyou," Kiram responded.
"Now, how did you know he was back?" Dauhd asked Rafie while Kiram carefully opened the tiny latch on the box.
"A bird told me," Alizadeh replied.
"That gossip, Pahmi, you mean," Siamak retorted.
Alizadeh shrugged. Kiram's parents and siblings laughed, but Kiram didn't. He wondered if Alizadeh really had spoken to a crow or if he had known because Kiram wore his medallion. A year ago he might have thought either an absurd idea but now he felt a quiet wonder.
Inside the box Kiram found a folding knife with ivory inlay all along its handle. He lifted it out and marveled at the smooth motion of the long blade as he slid it out of the handle and locked it in place.
His mother frowned at the knife but his father looked delighted and asked immediately to see it. He inspected the hinge and lock, admiring their construction. Majdi guessed correctly that it had been crafted by a metalworker in Yuan.
"They love their poisons and concealed, blades in Yuan." Majdi handed the knife back to Kiram.
"I thought Kiram would find its construction amusing," Rafie said.
"And it's not without its uses," Alizadeh added.
"For a street snake, perhaps," Dauhd said. Then she raised her brows. "You're not thinking of joining a gang of street snakes are you, Kiri?"
"Yes, as soon as I'm done with the Sagrada Academy I'm going to go hang around in some filthy alley, mugging drunks." He slid the knife into his pocket.
"It would be hilarious to see you even attempt to rob someone, Kiri." Siamak grinned.
"He'd make a much better prostitute," Majdi stated.
"Thanks for that," Kiram said.
"No, he's right," Siamak said. "You're far too attractive to be a mugger. Majdi on the other hand is nasty looking enough, I think. Maybe you could lure men in and he could mug them."
"Sure," Majdi said, gri
nning. "What do you think, Mum? Kiri and I could go into business together and you wouldn't need to worry about settling either of us in suitable marriages."
"Oh, that would be the joy of my life." Kiram's mother helped herself to a honey candy and placed a second one in Kiram's hand.
The conversation moved easily through recent gossip. Siamak briefly mentioned that Musni had just become a father but then quickly changed the subject. Dauhd wanted to know all about the eccentric behavior of Kiram's Cadeleonian classmates. Kiram obliged her for a little while but found that he preferred to describe his own oddity in the midst of the Cadeleonians. It seemed wrong to poke fun at Nestor or Elezar when they had been so decent to him.
Everyone laughed when he described how he spent nearly two months sitting atop Firaj like a stuffed doll while the horse responded to Master Ignacio's shouted commands.
"He's a good mount then?" Kiram's father asked.
"The best," Kiram assured him and his father looked proud.
"What about the duke?" Siamak asked.
"Javier?" Kiram asked.
"They have a first name acquaintanceship, you know," Dauhd stated and Kiram felt his face flushing. He found it almost impossible to describe Javier and even trying made him feel lonely. Fortunately Rafie changed the subject quite smoothly and soon they were all discussing the upcoming wedding season and all the sweets that would inevitably need to be made.
When Kiram's mother and Siamak renewed their argument over selling of Cadeleonian cookies-particularly meringues- Kiram made the excuse of his tiring travel and need for a bath to excuse himself. His sister Dauhd shot him an envious look. His father hugged him on his way out and whispered, "Welcome home."
"It's good to be back." Kiram returned the embrace with strength. Only after he had settled into a steaming bath did he realize that he'd spoken Cadeleonian.
Chapter Eight
His second day back home, Kiram obliged his mother by personally delivering the invitations for his welcome home party to several important mothers. In the stately quiet of the Kir-Naham pharmacy, among the dozens of shelves filled with dried herbs and dark jars containing strange fluids, he glimpsed Hashiem Kir-Naham. There was something about his thoughtful expression and elegant motions as he ground yellow flowers in a mortar that reminded Kiram of Scholar Donamillo. He was slim, even for a Haldiim, but corded muscles flexed along the lengths of his arms as he worked his pestle.
Kiram left the invitation with Hashiem's mother and politely declined her offer of a medicinal tea, accepting instead several drops of fortune oil. It warmed his fingers as he rubbed it into his hands and a perfume of sweet camphor and cinnamon rose around him. As Kiram walked past the cedar shelves on his way out, Hashiem glanced up and offered him a smile. The expression lent his pleasant features a hint of both youth and charm. Despite himself Kiram smiled back and waved.
Back at his mother's house Kiram spent the afternoon standing for his mother's tailor while the old woman took measurements. She noted that he had not only grown a little taller but also much broader in his shoulders, chest and thighs. Between measurements, Kiram entertained Siamak's young daughters. They demanded to view his scarred arm and see demonstrations of his duels at the tournament. Majdi happily stood in for Kiram's Cadeleonian opponents and they fenced with fly whips.
At lunch Alizadeh's cousin Easham seated Kiram next to her son, Vashir. Vashir's hair, like Alizadeh's, hung in long curls nearly reaching his hips. A rich luster showed in his deeply bronzed skin, and when his bare arm brushed across Kiram's, it radiated warmth. He smelled of earth and smoke. He flirted with Kiram, as he always did, but after the past months of constant secrecy, Kiram found Vashir's public caresses a startling reminder that he was no longer at the Sagrada Academy.
In the past Kiram had always found Vashir's company difficult. Physically he was deeply attractive to Kiram, but his conversation had always seemed to border on delusion. Now Kiram found himself listening to Vashir with such fascination that he failed to take much note of the way Vashir's thigh pressed against his own.
"How do you think a living man could become a vessel for a curse?" Kiram asked. Across the low table Dauhd rolled her eyes and Siamak looked pained.
"A true curse from the ancient times?" Vashir cocked his head and regarded Kiram as if he might have mistaken him for someone else.
"Not a true curse," Kiram clarified. According to Alizadeh a real curse was beyond the control of any single person and it destroyed everything in its path. "A shadow curse."
"A shadow curse. That's a deadly thought." Vashir lifted his brows. "It's Alizadeh you should be talking to about curses. But they're a dangerous interest to take up." Vashir placed his hand on Kiram's. "You're far too talented a youth to be lost to a dead age."
"A dead age?" Kiram didn't withdraw his hand from Vashir's. His fingers felt strong and the rough calluses pleased Kiram, reminding him of Javier 's touch. "Are all curses ancient, then?"
"All the great curses are ancient," Vashir replied with a relaxed smile. "Those who knew how to craft them were either destroyed by the Bahiim or took vows and became Bahiim themselves hundreds of years ago. Even before the time of Nazario the Impaler most of the great curses were locked away. The last of the great curses came during Nazario's reign."
"The Old Rage," Kiram supplied and again Vashir seemed surprised that Kiram knew the name.
"Yes, it arose in dark times and cost many lives before it was sealed, away. They say that, even now, it doesn't rest easy." Vashir leaned a little closer to Kiram. "Alizadeh says that it could not be put to rest properly, because the Bahiim had destroyed all their links to the shajdis to keep Nazario from claiming their power."
"Really?" Kiram asked. "I wonder if that would that make it easier to create a shadow-"
"I wonder if you two realize that the rest of us have no interest!" Dauhd announced.
Kiram scowled at her but Vashir simply laughed and allowed the subject to change. They discussed the new silks arriving from Yuan and the latest scandal rag denouncing the royal bishop as the father of another illegitimate son. Vashir left soon after that with a handsome young butcher who wanted his meats blessed.
Only at dusk did Kiram at last manage to slip away from his mother and sisters to Rafie's small house. He found Alizadeh in the garden, wrapped in his heavy leather cloak, and leaning back against the gnarled trunk of a tree.
"Rafie's bringing tea out for us," Kiram said as a way of announcing himself.
Alizadeh smiled just a little and Kiram sat down next to him.
"How are you feeling?" Kiram asked.
"Better by the day," Alizadeh replied. "And how have you been?"
"Me? I'm fine." Kiram gazed up at the violet and gold streaks that the setting sun had blazed across the sky. The sunsets had never been this brilliant at the Sagrada Academy and suddenly Kiram wondered what the sky was like over Rauma.
"Did you get my letters?"
"Yes, I did."
"And did you tell the Circle of Red Oaks about the Tornesal curse?"
Alizadeh closed his eyes and nodded.
"What did they say?" Kiram asked. "Will they help him?"
"Your handsome duke?" Alizadeh asked.
"You know who I mean."
"No, they won't interfere in the machinations of Cadeleonian noblemen." Alizadeh glanced to Kiram with a gentle expression. "But they will not bar me from doing what I will to protect you."
"What about Javier and Fedeles?"
Alizadeh cracked an eye. "I know about your Javier, but tell me about Fedeles."
Kiram explained everything he knew. Only a few sentences in, Rafie joined them. He poured tea and sat beside Alizadeh. Kiram described what he could of the mechanical cures and then the way the shadow curse had seemed to seep from Fedeles' body. Alizadeh leaned against Rafie and drank his tea.
"This happened the day the last mail delivery went out so I didn't have a chance to write you," Kiram ended.
"This bo
y, Fedeles," Alizadeh asked, "he is Javier's cousin?"
"Yes, but…" Kiram paused unsure if he should repeat a rumor, but then he decided that he should tell Alizadeh everything. "Nestor told me that Fedeles is probably Javier's brother. There was some kind of scandal about Javier's father sleeping with his own sister."
Rafie raised his brows. "Do they resemble each other closely?"
"They do," Kiram admitted. "More closely than Fedeles seems to resemble anyone on the Quemanor side of his family."
"So, let us say they are brothers. Who inherits from whom, do you know?" Alizadeh asked.
"I know that Javier has made Fedeles his heir but Fedeles would be declared unfit as things are now."
"And the title would then go to the church." Rafie refilled all their cups and offered Kiram a dish of pepper eggs, which he accepted. Briefly, he admired the deep red of the tiny egg before popping it into his mouth. The fiery spice and silky filling balanced his sweet tea nicely.
"The question that interests me is this,"Alizadeh said, "if the curse is truly hidden inside Fedeles, why is Fedeles still living?"
"Scholar Donamillo's mechanical cures," Kiram said.
"No mechanical cure that I've seen could do more than raise a man's hair and light a few sparks," Rafie replied.
"But Scholar Donamillo's are different." Kiram lowered his voice out of habit after so many months at the Sagrada Academy. "His has prayers etched into the metal."
"Prayers?" Alizadeh asked. "What kind?"
"All kinds. Some are Cadeleonian. Others looked like Bahiim invocations. There could be Mirogoth blessings as well." Kiram tried to recollect the prayers but there had been far too many for him to memorize, especially when his attention had been so focused on the purely mechanical aspects of the cure. "All I know is that they allow Donamillo to transfer his strength to Fedeles and that keeps the shadow curse from consuming Fedeles completely."
