Lord of the White Hell book Two lotwh-2 (7 page)

D
uring the brief winter days that followed, Kiram spent much of his free time in the infirmary, rebuilding his engine and studying Scholar Donamillo's mechanical cures. He felt safe there, surrounded by machinery, with the scholar occupied in his own studies but always a near and reassuring presence. Scholar Donamillo seemed to take a quiet interest in Kiram's activities and assisted him without needing to be asked when Kiram labored with too many parts or too much weight.

The scholar was not a talkative man but Kiram found his company soothing. From time to time when he noticed Kiram looking on with interest, he would point out a string of soldering instructions engraved in the iron ribs of the mechanical cure or expose the fine wires that made up the harness and allow Kiram to study them. One afternoon he even demonstrated the way the amber and copper plates at the base of a mechanical cure could be brushed to produce arcing white sparks. The sight delighted Kiram and reminded him of Javier's sparking, hot touch when he opened the white hell. Much to Kiram's embarrassment, a shiver of remembered pleasure tingled down the nape of his neck.

Such responses were becoming more and more common. Throughout his days Kiram felt almost haunted by previous nights of intimacy. Javier's presence suffused Kiram's consciousness, so that now even in broad daylight, thoughts of Javier's body-his touch and his taste-floated up through Kiram's mind, distracting him.

During combat practice the strong smell of sweat and fevered heat of his own body flooded him with a brief but vivid recollection of deep, musky scents and joyous friction. His face flushed and Nestor easily scored a point on him.

"Sorry." Nestor stopped short, looking startled. "I was sure you'd parry that one."

"Nope, you got past me." Kiram couldn't help but smile at Nestor. He was the only man Kiram could think of who would worry about winning a point. "You should have pressed your advantage."

"I was too surprised by the novelty of it," Nestor admitted, but then he gave Kiram a mischievous smile. "Won't be next time though. Better be on your toes."

Kiram managed to remain focused throughout the lesson but found himself stealing glances at Javier all through lunch. Catching him staring, Javier gave him an arrogant grin, which was both deeply affecting and embarrassingly knowing. Kiram felt relieved when Elezar attempted some wrestling grip and jerked Javier halfway out of his seat. By the time Javier had fought Elezar off Kiram had regained his composure enough to meet his handsome smile with a studied indifference. Even so, Javier retained a smug expression through the rest of the meal and took every opportunity to stretch and slide one of his legs against Kiram's.

Kiram loved the sensations and attention of Javier's reckless desire but he feared exposure as well. Javier's title and reputation shielded him from suspicion but Kiram possessed neither asset. So he took care never to appear too pleased with Javier's company. He hoped his frowns and annoyed glances fit the appearance of a long-suffering underclassman who endured as best he could the antics and moods of a man like Javier.

But even reminding himself to remain cautious, Kiram could not help but lean into Javier's quick embraces and smile in response to Javier's light compliments. He accepted every invitation to join Javier riding and twice joined the Hellions hunting.

While Javier, Elezar and Atreau attempted to flush a boar from snow-laden thickets, Kiram brought down eighteen of the blue jays that constantly followed them. The birds were made into mince pies and Nestor proclaimed Kiram to be the hero of the meal, since the others had returned with nothing more than a few stringy hares. Fedeles nudged Kiram and sang, "Blue jays in white skies. Bad birds make good pies," like the refrain of a favorite song. Both Morisio and Atreau picked up the tune and hummed it as they too ate. Javier raised his glass to Kiram in a silent toast.

The winter might have been blissful if only Kiram could have scrubbed Holy Father Habalan's existence from his mind. But he saw the man every day, if not during class, then at the high table leading the Sacreday prayer. Just a glimpse of the holy father gripped Kiram's stomach and sent his pulse racing like a rabbit's. In the holy father's presence Kiram became aware of how deep the winter shadows grew and how they writhed at the edges of the flickering lamplight like living things.

For the first time since he was a young child he woke, terrified in the vast darkness of night, and his fear did not dissipate upon waking. It grew stronger. He lay shaking. Beside him, he felt Javier stir; his muscles shuddered, a gasp caught in his throat, and sudden wakeful tension flooded his body. He wrapped an arm around Kiram's chest, pulling him closer. Kiram knew at once that some terrible dream had woken Javier as well.

"It's all right," Kiram said. "It was just a dream."

"Yours or mine?"

The question didn't quite make sense, but Kiram answered anyway. "Both."

Javier said nothing. His grip on Kiram's chest relaxed and his breathing slowed. Kiram thought he might have fallen asleep again. The darkness seemed to close in on Kiram in a terrible isolating mass. He could see nothing and yet he was afraid to close his eyes.

"Why do dogs dance so poorly?" Javier asked quietly.

"What?" Kiram wasn't sure he'd understood what Javier had said. He rolled over, squinting through the dark to make out Javier's expression, but was unable to see more than a silhouette against the pale bedding.

"Because they have two left feet," Javier replied in the same soft tone.

"Two left…" Then Kiram realized that it was a joke. One of the silly kind that Nestor so loved.

"Stupid, isn't it?" Javier asked. He pulled Kiram closer to him. "Do you know any?"

"No-well, there's one Nestor told me but it's not very good."

"Let's hear it," Javier replied. He laid his head on Kiram's pillow. His skin felt warm.

"All right." Kiram thought for a moment, recollecting Nestor's words. "One day this messy old bear comes upon a very tidy rabbit. He realizes that this is his chance to improve his own atrocious appearance. So the grubby old bear shyly asks the rabbit if it's ever troubled by shit sticking to its fur. The rabbit replies that it certainly is not. Wonderful, the bear says and then he picks up the rabbit and uses it to wipe his ass clean."

A slight snort escaped Javier. "Ah, Grunito humor."

"I told you it wasn't very good," Kiram replied but he found himself amused as well. The absurdity of the joke eased his thoughts and broke the grip of fear that had held him.

Javier told him another joke-this time an appalling pun that Nestor would have relished-and Kiram rolled his eyes.

"That was just stupid," Kiram said.

"I know." The warmth of Javier's tone made Kiram think that he was grinning. "The stallion got colt-feet," Javier repeated the punch line. "It makes me laugh every time, because it's just so dumb."

Kiram sighed and relaxed against Javier. It was strange that he could feel so frightened and then so safe after just exchanging a few bad jokes. But there was a power in humor, especially ridiculous, simple humor. Kiram would never have believed it before this, but now he realized that he couldn't think about puns or riddles and feel terrified at the same time. Their sheer absurdity undermined the darkness and shadows.

This had to be something Javier had known for years, since he had been a child facing the shadow curse alone. Now he offered the knowledge to Kiram in the simplest manner and Kiram was thankful.

Kiram touched Javier's face and then kissed his lips. Javier kissed him back, sweetly and sleepily. Kiram closed his eyes.

"How does a willow respond when a Bahiim flirts with her?" Kiram asked, remembering something Musni had told him once.

"How?" Javier asked softly.

"Leaves."

"Terrible," Javier said but he laughed.

"I know." Kiram grinned and hugged Javier. His body felt so comfortable. Sleep came easily then.

As the days passed Kiram grew accustomed to feeling dread and fighting it back. He worked on his engine, collected jokes from Nestor, and exulted in Javier's intimacy. After every one of Holy Father Habalan's history lessons Kiram strode into the orchard with his bow and hunted blue jays.

He brought down so many of the birds that even Master Ignacio offered him a passing compliment for his skill as an archer. Genimo complained that they were going to be served nothing but stringy jays if Kiram wasn't stopped.

"At least it's meat," Morisio replied. "I don't think I could have stomached many more of those cabbage stews they were sending out from the kitchen last week."

"I'm just wondering if Kiram couldn't manage to bag something a little fatter." Genimo chewed on a thin drumstick. "A snow partridge, perhaps. Or a goose."

"Why not ask for a peacock and a dozen plump lambs while you're dreaming?" Javier replied.

"Lamb. Don't talk about lamb." Elezar sighed heavily. "God, I think I'd give up a month of wine for a rack of lamb right now." He scowled at the breaded jay and heap of turnips on his plate. "If they serve turnips again on the New Year I'm going to break into the kitchen and eat one of the cooks."

Javier raised a brow. "A stringy cook when you've got a tender underclassman? Really, Elezar, cannibalism is no excuse for low standards."

Even a table away Ollivar blanched and the Hellions laughed. The rest of the dinner conversation revolved around which underclassman would make the best meal. Kiram was quickly discounted, as both too skinny and too tricky. Nestor swore that he'd give them all indigestion. Elezar countered that he was more likely to give them all worms.

Despite the morbidity of the topic, Kiram enjoyed the camaraderie. At such times his sense of being foreign disappeared and he melted into the boisterous energy of the Hellions.

Then the darkest day of winter came, the Solstice, and Kiram was suddenly aware of how very different he was from all the others at the academy. Even Javier, who spent at least an hour every evening reading the Bahiim text Alizadeh had sent him, accepted the day as one dedicated to penance and prayer. All the Cadeleonians dressed in their drabbest clothes and took neither wine nor meat. Their Solstice required them to attend morning service, take turns at penance, and then spend the evening at chapel, chanting mournful prayers and standing vigil until the next morning.

Kiram found the entire prospect depressing. A Haldiim Solstice was a celebration of light, gifts and feasting. Back at his mother's home in Anacleto, Kiram knew that bright lamps were being lit in all the windows to burn throughout the night, beckoning friends and strangers alike to shelter and feast in their home. Sweets and fragrant meats would fill the tables as their cook and Kiram's sisters carried succulent dish after dish out from the kitchen. Dried cherries, almond candies, ginger squash, lamb, saffron rice, and toasted cheese would soon fill silver dishes and gilded platters. Even from the distance of memory, the smells of steam and spices wafted up to Kiram.

Right at this moment he imagined that his father and Uncle Rafie had hauled in the oak barrels of honey wine.

Soon Haldiim of all callings and stations would arrive, some bearing gifts and coming to stay, others bringing no more than a song or a juggler's trick and accepting stuffed breads and clay cups of mulled honey wine with cheers and blessings before passing on to other houses. Kiram smiled to himself, remembering the sweet sharp taste of stolen sips of the mulled wine on his lips.

The streets would be aglow with lamps and the sounds of singing and laughter would pour from every house. Again and again the familiar refrain of the Solstice song would ring out as one family or another took it up. To Kiram's memory it seemed as if the sweet simple lyrics were always in the air on Solstice.

"Come friend, come stranger, daughter and son. All are welcome, all loved, all one." Kiram sang the refrain to himself and felt all the more abandoned, hearing only his own voice raising a song that he remembered ringing across an entire city.

Alone in his and Javier's room, Kiram briefly surveyed the uniform slate of snow and frost that encased the stones outside the window. No paper flowers decorated the barren branches of the trees; not a single lamp burned back the cold winter shadows. He let the drapes fall closed over the desolate view.

He had thought that the Cadeleonians would at least exchange gifts. He vaguely remembered Scholar Blasio mentioning something like that, but Javier had informed him that they did not. Not until their New Year celebration would any Cadeleonians even be allowed wine or spirits. Neither singing nor dancing was permitted until then either.

Leave it to the Cadeleonian church to render a miserable, cold time of year even more bleak and dispiriting, Kiram thought.

He frowned at the chest of trinkets and sweets he'd dragged out from under his bed. He'd collected gifts for all of the Hellions-even Genimo. Most came from the autumn tournament but there were others he'd specially chosen from the goods his mother had sent to him. Next to the trunk stood the small, silver lamp his father had sent for him. Kiram picked it up, feeling the delicate filigree of almond flowers and honeybees. Each of his brothers had received a similar lamp when they had left home, so that they too could drive away the darkness when it was at its deepest. Just the weight of the lamp imparted a sense of profundity to Kiram. It didn't matter if he was among Cadeleonians. He would light his lamp and distribute his gifts with pride.

The decision made, Kiram quickly filled the lamp with sweet oil, lit the wick, and placed it on the windowsill.

Then he hefted up his trunk and hauled it down the stairs. With students, scholars and staff all attending chapel, the dormitory halls were deserted and eerily silent. Kiram felt like a thief creeping into each of the Hellions' rooms. Only the red light of dying fires illuminated most of the rooms and each space felt strange and personal as Kiram entered. Little shivers of fear mixed with his greater sense of excitement.

As he went he couldn't help but notice the differences between the Hellions' quarters. Creative disarray reigned through the small room Nestor shared with Atreau. Ink bottles cluttered both their desks and the floor was a maze of books, scribbled poems, sketchbooks and tins of paints. Discarded papers and crumpled sketches collected beside the tiny fireplace to be used as kindling. The earthy smell of Nestor's graphite styluses mingled nicely with the spicy scent of Atreau's cologne.