Lord of the White Hell book Two

Chapter Seven

After eight days of cramped travel Kiram was thrilled to catch site of Anacleto. The port city rose up from the sea like a white wave of limestone, granite, marble and gold. Square, towering Cadeleonian architecture dominated the northern streets. Churches with gilded steeples shot up between the immense houses of merchants and noblemen. But even here in the most conservative section of the city, Kiram caught sight of Haldiim patterns on men's vests and brilliantly feathered hats in the latest fashion, inspired by the princes of Yuan.

Heavy accents and foreign words mingled with the shouts of Cadeleonian street hawkers and wagon drivers. Amongst the tight press of carts, carriages, pedestrians and horsemen Kiram spied tattooed sailors and red-haired Mirogoths. Wood smoke, animal sweat and rich spices perfumed the air but never blotted out the moist, salty tang of the crashing sea.

"There!" Nestor jabbed his finger against the window, pointing to a massive limestone wall and the thick clusters of cherry blossoms that bowed over it. "That's our house!" His face flushed with joy and he beamed at Kiram. Across from them, Elezar straightened and peered out the window. He smiled but without Nestor's wild enthusiasm. Then again, why would he? Elezar didn't have a lover awaiting him.

Their carriage turned up a narrow street. Immediately the wrought iron gates swung open and they rode past the great lawn with its flowering trees to the entry of the massive marble Grunito house. Red-enameled statues of bulls stood at either side of the stairs and ivory tusks curved like giant horns over the red doorway.

Footmen in crimson liveries ran ahead of the carriage, and even before it had drawn to a halt, people flooded out of the house. Lady Grunito, dressed in a pinstriped gold gown, led the throng of beefy boys and youths. At a glance Kiram knew that these had to be Nestor and Elezar's brothers. One tall, comparatively gaunt young man wore a holy collar and Kiram guessed he was the eldest brother, Timoteo. The other eight boys appeared younger than Nestor. They pushed and bounced off each other like fat puppies.

Then Riossa broke out from the group and rushed down the stairs. Nestor bolted from the carriage, narrowly missed a spill as he hit the mud, and then rushed to Riossa. He swept her up in his arms and kissed her as though he were the hero of some ancient epic poem returning home after twenty years lost at sea. Kiram strongly suspected that Atreau had served as an example and instructor of the technique. Riossa melted into his embrace.

At the top of the stairs, Lady Grunito simply shook her head and Kiram was amused to see her exact expression and gesture mirrored by Elezar, who remained in the carriage seat opposite him. Then the pack of plump young boys pelted down the stairs to embrace and tease Nestor. They squealed and laughed as Nestor grabbed them and pinched their noses. Footmen hurried past the scene to unload baggage from the carriage.

Elezar glanced to Kiram. "Will you stay with us or shall I send the carriage on to your family house?"

"I think I should see my family as soon as possible." Witnessing the warmth of Nestor's return home had made Kiram feel the absence of his own family with sudden intensity.

Elezar gave an understanding nod by way of saying farewell. He exited the carriage with an easy bound. At once his little brothers hurled themselves at him and Elezar swung two of them up off the ground tucking one under each arm, while a rotund child clamped onto his leg and rode his foot.

As Elezar directed the coachman on his way, Nestor shouted, "Kiram, I'll visit soon!"

Then the carriage carried him back out into the crowded streets of Anacleto. As they traveled south, stately marble facades gave way to plaster walls and cramped winding lanes. Buildings leaned into each other; print shops shared walls with taverns, dancehalls and teahouses. Street vendors dressed in gaudy coats shouted and crooned to the dense afternoon crowds. One woman danced in a full skirt while twirling long strings of glass beads. Another simply waved skewers of peppered meat, allowing the strong aroma to advertise her wares. Between them, boys hawked the newest printings of sheet music and broadsheets.

As the carriage bounced over the wooden planks of the Black Moon Bridge, Kiram's heartbeat quickened. He'd crossed this bridge countless times with hardly a thought but now every one of the two hundred and forty beams registered as an increment closer to home.

Across the bridge a huge limestone wall loomed up, marking the boundary of the Haldiim district of the city.

Bored Haldiim sentries stood guard at the top of the wall and two older Haldiim men, dressed in the black uniforms of Civic Guards, lounged at the gates. They waved wagons and carriages through without concern. Kiram smiled, remembering his own turn up on the wall two years earlier. At the time he'd thought that he would never have a use for all the archery practice. He'd complained to his father about the exhausting labor of it. If only he had known what the Sagrada Academy had held in store for him.

As he passed through the massive wood and iron gates the entire world changed. The architecture flowed and curved with color. Brilliant vitreous tiles glittered across domed roofs; floral mosaics glimmered from walls and arches. Almond trees abounded along the red cobbled streets. Their clustering, white blossoms nearly obscuring the ribbons and simple lamps that hung from their branches.

In every direction that Kiram looked he met dark Haldiim faces. Men and women dressed in long vests and bright coats. Most of the men wore wide-legged trousers, while the women often wore skirts over their thinner trousers. Haldiim voices rang out and the scents of mint, lemon and cinnamon filled the air. Red-dyed doves cooed from their nests. Kiram felt as if the very atmosphere was somehow warmer and more welcoming.

He passed the goat market, the common gardens and then the rough outcropping of seeming wilderness where the Bahiim met in the Circle of Red Oaks. Before he had traveled through other towns and cities Kiram had never realized how strange this place was: untamed forest engulfing four city blocks. Carpets of spring flowers spread around thick walls of thorn brambles and weedgrapes. Above the riot of plant life towered ancient gnarled oaks.

When they'd been children Kiram's sister Dauhd had terrified him with stories of boys abandoned in the shadowy wilderness and how savage creatures lurking in the verdant underbrush devoured them. But now the grove only made him think of Alizadeh. Kiram touched his medallion and felt safe.

The Wahdi River flowed just past the Circle of Red Oaks. Dozens of small bridges throughout the Haldiim district spanned the fast rolling waters. None were as beautiful nor as extravagant as the bright red Ammej Bridge. Thousands of stylized flames were carved into its arching timbers, which were painted a multitude of scarlet shades and inlaid with lustrous amber. It rose like a spectacle of fire over dark waters, and most importantly, it emptied directly onto Gold Street where the Kir-Zaki house stood.

Kiram pressed his face to the window staring as the high, tiled walls that surrounded his home drew closer. The sweet fragrance of perfume and candy saturated the air. The house gates stood open, as they always did on business days, to allow deliverymen and merchants to come and go with ease. As a rule some peddler or hopeful candymaker was always waiting in the courtyard for an opportunity to meet with his mother.

But the large crowd today surprised Kiram. Groups of people stood under the flowering almond trees and leaned against the mosaiced walls of the reflecting pool. Some sat on brightly painted boxes advertising their wares. Others carried small display cases or covered sampling trays. Fruit sellers, paper makers, butchers, cheese vendors and, oddly, several troupes of musicians filled the steps in front of the gold entry doors. House servants moved between them, taking down names in their ledgers or offering clay cups of warm, spiced tea.

Kiram could only remember this many merchants gathering in their courtyard once before and that had been for his grandmother's funeral. Sudden fear gripped Kiram. Could something have happened to his mother or father? One of his sisters? Had his brother Majdi finally drowned at sea like his grandmother always claimed he would? He hardly waited for the carriage to draw to a stop before he leapt out and charged into the courtyard.

"Fiez!" Kiram called to his mother's secretary, recognizing her by her short hair and large, silver hoop earrings. The slim woman turned and her white curly hair bounced around her face. Shock showed in her expression as she took Kiram in.

"Kiram!" Fiez went to him and took his hand. "We weren't expecting you for another two days."

"Why are all these people here?" Kiram hardly heard Fiez's words. Across the courtyard he thought he caught a glimpse of his sister Dauhd. Neither his mother nor his father were anywhere to be seen. His mind raced with terrible scenarios-both of them taken in a carriage wreck or by fever. "Has something happened?"

"Not yet. It was meant to be a surprise for you." Fiez sighed and shook her head. "Well, you did look surprised. Oh, your mother is going to be so annoyed."

"What do you mean?"

"We're preparing to celebrate your return home," Fiez said. An instant later Kiram's sister Dauhd rushed across the courtyard and pulled him into a hug. Kiram returned the embrace, though somewhat awkwardly. She felt smaller than she had been, almost delicate in his arms. Had he grown so used to the company of men? Perhaps he had simply grown. His shirt did feel tight, now that he thought about it.

"Kiram." Dauhd pulled back a little and smiled up at him. "I can't believe what a wretch you are. Your carriage shouldn't have brought you back until the end of the week."

"I didn't wait for the carriage mother sent. I rode back with Nestor and Elezar Grunito," Kiram explained.

"Nestor and Elezar? You're on first names with the Grunito lords now?" Dauhd raised her fine blonde brows. Both she and Kiram had inherited their father's sharp features and wicked expressions.

"Jealous?" Kiram asked. "I roomed with the Duke of Rauma, you know."

"Yes, we all know." Dauhd rolled her eyes. "Mother wouldn't stop bragging about it all summer."

Fiez nodded in confirmation. "I should inform your mother that you're here, Kiram. She'll want to see you in the sunroom most likely. It's the only quiet place in the house right now. She'll be relieved to see that you're in good health, though she'll be annoyed that she paid for a carriage for nothing."

"It wasn't for nothing. The other one is bringing back my spare machine parts for father to put to use."

"No doubt that will certainly comfort her." Fiez disappeared through the crowd of merchants and performers.

"I can't believe this is all for me," Kiram said.

"Neither can I," Dauhd replied. "But Mother has to show you off. After all you're the first Haldiim to attend the Sagrada Academy and you spoke with Prince Sevanyo himself. Ever since Rafie told her about that she's made sure every mother in the entire district knows." Dauhd glanced past Kiram. "Is that the Grunito carriage?"

He looked back to where the carriage driver and footmen waited patiently for instructions, then guiltily nodded. He'd been so worried about his family that he'd utterly forgotten them.

In a moment Dauhd had two servants unloading Kiram's luggage. She made sure that both the carriage driver and the footman received a generous tip before sending them back to the Grunito house.

"I hate to look stingy in front of Cadeleonians," Dauhd commented. "I'm probably overcompensating for Auntie Easham. Did I mention that she's here to attend your homecoming?" Again Dauhd's pale eyebrows rose. "And she brought Vashir with her."

"Oh no." Kiram could feel the blood draining from his face. Alizadeh's cousin, Easham, never failed to bring up the prospect of a match between Kiram and her own wild Bahiim son, Vashir.

"Oh yes." Dauhd grinned gleefully at his response. "You two make a handsome couple! Him, long haired and ranting about the wisdom of the trees. You, trying to find a hole deep enough to hide in."

"It's not funny," Kiram told her.

"Oh, but it will be." Dauhd led Kiram into the house through the side doors of the kitchen. Fruit, vegetables, flowers and cheeses filled the scullery tables. Pots of sauces and soups bubbled away over every one of the four cooking fires. From the kitchen they went to the sunroom, where afternoon light gleamed across the high polish of the pale elm walls. Costly panes of stained glass framed the view of the small holy garden beyond. Embroidered pillows littered the floor. Both the room and the garden were refreshingly quiet. Kiram dropped down onto a floor pillow in a pool of sun.

Dauhd sat beside the low tea table and propped an orange pillow against her back.

"You know, Vashir isn't the only one who has come to court you," Dauhd informed him.

"I don't even care. I'm just happy to be home." Kiram closed his eyes against the bright sunlight. His skin felt as if it were drinking in the warmth. The hard knots that days of riding in a cramped carriage had left in the muscles of his back and legs melted away. It had been so long since he'd been this comfortable.

Suddenly he wondered where Javier was right now. Was he alone in some drafty mansion? Was he enduring yet another regimen of penance?

"Every mother in the city is digging up a son or nephew to meet you now that you're keeping company with dukes and princes," Dauhd said, interrupting Kiram's thoughts.

"Now that I'm keeping company with dukes and princes who is to say I'll settle for just some mother's son?" Kiram spoke lightly but his heart ached at how close his words were to the truth. None of them would ever compare to Javier.

"I told Mother you wouldn't have any of them." Light laughter softened Dauhd's tone. "Still, if I were you, I wouldn't hold much hope for Musni either. I mean, if that's what you're thinking."

"It's not," Kiram assured her.

"Good, because I don't want a prick snatch for a brother. He's married now, you know."

"I know." Kiram drew in deep breaths and listened, reac- quainting his senses with the scents and noise of his home. The soft patter of footsteps across wooden floorboards grew louder and Kiram looked up in time to see his mother at the door. His father came in just behind her. Kiram's eldest sister Siamak and his bachelor elder brother Majdi both arrived soon after.

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, grinning. "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.