Ginn Hale - Lord of the White Hell book Two

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.

Two rooms down the hall, Kiram recognized Fedeles' bed at once. Even empty it looked tormented. Tangled sheets and blankets twisted around pillows and discarded clothes. Old bandages hung from the headboard. Wood shavings, tattered papers and odd socks littered the floor. In stark contrast stood six precise rows of small, carved horses. Nearly two dozen filled his desk. Pinned to the wall above them was Nestor's drawing of Firaj.

Both Morisio and Genimo kept their halves of their rooms neat. A few stains of machine oil marred Genimo's desk while a deck of cards lay at Morisio's bedside. They, like most of the Hellions, were not remarkable in their habitations. Tournament ribbons and dice abounded as did liquor flasks and hunting knives.

But Elezar surprised Kiram. He'd expected a mess of sweat- stained jackets, dueling knives and dirty boots. He'd prepared himself to choke on the smell of sweat, sex and white ruin. Instead the space seemed almost abandoned. The desk and shelves stood bare, except for a thin sheaf of blank paper and a pen kit. A simple coverlet stretched over the bed, neither tucked in nor rumpled. The sight reminded Kiram of a room at an inn where the resident had not unpacked, expecting to be gone too soon to bother.

When curiosity drew Kiram to open Elezar's dresser, he found nothing but school uniforms and a formal coat. No books, diaries, love tokens or good luck charms lay beneath the folded shirts or among the clean pairs of socks. Then in the pocket of the coat, Kiram discovered a tattered scrap of paper. He unfolded it carefully and found a fine drawing of Javier. The portrait was handsome and skillfully made-one of Nestor's best sketches, Kiram thought. And it was clearly cherished, worn from a constant touch but also folded carefully, so that no crease marred the face.

Suddenly Kiram felt ashamed. What was he doing, digging through Elezar's personal belongings? This was certainly none of his business. Now that he held Elezar's one private treasure in his hands he wished that he had never found it. Kiram returned it to the coat pocket and closed the dresser at once.

He left a long-bladed Irabiim knife with a finely decorated scabbard and fled the room, feeling guilty.

He was relieved that only two gifts remained. He left a set of calipers and six hard lemon candies in the infirmary for Scholar Donamillo, then he slunk down the hall to the door of Scholar Blasio's personal rooms. He had no intention of intruding upon the scholar's privacy. Instead he placed a box of sugared almonds and a pair of fur lined gloves down in front of Scholar Blasio's door. Then just as he rose to his feet the door swung suddenly open. Kiram jumped, an involuntary cry of surprise escaping him. Scholar Blasio's scowl lifted to a gentle smile the moment he met Kiram's startled face.

"I thought you'd be at chapel. " Kiram began and then realized that he needed to explain what he was doing crouching in front of the scholar's door, not why he was surprised to be caught. He picked up the wooden box and the gloves and thrust them out to Scholar Blasio. "I brought Solstice gifts"

The scholar accepted the gifts in apparent stunned silence. For the first time Kiram wondered if such an act could be offensive to a Cadeleonian. Was it wrong to offer them food and luxuries during a time of religious deprivation? "I know Cadeleonians don't celebrate this way but we Haldiim give gifts today. And I thought it couldn't hurt if I shared a few things with my friends"

"Thank you." Scholar Blasio gazed at the box and gloves with a strangely distant expression.

"I didn't mean to offend you-"

"No, you haven't," Scholar Blasio cut him off. "Quite the contrary, actually. I'm touched, Kiram. It's been so long since…" He simply shook his head and then stepped back from the door, holding it open. "Come in. We should talk."

The response was so strange that for a moment Kiram felt afraid, but he trusted Scholar Blasio and so accepted the invitation. The scholar's rooms weren't large. The warmth of the small hearth and the smell of spiced tea immediately calmed him. Familiar math texts lay on a weathered table beside Scholar Blasio's teapot.

"Can I offer you a cup?" Scholar Blasio brushed a hand over the teapot.

"Yes, please" Kiram sat in the worn seat across from the scholar's own. While the scholar poured a second cup of the steaming, fragrant tea, Kiram studied the graceful wood- carvings that decorated the bookshelves. One highly detailed globe held Kiram's attention so deeply that he almost missed the humble clay lamp on the scholar's windowsill. The flame burned low, illuminating little more than the graceful form of the lamp itself.