The genius of it was that it was all true and all written glowingly, as though Javier were really in awe of the literally miniscule contribution of lapdogs.
Kiram couldn't manage the same level of sarcasm, but he had realized that if he wanted to pass Holy Father Habalan's class then he would be wise to resort to minutiae.
Since then he had turned in an essay on the advances in saddles during the civil war and was rewarded with his highest score so far. Another paper detailing the numbingly dull history of the southern warhorses brought his overall grade back up to passing.
But now the class had reached the era of the Mirogoth invasion and Kiram was determined to write his next essay on Yassin Lif-Harun. He already suspected that he would receive low marks for his efforts.
Holy Father Habalan didn't really understand Yassin Lif- Harun's contribution to astronomy or navigation, and he always looked annoyed when the subject came up. There was a chance that he would fail Kiram simply for making him aware of his own ignorance.
It frustrated Kiram that he could write a perfect essay and still be failed, simply because the scholar grading him didn't like his ideas or worse yet, just couldn't comprehend the subject. Things were so much more straightforward with machines. Either they worked or they didn't. Anyone using one knew which it was.
Kiram flipped through the pages of an old diary, scanning for any mention of Yassin. He'd found only one reference so far and it was buried in a list of men who had joined Calixto Tornesal's boar hunt.
"Yassin Lif-Harun was an acknowledged genius at the age of sixteen, and all this idiot can think to write about him is that he wears his hair a little too long for a proper gentleman."
"I'm telling you," Nestor gazed at Kiram over the rims of his spectacles, "Calixto Tornesal is the one to write about."
"Everyone writes about Calixto."
"That's because everyone wants to pass the class."
"I know. But honestly, what's left to say about Calixto? He killed two of his own cousins in duels, opened the white hell, killed every Mirogoth within a hundred miles, fathered a son, and then killed himself. Every other action he took seemed to be killing."
Nestor shrugged and studied his drawing, then he glanced back up at Kiram. "You think Javier wrote about him when he took the class?"
"No, he probably wrote about the nation's brief but shining romance with hard-ball candy, or something."
"You think?" Nestor asked. "That almost sounds…you know…obscene."
"Yes, then I'm positive that's what he wrote about."
Javier loved to provoke the people around him. His jokes could turn quite cruel if he disliked the person, particularly another student. Often Master Ignacio and other instructors turned a blind eye. They expected malice and audacity from Javier; after all, he had no soul.
"Oh, speaking of candy." Nestor interrupted Kiram's thoughts. "You don't have any more of those delicious apple candies left, do you?"
"Dozens." Kiram handed one of the gold candies to Nestor.
"I'd write an essay on these if I knew anything about them," Nestor commented as he sucked on the candy.
"I'd tell you everything I know but it isn't much." Kiram scanned through a long description of dice tricks Calixto Tornesal could preform. "My mother will only share her recipes with my sister."
"That's stupid, isn't it?" Nestor asked. "You're the one who will be inheriting the business, aren't you?"
"No. We Haldiim pass property and businesses through the women. So my eldest sister will take over the candy shop after my mother."
"Doesn't that leave you out in the cold, then?"
"My father has money of his own that he gives to us boys but eventually I'll have to support myself."
"Or marry a rich wife," Nestor suggested, though even as he said it he frowned slightly as if the idea sounded wrong even to him.
"I'm planning on supporting myself."
"That's probably a good idea," Nestor agreed. "Not that you couldn't attract a wife, but you know, if it didn't work out."
"I understand," Kiram assured Nestor. "It's best to be able to take care of yourself."
Nestor nodded and Kiram returned to his fruitless research. Now and then he glanced up to watch Nestor fill out the details of Calixto Tornesal's cold expression and shining armor.
It was only later that day, as Kiram watched Javier flip through the pages of hellscript that filled his ancestor's diary, that Kiram wondered what Javier actually thought of Calixto Tornesal's decision to bind his bloodline to the white hell.
For the rest of the students, Calixto's decision was only relevant as history. His defeat of the Mirogoths made dramatic fodder for an essay, probably for hundreds of essays. But for Javier, Calixto's actions had personal ramifications. They bequeathed both burden and power to him even before he had been conceived. The very core of Javier's identity seemed forged by the hell-brand his ancestor had taken a hundred years before. Kiram couldn't imagine what it would be like for Javier to know that there was one man who was so directly responsible for all the power and all of the isolation in his life.
"I have to write another essay for Holy Father Habalan," Kiram said casually.
Javier glanced at him, then went back to his book.
Kiram added, "We're studying the era of the Mirogoth invasion."
"From the year 1242 up until 1250," Javier said thoughtfully, "the silky native Cadeleonian thickening agent used for most puddings suffered a significant decline and was almost completely replaced by a clumpy foreign imitation. Some of our best desserts might never have been recovered had it not been for the tireless effort of a short, balding cook named Vences Aniparo. Little is remembered about the man himself but his legacy remains with us today, as a variety of viscous gravies and glutinous desserts."
Kiram laughed and felt oddly sad at the same time. He had known Javier would not mention Calixto.
Even among the Hellions, Javier never spoke of anything that troubled him. Listening to his banter and watching him both bully and amuse the other young men, it would have been easy to believe that Javier lived without a care.
Yet Kiram knew that something drove him to seek penance nearly every morning. And Kiram couldn't forget the pain in Javier's voice when he had spoken of the curse that had killed his father and left Fedeles a half-wit.
There had been one night when Kiram could not sleep and had found himself staring at the white beams of moonlight falling across Javier's pale body. Then Kiram had seen Javier raise his hands over his face and almost claw at his own skull as if he couldn't bear the thoughts inside. Javier had opened his mouth as if to scream but no sound escaped.
But the next morning Javier had sat with the Hellions, taunting and inciting them as he always did. He had bitten Morisio's ear but only hard enough to make the other man flush and sputter. Then Javier and the rest of the Hellions had laughed uproariously. Kiram had realized that Javier would never allow any of them a deeper glimpse of his true self than this.
Elezar aside, Kiram doubted that any of the Hellions would have believed that Javier cared in the slightest about his ancestry. Certainly none of them would have imagined that he spent so many nights pouring over Calixto's worn leather diary. Kiram imagined that Javier had the entire book memorized by now, and yet he returned to it again and again, the way another man might turn to a consoling scripture.
Kiram sighed. Contemplating Javier wasn't going to get him any farther with his essay. Kiram stared down at the page of pitiful notes. After three days of searching through old academy records and decayed diaries he had managed to glean little more than was common knowledge about Yassin Lif-Harun.
He had been widely known as the bastard son of Demolia Helio by a Haldiim mistress. At an early age Yassin had shown amazing talents, particularly at mathematics but also in his mother's holy garden. If his father had not decided to send Yassin to the academy as a study companion for his legitimate son, then Yassin would have become a Bahiim.