Chapter 13 Kidan
KIDAN
Kidan stared at her reflection in the rain-speckled window of her Philosophy class.
Her scarf covered her chin but there was an arch to her dry lips, a streak of life to her dark eyes. Like a film capturing a slow rebirth. She had the urge to lean into the sepia glass, ask: Who are you now?
Because there had been no trace of this girl months ago. Vampires might be a collection of a hundred faces, a hundred shifting emotions, but so were girls. Not because they were immortal but because they transformed at the faintest of changes. Butterflies, Mama Anoet had called them.
Kidan touched her wrist, unbearably bare. Filled with nothing but her long, unending life.
I want to live, she’d said on that tower to Susenyos. It’s my life to do as I please.
She had always suspected that when a girl died, she took more than one life with her, but now she was sure of it. Her body didn’t seem elastic enough to host all that she could be.
But living is so dangerous, she thought. I don’t know what I’ll become.
She shook her head and focused back on her screen. Their new graduate IDs gave them more access to Uxlay’s history. They were waiting for Professor Andreyas. Kidan entered her log-in, and a black page opened up by itself, with the golden lions of Uxlay anchoring each end of the search bar.
THE GRADUATE PORTAL
Seek mind above blood, and if you must bleed, use it as ink.
Welcome, Kidan Adane.
She drew in a breath and found herself searching up one name.
Lusidio.
Only one result came up.
Lusidio, leader of the Lusidios, is also known as the Iron Hand and Devil’s Teeth. The locals of northern Ethiopia, from which he first originated, call him Chiraq.
When she tried to click on more, an alert came up.
RESTRICTED ACCESS
“That’s weird,” Kidan said, drawing her friends’ attention.
Slen frowned as well. “The Graduate Portal should give us access to everything. Why hide information on a rogue vampire?”
“Maybe he’s too dangerous to be on there,” Kidan said, staring at the name.
Yusef pulled out his sketchbook and three different charcoal pencils, lining them up on the table like surgery tools. “Maybe let’s not search up dangerous rogues. The last time we did, we ended up having them as our companions.”
His hand was out of its bandages, but his scar remained.
It resembled a tiny explosion in the middle of his palm that streaked along his fingers.
Kidan’s gut tightened as the painful ritual began.
He reached for a pencil, but his fingers struggled to close.
Forehead pinched in concentration, he pressed the tip to the paper.
Tried to draw. His usually perfect strokes wavered as if there were a tremor beneath the earth.
Yusef’s bones had been permanently damaged by fire.
Kidan’s blood boiled, remembering Arin’s vicious smile as she poured some perfume and lit his and GK’s hands together.
It has been Samson’s sick game, a Nefrasi tradition.
A price they paid to resurrect GK. Kidan forced the rest of the memory away.
They’d agreed to only talk about GK inside the crypt he died in.
He would remain their secret until they could find a way to bring him home.
A violent rip followed, Yusef’s paper scrunched up and tossed aside. The joy leached from his bright eyes; it always surprised her how quickly he changed. Yusef was a different person before and after he picked up a pencil.
“My cousin starts orientation today. Wanted me to sketch for her. But I don’t think I’ll see her like this.” He studied his stiff hand. “I don’t even know what to say. You know, when people ask why I can’t draw anymore. I prefer the bandages.”
A piercing silence swallowed them.
Slen was studying Yusef’s misery with dark eyes. Then she pulled free her fingerless glove and reached for Yusef’s hand. He stilled, brown eyes wide. Kidan blinked in surprise as well. It was rare for Slen to touch anyone.
Slen’s expression betrayed nothing. As if this was the most natural thing. Carefully, she slid her glove onto Yusef’s stiff fingers.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she said simply. “Whatever you tell them, they’ll believe. You decide.”
The surprise washing over Yusef was gentle.
“Like what?” Yusef’s tone was already catching light. “I burned myself roasting pumpkin seeds?”
Slen lifted her lashes. “Sure.”
“No, wait. I saved a child from a burning building. A true hero.”
Slen pulled back, her right palm bare and exposing her own scars. “Heroes die tragically. Be more interesting than that.”
This time, his grin stretched so widely, Kidan couldn’t help but beam at Slen too.
“Stop that,” Slen said, pulling her large jacket higher.
Kidan chuckled, shaking her head. Not for the first time, she was grateful for these two.
Yusef traced the glove, a curve to his lips. “Thank you.”
Slen slid him a glance again. Nodded.
Something passed between them, too faint to decipher.
The professor’s shoes echoed in the hallway before the door swung open.
“Welcome to Mastering a House Law.” Professor Andreyas’s words rose in the horribly empty room. Last semester, this room had been filled with twitching, nervous students. It was only the three now.
Kidan felt like an insect under his scrutinizing gaze, while his ancient eyes and mahogany face always gave the presence of a painting come to life.
“You should be proud of yourselves for getting this far. This is the most students I’ve had for this class.” He fixed each of them with a look. “I taught your parents in this same room. Omar Umil, the artist. Koril Qaros, the musician. Mahlet Adane, the historian.”
Their parents’ names settled a heaviness in the room. Kidan’s head bowed. It made her skin feel weird hearing her mother’s name, like wearing too-tight clothes or trying to fill out a dwarfing coat.
Slen hardened her face at the mention of her abusive father while Yusef simply looked guilty.
If the professor took note of their reactions, he said nothing.
“Actis, last semester, you had free rein over Uxlay to fulfill your studies of Dranacti, but you will be the hunted from this year on. It is the price you pay for taking a life, that is, allowing yours to be taken as well. Of course, you may defend yourself as you see fit. It’s unlikely any students will pass Dranacti this year.
I have yet to meet the cohort but I doubt they’d be as promising as you. ”
Promising. Her professor was funny.
“Now, who can tell me what the purpose of a house is?” He settled on the corner of his wide desk.
“To be mastered,” Slen offered at once.
“No, to master yourself,” he corrected, making her brow furrow.
“Houses were created to teach humans self-control. Some masters meditated alone in caves for years and understood the importance of conquering the mind and body before attempting to set foot in their houses. As such, there is no difference between a house and its master. They are one. The house echoes the mind, shares the body, and manifests the will. Master yourself and you will master the house.”
The house echoes the mind, shares the body, and manifests the will.
Kidan typed those words, absorbing the lessons eagerly. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard this. How a house and its master were not separate entities but one. It intrigued her how that worked.
Mostly, though, everything hinged on understanding this class.
“Houses abide by one singular law—only one. To impart a law on a house, there are three important criteria you will learn. We will cover this during Mastering a House Law. But first, there are two topics we must discuss. Mastering culture and mastering power.”
Kidan’s fingers tingled, her body leaning forward.
“You were all assigned readings over the break. What did you learn from Mastering Culture Before Law?”
As always, Slen began. “The Aarac translation I’ve found on the main topic is ‘culture defines law.’ One cannot set a law without knowing the parameters of a culture.”
“Do you all agree with the statement?”
They nodded.
“Then share your source.”
Unlike last time, Kidan was ready with her notes. “A small village in the highlands of Ethiopia governs itself by different laws than the city. In rural areas, a person could kill their elderly to spare them from illness, but such an act will send you to prison in most mainlands.”
The professor nodded. “A house is no different from a village or a country. It has adopted its master’s culture, and forged a law. If you demand it change its laws, the same way you demand it of a country, do you believe it will let you?”
Kidan’s brows drew together. The answer was obviously no. Professor Andreyas paused, letting the complexity of this course slowly dawn on them. Just like Dranacti, nothing would be plain or easy to understand.
“You would have to understand the master’s culture first,” Yusef said, studying his new glove. “Propose a law that fits their traditions.”
Slen glanced over her notes, messy, quick handwriting. “He’s right.”
Yusef smiled a little. “My favorite words.”
Kidan wasn’t smiling. Even though she was dead, Adane House’s current master was her mother.
In order to set a law, Kidan would have to understand Mahlet Adane’s culture. She swallowed roughly.
The professor spoke in Aarac, a sound that reminded Kidan of a rushing, twisting river.
Slen had translated it already and put it in their notes.
One must see with all four eyes of culture to master a house, or shut them permanently.
According to their readings, the four “eyes” or the Four Points of Culture were language, faith, political view, and values. In the text, they had four corresponding questions.
What language does the house master dream in?
Does the house master believe creation comes from the Last Sage or from Demasus the Fanged Lion?
Does the house master believe power should rest in community, tradition, or individuals?
Does the house master believe in bravery, revenge, loyalty, responsibility, or family?