"He's weak and look at you—you're strong, Krushem. You're like me."
_________________
Chapter 5 Losing Game
The bloodshed began not long after that first day Krushem and the others had arrived to the School for Boys.
Ever since being declared as Tedros's right hand man, Aric had had the freedom to go about hurting boys he thought acted out of line. The Doom Room had been reopened and that was where Aric would drag boys to before punishing them.
So for the past few weeks, the school was filled with bloodcurdling screams that robbed Krushem of sleep. He would stay awake, listening to poor boys screaming in agony below him until the screams would die down.
Aric had recruited Balleng and Armeq to help him in punishing the boys. Krushem had only gone into the doom room after the aftermath where he would witness battered and bruised boys shaking on the floor, their backs bloody.
Aric would tell the boys to leave and the boys would flee from the Doom Room with all the strength they had left, leaving a trail of blood in their wake. Aric hasn't assigned Krushem to punish the boys yet, but he had assigned Krushem to do cleanup.
Cleanup involved scrubbing the blood off the floors and walls and cleaning the torture weapons that Aric and Balleng and Armeq would use to inflict punishments.
Krushem couldn't fathom how Armeq and Balleng could just go along with Aric and torture poor, innocent boys without feeling sick to their stomach. Krushem was only relieved Aric hadn't asked him to help with torturing others, but he feared that time would come soon enough.
One particular day, Krsuhem was on cleanup duty again. Aric had gone to see Tedros regarding waking up the teachers or something of the sort, and he'd told Krushem to do cleanup while he was gone.
So there Krushem was, on his hands and knees in a puddle of blood scrubbing at the floor. His whole body was tense, his muscles stiff. His knees ached from resting on the hard, stone floor and his arms were sore from long use.
The smell of blood hung in the air like a storm cloud, and Krushem felt the thick blood become stuck beneath his fingernails as he worked to clean the bloody puddle on the floor before him.
Part of Krushem wondered if Aric had only assigned him on cleanup duty because he didn't think Krushem had the guts to actually torture someone. But if Aric thought he was soft, why let Krushem be one of his henchman anyway? It was clear as day the past few weeks that Aric loathed all boys who even showed an ounce of softness, so why not torture Krushem like he tortured everybody else?
Aric was a puzzling person to Krushem. He didn't know what Aric saw in him to make him his henchman. He hadn't done anything of the sort to "help bring order" to the school for boys. All he'd done was clean up Aric's messes—literally.
It was like Aric didn't see Krushem as a henchman. No, he saw Krushem like a maid. A maid!
Krushem didn't know why that made him so angry. Why would he care what Aric thought of him as anyway? Krushem was just relieved Aric didn't ask him to torture others, because Krushem didn't want to inflict pain on others. He wasn't a sadist like Aric was.
Krushem didn't want to hurt others and yet he didn't want to be hurt either. Cleanup duty was the in-between. It was an in-between Krushem preferred over everything else. So if Aric thought of him as a maid, then so be it. Krushem would be the maid and that was fine by him.
Krushem wrung the wet rag into a bucket of water and watched the blood fall drip by drip.
The silence of the doom room was almost as eerie as the sound of it when boys were being tortured. The silence almost seemed more foreboding than the screams of despairing boys. Krushem felt on edge every time he stepped foot in the empty doom room.
But the silence gave way to Krushem's focus. He found that it seemed easier for him to dig into his family history in a eerie, empty place like the Doom Room as weird as that sounded.
So when he was finished cleaning and his palms were damp with filth, Krushem would pull the family journal out of his pocket and flip it open. According to what he'd read, there was only around thirty-eight accounts of cursed people in his family. The oldest one dated back decades upon decades ago from one of Krushem's ancestors by the name of Kale.
Kale had reported seeing a witch, the same witch Krushem saw, and how that witch had foretold great doom in his life. Kale also said his parents would tell him stories about his great aunt and uncle, Jules and Romani Servetes. There was a mention that Romani and his siblings and parents were once friends with the tribe of witches, but the witches had cursed Romani and all his descendants for a reason that seemed unclear.
"Thy parents say the wenches got mad and in a tussle, Romani and his family defended themselves so. The wenches were slaughtered, they were. Every las' one of 'em. Romani and his family were wrongfully curse'd and in hopes of breaking' the curse, they cut down every last witch."
It appeared Kale and his family hated the witches. Kale said they were cursed "wrongfully" and in retaliation, Romani and his family murdered the whole tribe of witches, believing it would break the curse. But it didn't.
But the question was why were the witches angry at Romani and his family? There had to be a reason the witches had gotten so angry that they'd cursed Romani and all of his ancestors, but what was that reason?
Krushem was left with more questions than answers. It's not like he could ask the witch about anything. He was certain she wouldn't answer any of his questions.
As of late, Krushem's nightmares had become more vivid. He'd still see the witch and the raven but he'd be in that place again with the altar and seating and the field of flowers before the wave of blood would come down upon him, destroying everything in its wake and squeezing the breath from his lungs.
Krushem tried to figure out what the nightmare meant, but he came up with nothing. All he had to rely on was a family journal written by family members who'd all gone nuts in the end.
There was only answer Krushem had gotten so far during his time at the School for Boys. But that answer was only a dead end to all his hopes he'd had of breaking the curse. The Storian could not be controlled, apparently. Once upon a time, the old School Master of the schools, Rafal, had tried to control the Storian, but his attempts were futile.
So Krushem had no hope whatsoever of using the magical pen to rewrite his fate.
With a frustrated sigh, Krushem slammed the journal closed and stuffed it back into his pocket.
He figured Balleng and Armeq and Aric would be settled in the cafeteria to eat lunch by now. Krushem felt his stomach growl and he figured it'd be good to join them.
He took one last look around the doom room to double check all was cleaned before he walked out and made his way to the bathroom where he washed his dirtied hands in the sink.
As he neared the cafeteria, he could hear a cacophony of voices. He tried not to look sore as he walked in despite the fact his knees and back still ached from his rigorous cleaning of the Doom Room.
Boys sat together at tables, chattering away. It was at the far end of the cafeteria where Krushem spotted his own group. Balleng and Armeq sat beside one another, and across from them was Aric. Aric's gaze was roaming the room, his pupils knife thin.
Krushem retrieved a bucket of food for himself and approached them. Balleng and Armeq greeted him with head jerks, but Aric didn't look at him, even as Krushem sat down on the seat beside Aric.
"Finish cleaning up already?" Balleng asked, digging into his own bucket of food. "You're getting quick at that."
Krushem shrugged nonchalantly and grabbed a chicken leg from his bucket. He tore into it, tearing a chunk of meat off with his teeth. The chicken tasted dry and flavorless, but food was food.
"Soon enough Aric will have to assign you to torture someone," Balleng pointed out.
Krushem tensed and he could suddenly feel another pair of eyes on him. He turned his head to see Aric looking at him. His Violet gaze was so clear, yet dark at the same time. How could someone look so threatening just by staring?
"I think Balleng is right," Aric said, agreeing and Krushem felt his stomach drop. "By tonight there'll be a boy to be punished, and I'll need your help to see to it that he's reminded of the rules around here."
Krushem felt his palms sweat. For an instant, he gaped at Aric, and Aric's gaze narrowed as he watched Krushem's reaction.
It was like Aric was trying to determine if Krushem's loyalties really lied with him. He wanted to see if Krushem would follow his every order, especially an order involving seeing to it that someone was punished.
Would Krushem be able to follow Aric's orders this time? And if he didn't obey Aric, what would Aric do to him?
Krushem didn't understand Aric's mindset at all. He didn't know why Aric would want to go about to torture others without a care. Aric was clearly capable of great feats of strength, and he could clearly handle himself. Yet, Aric didn't use his abilities for the better—he used them for his own personal gain.
Aric was a liar. He'd said he wanted to bring order to the school for boys. But there had to be a better way to bring order that didn't involve breaking the bones and the spirits of fellow boys.
Aric didn't really want order. He just wanted to run things. He wanted to be in control.
Krushem was foolish to think Aric had truly wanted order.
"Do you got that?" Aric's voice sounded.
Krushem saw Aric's gaze was still focused upon him, laser sharp. He was waiting for Krushem to respond but Krushem had been sitting there the whole time, fumbling like a damn idiot.
"Y—yes, sir," Krushem blurted. "I got it."
Aric stared at Krushem, analyzing him like a hawk would its prey. Krushem felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he awaited for Aric to say more, to dig his knife sharp talons into Krushem's back and revel in Krushem's screams.
But then Aric stood up, taking his empty pail with him. His muscles flexed and Krushem could see the outline of Aric's chiseled chest beneath his tight fitting sleeveless shirt.
"I'll see you in the Doom Room later then, Krushem," Aric called over his shoulder as he began to walk away. "Be prepared."
Krushem turned back around in his seat, not wanting to watch Aric go. He reached into his Pail for a chicken leg.
"What's eating at you?" Armeq asked through a mouthful of food.
"Yeah," Balleng agreed, slamming his fist on the tabletop. The sound made Krushem jump, startled.
"Nothing's wrong with me, guys," Krushem lied, shaking his head.
But it was clear by the look on Armeq and Balleng's faces that they didn't believe Krushem for a second. Armeq stood and moved around the table to sit on the seat beside Krushem.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say our friend here has got cold feet," Armeq said to Balleng, slapping Krushem on the back just as he took a bite of the chicken.
The piece of chicken became lodged in Krushem's throat and he coughed, struggling to clear his airways. He managed spit the chicken out of his mouth into the pail and spun to Armeq.
"No, I don't have cold feet whatsoever, and it's stupid you think I do," Krushem tried to convince Armeq.
"Oh come on, man," Armeq huffed, rolling his eyes. "It's obvious that you ain't happy about having to torture someone. Do I blame you? Well, not really. I mean, you are an Ever and Evers don't tend to like to get their hands messy—"
"So? Balleng is from Ginnymill," Krushem pointed out.
"Do I look like an Ever?" Balleng fired back, laughing. "Just cause I'm from the kingdom of fairies doesn't mean I'm all goody two shoes."
Krushem also recalled that Aric had said he was from Foxwood, an Ever Kingdom. As far as Krushem could tell, Balleng was certainly not an Ever, nor was he part fairy.
"I'm a soldier," Krushem told the both of them. "I certainly don't mind getting my hands messy. You both saw that when we met, remember?"
Armeq chuckled and shook his head at the memory and Balleng followed suit.
"I almost hurled when you punched me in the stomach," Armeq recalled. He reached out and slapped Krushem on the back again as if he didn't know the meaning of personal space. "Well, it's my bad for saying you had cold feet. You're perfectly capable of administering punishments or Aric wouldn't have let you joined."
Krushem was relieved he'd finally resolved the topic at hand. But now his stomach felt queasy and his appetite was long gone. The thought of having to punish someone made his palms sweat.
Unable to finish his food, Krushem shoved the pail towards Armeq. "Here, eat what's left," He told Armeq, getting up from the table. "I'll be patrolling the halls. Gotta look out for boys causing trouble, am I right?"
"If you catch them, make them hurl!" Balleng called after him and Krushem heard him and Armeq's laughter mingle together as he walked away from the cafeteria.
Fellow boys sitting at tables ducked their heads and shoveled food into their mouths as Krushem walked past. Others visibly flinched if Krushem even glanced at them.
It seemed that every single boy that wasn't Armeq, Balleng and Aric feared Krushem. The uniform him and the others wore was a big warning sign, letting all their other fellow boys know they were the punishers and they had the authority to punish anyone they deemed fit.
The boys at the School for Boys feared Krushem simply because he was the henchman of Aric. Krushem had never been feared before.
Back in Altazzara, Krushem's fellow soldiers hadn't been wary of him. They'd treated him like he was their own because he was, and as a soldier, they'd had similar duties to uphold.
Didn't all the boys at the School for boys have similar goals? Didn't they all wish to capture Sophie, the witch of Woods Beyond and get Tedros's reward?
The School for boys and Altazzara were similar in that regard; they were both made of people working towards similar goals.
Tedros was the king of this kingdom. Or at least that's what it appeared to be. Who was really calling the shots and putting future soldiers into line was Tedros's right hand man, Aric. And all the boys being put into line were the future soldiers who'd possibly have to engage in a war with their rival school, the School for Girls.
Krushem wandered aimlessly through the school until he found himself in the old exhibition of evil. He stared at the relics within the glass cases and caught sight of a stuffed bird in the back of the case.
The bird was black as night, forever poised in the same perched position. It's normal, beady black gaze was fixated on Krushem.
Krushem wondered if it was the witch's raven. Maybe she'd placed it there to taunt him. Or maybe it was just a random stuffed raven.
But still, Krushem found himself opening the case up, and he reached in to touch the bird. As his fingers grazed its waxy feathers, he glimpsed someone standing behind him in the reflection of the glass.
"Is Aric the raven from my dreams?" Krushem blurted.
He watched the witch's ruby gaze glint. Her lips curled up into a mischievous smile, and she tipped her head up to the ceiling as if to give Krushem the silent treatment.
"Only time will tell, Usmere," the witch told him, evading his question with a riddle.
Krushem sighed, and stared at the stuffed bird. He turned around to stare at the witch, but when he spun around, the witch was gone as if she'd never been there in the first place.
~~•~~ ~~•~~ ~~•~~
The Doom Room looked the same as when Krushem left it after finishing up his cleaning. But this time, there was a boy there.
The boy's countenance was that of a frightful mouse. His lips were ajar in a silent gasp of horror, his eyes wide and tearful. His arms were spread out on either side of him, his wrists shackled and chained to the wall behind him.
The boy's shirt had been torn off him, and Krushem could see the boy trembling like a leaf in the wind, chest heaving as the boy sucked in gasps of air.
Aric loomed over the boy, his coiled black whip clutched in his fist. Dressed head to toe in black, muscles flexing beneath his tight sleeveless shirt, Aric looked every inch a predator. His Violet gaze flickered from his captor to his henchman standing there, and a cruel smile found its way on Aric's face.
"You came, just as I asked," Aric greeted Krushem. He extended his arm to beckon Krushem forward.
Krushem could barely move. His body was stiff in horror. He was sure he looked much like the boy chained to the wall. It took every inch of his willpower to step closer to the sadist standing before him.
"I caught Leroy here trying to run off to the School for Girls," Aric informed Krushem. "As if that dreadful school would welcome him anyway. They'd probably enslave him and use him for their own benefit. The fool. That's why he deserves to be punished. He needs to know his place."
Krushem saw the cold resolve on Aric's face. He was hardened, emotionless. It was a stark contrast to what Krushem felt. His hands shook as he took the weapon Aric offered him, and as he struggled to steady his shaking hands, he found that the weapon Aric had given him wasn't just any weapon.
It was a dagger, the blade rusted with blood. It was Aric's dagger, the same one he carried with him everywhere he went, the same dagger he seemed to cherish above all else.
Krushem rubbed his palm over the worn leather handle. The leather was warm, and Krushem dared to trace a fingertip over the blade. It wasn't smooth. It was crusty and as Krushem raked his fingernail over the rusted blade, flecks of dry blood fell to the ground.
"The first time I held that dagger, I stabbed a man in the leg," Aric told Krushem.
Krushem looked at Aric and found Aric had drawn closer. He could feel Aric's hot breath against his skin and followed Aric's gaze to the dagger.
"Why?" Krushem blurted, not knowing what else to say.
Aric's violet gaze narrowed and for a moment he seemed deep in thought as if lost in a memory from long ago. Then, a chuckle escaped him, and he shook his head.
"Because he deserved it," Aric replied.
Aric's reply was no surprise to Krushem. He knew in Aric's eyes, every person he tortured or hurt was deserving of punishment. Just like the boy chained to the wall right now. Aric believed this boy was in need of punishment just because the boy had tried to run off to the school that their own school was at war with.
But the boy—Leroy—was just scared. Leroy's fear had driven him to try to seek safety in a school he believed was better than the one he was in. Krushem didn't blame Leroy for that. After all, the School for Boys was practically run by a sadist who'd punish anyone he could get his hands on.
Chained up with no escape, Leroy was in an impossible position. With Aric's dagger in his trembling hand and Aric himself staring him down, Krushem was in an impossible position too.
This was a losing game for both Krushem and Leroy. If Krushem didn't punish Leroy, Aric would be pissed. Leroy would be punished either way, whether it be by Krushem or Aric.
There was no winning here.
"We need to set an example for boys who try to run off to the school that we're at war with," Aric insisted, raising his whip. He lashed it against the ground and the snapping sound that echoed in the doom room made Leroy flinch.
Staring into Leroy's tearful gaze, Krushem felt his heart break. Every inch of Krushem screamed at him to save the boy before him, to unshackle him and set him free despite the consequences that would surely follow. But Krushem was frozen, unable to move.
"I want you to kill him," Aric stated, and Krushem stared at Aric in alarm.
"Ki—kill him?" Krushem stammered. "Bu—but why?"
"Cause I'm ordering you to," Aric fired back. He raised the whip as if he was gonna hit Krushem with it. It was a strict intimidation tactic, and Krushem braced himself for the pain.
"Do it," Aric said. His voice was biting, leaving no room for argument.
Krushem wanted to drop the knife, to run out of the Doom Room and get out of the impossible position he was currently in. But Aric would hurt him—Aric might as well kill him for all he knew.
But Krushem couldn't just let an innocent boy die. He'd never forgive himself if he let Leroy die.
"When the teachers wake up, they'll be upset that you're killing off fellow students. They might just kick you out," Krushem protested, finding his voice. But his attempts to put a stop to Aric's torture were futile.
Aric's face was now a mask of contempt. His teeth were gnashed, his violet gaze flaming. But Krushem stood his ground, struggling not to flinch in the wake of Aric's anger. He would not let himself be intimidated by Aric.
"Do it—Do it NOW!" Aric's order was a ferocious bark. The sound resonated through Krushem's skull like an alarm going off that he couldn't ignore.
Krushem didn't know what to do.
Disobey or Obey.
Kill or be killed.
Aric suddenly grabbed Krushem's arm and hauled him towards Leroy. Krushem found himself face to face with Leroy, his face a mess of tears.
It seemed Aric was making the choice for Krushem. Krushem had to kill Leroy and by doing so, prove his loyalty to Aric.
Aric unchained Leroy and Leroy's arms fell to his sides. But Leroy didn't try to run as if he knew running was no use. Aric would stop him anyhow. Leroy just stared at the dagger in Krushem's hand and sobbed as if he'd accepted his fate.
"I gave you an order, Krushem," Aric hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "Obey."
Krushem felt his face become hot. He wiped sweat off his forehead with a shaky hand and gripped Aric's dagger with the other one. Krushem contemplated stabbing Aric. But he knew if he did manage to stab Aric, Aric would live and retaliate with full force. And then where would Krushem be—Krushem would be the one in chains.
There was no other choice. Save Leroy or save himself.
"I—I'm sor—sorry," Krushem choked out, unable to look into Leroy's scared gaze anymore. He turned his face away and raised his arm up, dagger poised to plunge down.
He didn't know where he aimed. But next thing he knew, his arm came down and the blade sunk into flesh. There was a sickening crunch sound accompanied by a bloodcurdling scream. Krushem felt something warm and heavy soak his hand as he froze his arm.
Krushem dared to look at what he'd done, and when he saw what was before him, a choked gasp escaped him. He dropped the dagger in shock and it clattered to the floor.
The dagger had met its mark. But that mark had been Leroy's poor hand. Leroy's pointer finger and middle finger were gone, replaced by stumps that gushed blood all over the floor.
When Krushem's gaze dropped down, he caught sight of Leroy's severed fingers. They rolled across the floor and met the tip of Krushem's boots.
Krushem's hand flew to his mouth in horror. His throat burned and he felt as if he was about to hurl. The horror of what he'd done sunk in, and he felt sick to his stomach.
But putting his hand over his mouth was a bad move because that was the hand that was coated in Leroy's blood. Krushem tasted the iron and he bent over and spat at the ground to get the taste out of his mouth.
Krushem was so busy ejecting the taste of Leroy's blood out of his mouth that he didn't notice when Aric picked up the his fallen dagger off the floor, nor did he notice when Aric was standing right beside him.
"Look at what you've done," Aric said, but Krushem couldn't bring himself to look again.
Krushem expected Aric to be angry at him for not killing Leroy. But instead, he felt a hand on the back of his neck. It was surprisingly warm, and Krushem found that the hand belonged to Aric. He turned his head and found himself gazing into Aric's violet eyes.
Aric leant close, but there was no anger on his cold face. Before Krushem knew what Aric was doing, he felt Aric's hot breath against his ear.
"He's weak and look at you—you're strong, Krushem. You're like me," Aric murmured against Krushem's ear.
Krushem wanted to pull away, to put as much distance between him and Aric as possible. But Aric's words stopped him.
Aric was wrong! Krushem and him were nothing alike. Krushem didn't want to hurt anybody. That was the last thing he wanted to do.
"You wanted me to kill him," Krushem pointed out, finding the strength to speak. "I didn't kill him."
Why wasn't Aric pissed that Krushem hadn't done as he asked? Why had he strangely complimented Krushem for doing the opposite of what he'd ordered him to do?
Aric crouched down and reached out. Krushem watched as he picked up one of Leroy's severed fingers and without a word, placed it in Krushem's hand.
Krushem was too shocked to even throw it away from him. All he could do was stare at the severed finger bleeding in the palm of his hand and filling in the grooves of his palm with blood.
"You don't want to be like him. That's why you follow me," Aric said as if he had Krushem figured out, as if he knew all along that Krushem was only following him out of fear. "But I wouldn't take in someone who was weak. I see potential in you. This was a test, Krushem. I wanted to see if you were willing to do as I said without complaint. And you did, in a way."
Krushem understood now that Aric telling him to kill Leroy was just a game to Aric. Aric had wanted to break Krushem, strip Krushem to the bone and see who Krushem really was inside.
Krushem should've been grateful that Aric saw "potential" in him and that he'd somehow taken Aric's test with results that Aric was pleased with. But Krushem was angry. He was angry that Aric had used him like this, messed with his head and made him hurt Leroy.
That anger was fiery hot and it made Krushem's blood boil. He clenched his fists and his jaw tightened as he spun on Aric, his rage bubbling to the surface and threatening to explode right then and there.
But Aric was oddly calm. He twirled his dagger in his hand as if it was a toy and stared back at Krushem, his violet gaze expressing a look of sick pleasure.
"Use that anger, revel in it," Aric told Krushem, unswayed by Krushem's rage. "You feel too much, Krushem. But feelings are weak. They're not going to get you anywhere in the end. In the end, you'll just be thrown out because you stupidly let your emotions get the better of you."
Aric's voice was a whip, rough and brutal. The conviction in his voice startled Krushem. He didn't know whether Aric's words were a threat or if Aric was giving him advice.
It was either Aric was warning Krushem to let go of his morals so he could get done what "needed" to be done or Aric was just letting Krushem know how he needed to change himself.
But there was something strange about Aric's words though as if he was speaking from personal experience. Krushem recalled Aric had said he left his home in Foxwood when they first met. But looking back at it, Krushem recognized the half truth in Aric's voice.
Perhaps, Aric hadn't willingly left Foxwood like he said. Krushem himself hadn't been kicked out by his family—it was a lie he'd told the group because the actual truth was too complicated to reveal. Maybe Aric's departure from Foxwood wasn't so different than Krushem's departure from Altazzara.
Aric spoke about being thrown out because of feeling emotions. Was it himself and his own personal experiences he spoke of when he said this?
Had Aric been thrown out of his home in Foxwood and the reason to blame for that was him feeling emotions?
There was more to the story, Krushem knew. But he knew Aric wasn't one to go about and reveal every detail of a story that Krushem had no business knowing about. So all Krushem could do was wonder the reason of Aric's departure from Foxwood and wonder how Aric's sick twisted mind operated.
Staring at the severed finger in his palm, Krushem felt himself shaking as he wondered what had happened to Aric to turn him into the sadist he was today.
"Boys don't cry, Krushem," Aric went on. "Emotions are weak. Don't be weak. Don't disappoint me."
Krushem looked up and watched Aric leave before Krushem was left alone with Leroy cradling his wounded hand on the floor.
Leroy's sobs filled the room, and Krushem watched Leroy bury his head into his knees and cry. The tears kept coming and as his sobs drilled through Krushem's skull, Krushem wondered if Leroy would ever be strong at all.