Excerpt:

Frigid flecks of rubble, ice and souls spin up onto my legs as I hurriedly pick up my feet, and as I do so sloshing muck around me, flying up and assailing my innocent legs much like a wolf rounds on a young lame lamb, fangs bared. Strings of flesh find my bare calves, like strings of spittle from the predator’s mouth taunting me with sneers of treachery that make shivers caress my spine with icy piano fingers like Master Aleksander’s.
The road is dark as we travel along, struggling to move as fast as we can muster against the steering bursts of wind pitching upturned snow and crystals onto our sloped backs. The other boys hobble along through the blizzard, ahead of me and I see their bent backs straining, their dim lantern bobbing along fighting to withstand the conditions. And I, I fall behind, watching them from the distance as I struggle against white hot shoots of pain blossoming in my leg, pulsing just below my knee with every footfall. Gasping for breath, I am choking on each inhalation of powder that fills my lungs, searching for the air hidden in it. I am choking, struggling to reach the school, struggling to stay caught up enough that I can still see the boys ahead, still catch a glimpse of a boy called Makhelb’s illuminated body as he holds the lantern above him, a beacon in the storm.
After sickening effort, I see the great stone archway looming just in the distance, the mighty entrance to a mighty academy. I reach it panting and weak, and lean my cheek against the cool stone, trying to soften the edge of the pain in my left leg. The cool stone helps, but is not enough to smother it completely, to render me free. The other boys are gone, already inside I suppose, so I sit on the granite steps leading into the academy’s grounds for a moment to gather my strength. My breath comes in shallow wheezes, short, as if a boulder were lain upon my chest. Each pant stabs my side, in the soft flesh between my ribs, and my leg continues to throb…
I don’t sit long, for I know what is expected of me, so I brace my hand against the archway and start to stagger to my feet. Straightening my uninjured leg in an effort to hoist my limp body up, I feel a dull gnawing of pain eating away at my muscle, down to the bone, stronger, stronger…until I feel as if I might pass out from the throbbing pain. My head goes empty, faint, light, my body becomes unable to hold itself up. I suddenly lurch forward, desperately clutching the wall for support. I take steps forward, almost dragging myself forward, up the winding shadowy path, past the sleeping quarters and into the great hall of the academy’s chief building. I enter the doors pale, clammy, and with a face streaked with grime from the immense exertion of my journey.
I hobble into the building and peek into the grandest room in the academy, the Gathering Hall. I cannot quite make out the words flowing from Master’s mouth, gently and as seamlessly as rivers of silver, providing nutrients to young minds as water brings fertility to a valley of golden wheat. I cannot make out the words, but instead I hear a murmur, a low buzzing of prayer gliding off his dark lips. The boys are all seated on the benches facing up to the pulpit, their eyes not wandering, but locked on the figure of the Master, our teacher, leader, guider. No one speaks, no one makes gestures of discomfort even though they are all soaking wet with frozen snow, arctic water dripping down their legs as it melts, like tears. I enter the room as soundlessly as I can, and the gate guards shoot me looks of disapproval which infuriates me. I motion to my leg, to show them why I am late, not because I am disrespectful to the ministers nor the masters. They pay no mind, and instead cast upon me looks of scorn as I make my way to sit on the last rows of benches in the Hall. I once or twice quickly glance back at them, and catch them whispering and smirking, motioning to their legs in mock pity. One utters a rather hearty chuckle, and the room spins around to stare at them, at me.
The dark sea of boys murmurs among themselves, and eyes grow wide, interests at peak. Master’s hand goes up, and he shows the boys a look of disapproval, which causes them to disregard the disruptive circumstances. They all turn around at once with a whooshing sound caused from a hundred heads obeying at once. The hall hushes eerily, as if a veil of death fluttered over us and the boys fix their attention on the Master.
Movement stops. Breath stops. All I see is the charcoal eyes of Master Aleksander piercing my very being, penetrating into my soul. The veil lifts, and a heavy booming voice screams out of him, attacking every wall in the place, attempting to knock the whole foundation of our academy down, into a heap of broken stones and crushed mosaics. He calls my name, in a deep booming voice that causes me to weakly and timidly stand. I hoist myself to my feet, leaning on my right leg, giving it my entire weight so that I may be allowed to remain standing in this crucial time.
Master motions for me to come forward with a simple wiggling gesture of his finger. I walk unsteadily to the end of the bench I was sitting on, and I begin to strain and struggle to walk down the way. From the front to the back of the hall is a great distance, and imagining how strenuous it will be walking up to the pulpit, my brow drips sweat, and the distance multiplies in my mind. I move my right foot, inching forward with a restraining limp, straining to appear normal and fit among the boys, straining not to be below them…straining, straining…eyes staring, snickering, pointing, humiliation as I walk down the hall, in between the rows of cruel boys, all my vulnerability stripped off, me unclothed, naked in front of these harrowing creatures.
Master Aleksander rages, beckoning me to come faster, to stop this pretending and just accept punishment. I finally reach the front of the Gathering Hall, bewildered and mortified just like Aziut Malik when he was caught last year in the lavatories playing with himself. I hope I will not face the same punishment as he, although that is where my fate is headed at this point. Reaching the front of the hall, I look out to see every boy’s eyes staring at me, in loathing, disgust, malice, anger…like they will spit on me. Master wheels me around and slaps my cheek, spinning my body until I lose balance and crash onto the solid tile floor. Laughter rings out from the boys, and Master Aleksander soon joins in for a moment, only a moment I say. Not but soon after, he regains duty and composure and silences the boys, staring at me, into me, and only me.
I am spread eagle on the floor, unable to remain composure, and tears leak out of my eyes, slow at first then faster until I cannot see. A rainstorm is over me, and I am afraid I will not make it out alive. Master strikes me again and again, in front of the academy, the boys, my peers. I lay shivering and writhing on the floor while they laugh and he shrieks out “This is what Master does to little boys who do not behave, this is what he does, this is what he does, this, this, this…” each time striking me with a blow so noteworthy of a warrior, what he longs to be.
Each time he strikes me, I cry out in pain as my leg calls me to death, the fire consumes me; I sweat and shake on the exquisitely tiled floor as hundreds of warriors laugh and disgrace my weak actions.
But I cannot hold up, it is true to me that I cannot hold up…