The One-Eyed King: The One-Eyed King Trilogy, #1

By Kenny S. Rich

In a futuristic world still reeling from the ashes of protracted nuclear warfare, there are levels to humanity. With the planet's scarce resources severely depleted, survival of the fittest is once more the way of the world. But when one ruling order decides who is fit, equality is history and oppression is the new normal. 

Into this chaotic world hostile to the disabled, a blind orphan boy is thrust. Iori is kidnapped by an unlikely resistance and trained for many years as the ruling order gets closer to discovering their whereabouts. These soldiers literally can't see and this handicap has become their greatest strength. Not only are their other senses heightened to the point of giving them superior fighting skills, but they also represent the only hope for a human race with a peaceful, true and just vision for the future. As he comes of age, Iori will learn that sometimes, it is necessary to fight fire with fire. 

The One-Eyed King delivers a unique vision of a future society that could resemble our own. Inspired by defining works such as The Road, Gone, the Divergent trilogy, and The Hunger Games series, fans of the sci-fi and dystopian genres will enjoy this frantic and frenetic adventure replete with mystery, believable characters of every moral inclination, and unforeseen outcomes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Infotainment Press
• Release date: Nov 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781517627645

Kenny S. Rich

Kenny S. Rich is a Cameroonian-born American author and motivational speaker. He graduated from the University of Houston with a BA in PR & Advertising, and recently earned his global MBA from Hult International Business School. Kennyrich has authored three books to date: 'The Glass,' 'The Black Plagues,' and his debut novel, 'The One-Eyed King,' which marks his first foray into the adventurous world of Science Fiction & Fantasy. He currently works as an entrepreneur, running his own online creative writing platform, Enrich by Kennyrich.

Book preview

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to all blind people living around the world today. It is dedicated to the idea that what we perceive as a ‘disability’ in others might actually be an ‘enabler’ or a ‘power.’ The blind characters in this book believe in such a philosophy that, The eyes can see what lies before them, but the mind can see what lies beyond. Ultimately, it is all about mind over matter.

—May your Mind’s Eye always see you through—

PROLOGUE

The eyes shall see what lies before,

The mind shall see what lies beyond.

My eyes have failed me once before,

They shall fail me not once more.

I now close my eyes to what lies before,

So I may see what lies beyond.

–The All-Seeing Army

They say, In the Land of the Blind, the one-eyed man is king. This does beg the question, In the Land of the Blind, how do they know who’s got one eye?

In a mysterious world unseen to the eyes of man and undetectable by the global positioning systems of his technology, a most unusual army is being raised in utmost secrecy. Their mission? To rid the earth of all who are not their kind. Their kind? The blind.

"So, tell me, when was the last time you spoke to a blind person? Better yet, when was the first time you spoke to a blind person? Ah, but I bet you consider yourself a good person, a normal person? While we the blind, are disabled as you label us, or special as you patronize us? Well, I’m about to show you just how special we are, but not as your feeble, limited minds can possibly conceive.

They say, In the Land of the Blind, the one-eyed man is king. This does beg the question, In the Land of the Blind, how do they know who’s got one eye?

No, what I am about to reveal to you will blind you in its irony. Some have eyes but cannot see, some can see but have no eyes. Which would you rather be? Oh, I’m about to educate your world on just how enabled we are. Henceforth, we shall no longer be invisible to you. Open your eyes, you insolent myopic people, the All-Seeing Army approaches.

–The All-Seeing King

PART I

Chapter 1

The Flash

Our lives flash before our eyes right before we are blinded.

It was the twilight of an ungodly hour. The year was 2029. There was a sudden flash of bright red light, followed by a monstrous scream, and then a powerful explosion that sent a deafening thunder across Sacred Heart. That was two years ago. Iori [eye-oh-ree] had been only nine years old then. He was discovered in the middle of the storage room across the cornfields behind the Main Hall, face down on the ground.

The first responder had been Bethlehem. She’d seen the dreadful look on his face through a window right before the flash had almost blinded her. Apparently, she’d been spying on him as he’d snuck out that night. When Sister Eva and Robert Syke found little Bethlehem, she was in a frenzy, screaming over Iori’s motionless body while fervently shaking him. He was burned and badly bruised. The room itself was a debris-laden blackened mess.

The adults calmed the little girl down before leading the two children back toward the Main Hall. Syke carried Iori into the infirmary as Sister Eva followed. As she turned to shut the door behind them, she instructed Bethlehem to return to her dorm room at once, scolding the little girl for being out past the orphanage’s strict 9:00 p.m. lights out.

It was folly to think that the little girl would comply then. From the discreet glances they’d given each other during their long walk back, and their frequent interrogation of what exactly she’d seen, Bethlehem suspected that these two knew something they weren’t telling, so she decided she’d eavesdrop instead.

Standing about two feet away from the thick and heavy door, she heard voices, but could hardly make out what was being said, or who was saying what. She moved closer, gently placed both hands on the door, and pressed her right ear against the dull mahogany.

This is just what we feared, the boy might be evil, a woman’s voice spoke.

Bethlehem was confident it belonged to Sister Eva. All the children swore they could recognize her voice from a mile away. When she was angry or annoyed—which according to them, was way too often—her voice sounded like the growl of a hungry bear.

It makes no sense. First of all, how does a blind boy behave as if he can see? a bewildered Syke asked.

Bethlehem was sure it was him because right before the door was shut in her face, she’d seen only three people in the room besides Iori—Sister Eva, Robert Syke, and the facility nurse, Ms. Worthington, a middle-aged woman who seemed too sadistic to be in health care administration. She always pursed her lips while drawing the children’s blood when they were sick. Many of them claimed that sometimes, she’d smile during the painful process. Some even accused the woman of secretly leading another life in which she was a vampire. No one really believed that.

Bethlehem thought intently about Syke’s question, realizing that she too often wondered as much about Iori. Everyone at the orphanage did. By all medical accounts, the boy was blind. To add insult to injury, he also had no iris in one eye. Nevertheless, the boy had no long cane in his possession, and he didn’t use guides or even a guard dog; he also didn’t wear glasses or advanced contact lenses. Yet somehow, the blind boy walked upright, dressed himself correctly, and always found the other children when they played Hide and Seek.

He even proved to be the fastest player in Quartier—a heralded annual football tournament modeled after classic, world famous leagues, with teams such as Bordeaux and Marseille from the French Ligue 1, and Juventus from the Italian Serie A. That Iori was an adept soccer player despite being blind, was shocking to say the least.

Because of his unusual appearance, and uncanny ability to see with his mind—as he claimed he did—Iori had become quite the local legend, or a mythical folklore character, except in this fantasy no one knew whether the boy was a hero or a villain.

Look, here comes the One-Eyed King, his bullies would often say as they taunted him. They were onto something. Some said that the mysterious boy had a blind father and a normal mother. Others claimed that he was born with no iris in either eye, but in some unnatural manner, had grown one, and it was only a matter of time before the other followed suit.

Others argued the opposite was true—that the boy was born with normal eyes, but had somehow lost one iris in a freak accident. The stories were comical at best and ridiculous at worst, but at least one theory seemed plausible—that Iori was a victim of a rare genetic anomaly caused by radioactive residue from the fallout following the devastating nuclear war.

Maybe we should have the reverend examine him after all, Ms. Worthington suggested in a timid tone.

Syke scoffed, The boy’s a potential weapon of mass destruction, only human. He doesn’t need an exorcism. What he needs is an experiment. Syke was in his fifties and remembered what the old days were like. Besides, strange things have been happening in the world since the war ended. People are different, skeletons of the skeleton of our old humanity. Crime and poverty are cultural norms today. That’s news to no one. It was that way before the war, but at least back then people fought these ills. I’m afraid today we’re no longer living, just surviving.

For a moment, he seemed to reflect on his monologue as a giant frown appeared on his hard brow. I don’t know about you two, but honestly, if pigs flew outside this window, I’d be anything but dumbfounded.

Bethlehem heard nothing but utter silence for a moment. She pressed her ear even closer against the old door.

I say we hand him over to the military, the regional ARK Government, Ms. Worthington broke the silence, somebody, anybody. You know they’ve been asking ever since the first incident.

Sister Eva folded her arms for a moment as if considering the nurse’s suggestion. Well, we could use the money. This facility is in shambles.

Don’t get me wrong, I like the cute little waste of a boy, believe it or not, but this is the third time it has happened. I’m tired of treating his ugly burns and bruises, so I say let him be someone else’s problem.

Listen, you’re not the only one who wants him out of here, Sister Eva scolded her subordinate. I feel it’s too dangerous to keep him here. Besides the incredible damage he’s obviously capable of, I have a strong feeling that something’s coming for him. She paused as she gazed out the window at the far end of the room where the boy lay, still unconscious. "Something dark and evil," she continued with a pensive frown.

Syke and Ms. Worthington glanced at the bed because the boy had stirred as Sister Eva had spoken again, but to their relief, he didn’t wake up.

Shaking his head, Syke broke the awkward silence that had ensued, "What are you talking about? Just look at him. With all due respect, Sister, the boy has nobody in this godforsaken world. Only his mother could want him, and we all know her controversial story."

Bethlehem suspected he may have been whispering because she heard him only faintly this time. She adjusted her eavesdropping position, switching to her left ear and pressing even harder against the door.

Ms. Worthington raised a hand. Do you mean the government? They’re evil, all right.

Still staring toward the window, Sister Eva appeared distraught as if recalling some ominous premonition. Finally, she replied, No, I wish it were the crooked politicians, but this I— she hesitated, I fear is something far worse.

Syke and Ms. Worthington shifted uncomfortably, exchanging confused glances.

Glancing back at her staff, Sister Eva instructed, "Listen, nothing’s changed. You are not to repeat the contents of this conversation to anyone. Not a single word. I don’t want to cause a stir among the staff and the other children. We need not give them any more reason to hurt the boy, or worse yet to be afraid of him.

Mr. Syke, I’ll leave it to you to explain to our small community what happened here tonight. You seem to have handled it convincingly the last couple of times. As for what happens next, pray it’s the ARK who comes for him first. Sister Eva turned and strode toward the door, signaling she’d spoken the final words of this impromptu meeting.

Bethlehem slowly backed away from her eavesdropping position, leaving only her hands against the door.

And what about the curious little kitten? Syke asked, staying Sister Eva’s exit. From the terrified look on her face, it appears she, too, has seen the flash. I fear she may suspect something. She could betray our silence on the matter.

Bethlehem gasped, detaching herself from the door this time as she raised her hands to cover her mouth. Oh, my God.

Pausing a few feet from the door, without turning back around, Sister Eva calmly replied. Well, Mr. Syke, I trust you know what to do.

Ah, of course, Sister, he flashed his signature sadistic grin, I don’t mean to brag but I’d say I’ve become quite good at teaching Selective Memory. It’s my favorite course.

The sound of footsteps grew more audible. A frantic Bethlehem knew better than to stick around. In an instant, she dashed into a full sprint down the corridor toward her dormitory and was out of sight before the creaking sound of a knob turning could be heard. She must have run faster than any eight-year-old had ever run before.

A moment later, as she lay awake in her bottom bunk bed at that ungodly hour, she tried putting the pieces of the puzzle together. Could it be that the generator hadn’t randomly blown up twice before, like ‘Psycho’ had led the children and the other staff members to believe? Maybe it was really Iori who’d been responsible for those explosions in the middle of the night? Bethlehem wondered how many secrets Iori didn’t know about himself. Poor Mysterio Boy, she thought as she shut her eyes and prayed.

Wincing in pain, Iori finally opened his eyes to pitch black darkness. He sighed and lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything he’d heard the grownups say. Like on many previous nights, he had somehow heard everything, all while supposedly unconscious. He heard the questions swirling about in his head:

Who am I? What am I? They swear I’m blind, but during rare moments, I do see, even in the dark. And it’s so weird because all I’m used to seeing is darkness. In my eyes, night and day are the same. I can’t see anything, but I hear everything, even in my sleep. Am I ever truly asleep, then? Why do these strange things keep happening to me? It happened again. My eye! In a single flash, I saw everything. I saw the light! Everything around me was a glorious, bright red light! So amazing, so beautiful! Why can’t it always be that way?

Rising from the hard mattress, Iori trudged to the corner of the infirmary and stared out of the window. Who am I, really? Where am I from? Who’s coming for me? He remembered the recurring strange visions he’d have. Could they possibly be real? Are there really others out there like me? A peculiar figure often resurfaced in his dreams. He felt sure he’d never seen this figure before and he could hardly remember what it looked like. However, he did recall it being a silhouette of a tall, muscular, older man, with a dark presence.

Iori cringed at the thought of this horrid vision and the eerie feeling that followed, yet he subconsciously longed for an encounter. The uncanny boy couldn’t explain why because he didn’t understand, but somehow, he knew their fates were intertwined.

Present Day...

It was 1:00 a.m. again and there was a sudden flash of bright red light. No screams, no explosion, and no deafening noise this time; just an eleven-year-old boy staring into the darkness through the lone window in the Isolation Room. The bright flash must have come from his blank right eye because there was a steady red glow in it now. Iori had an unnerving feeling that eyes were watching him.

Who— he hesitated, What are you?

Chapter 2

No Ordinary Boy

Some people are different by design.

Like Iori, many of the children at Sacred Heart wished the world had ended before their birth. Although located in the Cradle of Mankind, also known as Ethiopia, Sacred Heart was an unimpressive piece of real estate where life always seemed gloomy. The orphanage’s dark, bluish-gray walls perfectly articulated the mood of its residents.

Iori did not like it there, but he knew he had nowhere else to go. He’d been at this miserable place way too long and was growing tired of the pretentious people—such as the weird janitor, Jargen, who swore his menial job was a curse for a vile act he’d committed in another life. 

Jargen was far from spiritual or religious. The only thing he seemed to believe in was his hypothesis about his cruel reincarnation, as he liked to describe his current situation. Everyone found his belief ironic because he worked in an orphanage named after a famous Catholic moniker for the Foundation of Christianity—the Sacred Heart of Jesus Christ.

The truth was, the only thing remotely Christian about this place was its name and basic infrastructure, although it was run by a nun—Sister Eva Adamson, a strict, old white lady who hired anyone who claimed to have the faintest idea about how to discipline children. These people didn’t care about their jobs one bit. They lumbered around like zombies, going about their routine tasks as if working for a modern day assembly line.

As for the obnoxious Jargen, he would rattle on about how he was just doing his time for a previous life of crime and when he died, he’d return in the next life as a Persian King. He was fifty-six—close enough to death, he figured, by today’s standard mortality rates. In reality, Jargen may have been traumatized by the war, suffering from either Schizophrenia or some form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

After all, he’d been working overseas in Europe before he was drafted to fight when the war began. Some even suggested that the vile act he referred to was a war crime committed during this life. That’s why no one blamed him for his bitter attitude toward everyone. The children would sometimes hear his cries at night, and everyone seemed to understand his nightmares.

Sacred Heart Orphanage had four dormitories, or ‘Houses’ as they were called, each named after a famous Catholic Saint—St. Peter, St. John, St. Francis, and St. Thomas. The houses were coed because the orphanage lacked sufficient resources to accommodate boys and girls in separate dormitories. Each house had two prefects—one male, one female—referred to as ‘House Captains.’ They were typically older teenagers, aged fifteen to seventeen. The boys and girls who served in this capacity could be re-elected or replaced each year, and they held significant responsibility for the children in their houses.

Upon arriving at the orphanage, each child was assigned to a house at random and, interestingly enough, would come to manifest the stereotypes attributed to that house. Iori and Bethlehem both belonged to St. John, reputed for housing generally well behaved children. Each dorm housed twenty-five children, give and take those who, for whatever reason, could not be accounted for.

It was a non-negotiable policy of Sacred Heart that without exception, all children, upon their eighteenth birthday were to graduate from the orphanage, after which they would be sent out to fend for themselves. Resources were scarce, and they had to continue making room for new, younger orphans.

Although Iori wasn’t fond of Jargen or any of the orphanage staff, he understood that he was in no position to call anybody weird. The circumstances surrounding his own birth shadowed his past and blinded his future; and to everyone, including himself, he was anything but normal. All he knew for certain was that he had been born in the winter of 2020, the same year as World War Three had officially begun.

You’re one strange boy, aren’t you? Sister Eva would often remind him with a troll-like grin. This happened practically every time she encountered him, which was usually in her glorified museum of an office or at a board meeting where he was often a subject on the agenda; a meeting featuring an unorthodox gathering of executives whose involvement in the affairs of the small local orphanage seemed highly atypical.

What were the town’s chief fire marshal, a high ranking school superintendent, a local reverend, and even the small town’s mayor doing serving together on the executive board of an antique orphanage run by a sadistic old nun? But like most questions Iori had, he ceased to investigate further almost as immediately as they arose.

Iori had never known love but remembered how he had once felt her. He was a mild-mannered boy with a divided heart who didn’t care for anyone, except for Bethlehem, the only other child at the orphanage who was nice to him. Bethlehem was a sweet little girl with beautiful hazel eyes, a near golden complexion, a radiant smile, and long, curly, jet-black hair. She had a happy-go-lucky attitude and could often be seen skipping through the corridors of the building, smiling and clutching her copy of the Holy Bible to her chest.

Like most of the orphans at Sacred Heart, she’d lost her newlywed father during the war, and her young mother had died of a broken heart not long thereafter, leaving the three month old Bethlehem in the care of her grandmother, a devout Christian. It was she who had first taught Bethlehem to pray. Once her grandmother died, Bethlehem had no family left, so she was brought to the doors of Sacred Heart at the tender age of three.

Of all the people at Sacred Heart Orphanage, Bethlehem was the most intrigued by Mysterio Boy, as she’d playfully call Iori. She said she loved his pretty eye but she wasn’t referring to his big left eye featuring an iris decorated with different shades of sparkling blue. She meant his big, all-white, blank right eye.

Iori thought Bethlehem was weird for insisting on being friends with him, even though he appreciated her friendship. He didn’t see himself as handsome, but he liked to imagine that he was. He didn’t think he could be good-looking while missing an iris in one eye.

In truth, he had endearing features—a near caramel complexion, a long, rectangular face featuring eyelashes arguably too long for a boy, and short, curly, jet-black hair that made him appear to be of mixed racial heritage. However, he was born in the former African nation of Ethiopia. Iori had never known his parents and, because he could not see his own reflection, he couldn’t even guess what either of them might have looked like.

Despite his generic indifference to almost everyone, Iori hated no one, not even the bullies who ridiculed him because of his abnormal anatomy. He naively figured that if they all shared a single common opinion of him, then it must have been the truth. Therefore, their disposition wasn’t their fault, but his. At his tender age, he knew little about life, but he knew one thing was true—he was far from content with his as it was.

He often dreamed of something greater, and one day accomplishing an achievement of epic proportions. Yet, what his dreams told him he would have to do scared him senseless. He believed this was the reason he wanted to continue living, although he would have just as quickly accepted a premature death. Anything but this boring life, he often thought. Something told him that fateful day would come sooner than he really wished.

Iori neither liked nor disliked Sister Eva, he just didn’t trust her, and was not especially fond of her verbal jabs about his mysterious condition. For the first three years of his life, while he’d been privileged to still enjoy sight in his normal left eye, he’d only needed to look at his reflection across any glistening surface to come face-to-face with this truth. His blind right eye, devoid of an iris, was a perfect, permanent reminder that he was... well, different.

Chapter 3

Some Birthday

What makes a birthday happy?

Abright-eyed Bethlehem ran down a corridor carrying a book almost the same size as her. Good morning, Mysterio Boy! She wore a big smile on her face and seemed proud of herself for coming up with what she thought was a clever nickname for her unusual friend.

Hey, Betty.

How are you feeling?

Alive. That was about as enthusiastic as Iori would get this morning.

Let me guess, another bad dream?

You could call it that, Iori replied. The visions keep getting worse.

I’m sorry.

You shouldn’t be. There’s nothing you can do about it.

Be... that... as... it... may, Bethlehem retorted in what she liked to call her grown-up voice. I’ve got just the thing to cheer you up. Here, hold this a sec. She handed her over-sized textbook to Iori as she reached for her backpack and started digging in. HAPPY BIRTHDAY! She pulled out a black wristband from a side pocket.

Iori handed the textbook back to Bethlehem as he awkwardly accepted her gift.

Well, put it on.

Uh, what is it?

A wristband. You do know what that is, right?

I do, but I’ve never had to wear one.

Bethlehem laughed. "You never have to wear one, silly. You just do."

If you say so. Iori finally managed to wear it on his left wrist after fumbling it through his fingers a few times. "Sic... Parvis... Magna, he muttered the Latin words inscribed in fine white cursive on the black wristband. What does that mean?"

Wait a minute, how did you do that? Bethlehem asked, puzzled.

Do what?

How did you read what was written on it?

Lucky guess?

C’mon, Iori, I’m being serious. I really want to know.

I felt the text and figured out the letters in my mind. How do you think I ever read anything?

You can do that? But it’s not even written in Braille. Nothing here is in Braille.

Braille... what’s that?

Bethlehem couldn’t believe it. OK, genius, are you sure you’re truly blind? Sometimes, you make it hard to believe.

I wish I wasn’t, you know, he replied, disappointment in his tone.

OK, I rest my case. Even small things can become great.

Huh?

That’s what those words mean, or something like that. My grandmother had a weird sense of humor. She’d sometimes give me wristbands like this with inspiring messages written on them. The trick was figuring out their meaning, of course, because the text was never in English.

Iori smirked. Now who’s the genius? That’s interesting because you’re small, and as smart as you are, I’m sure you’ll be great one day.

Hey, I’m not small! Bethlehem’s smile turned into a pout.

Yes, you are.

Whatever.

But I’m guessing your grandmother’s little exercise was how you got to be so smart, so it’s all good.

Maybe? Bethlehem flashed her disarming smile again. She could never stay upset with Iori for too long. You know, Iori, you should smile more. It’ll make you feel better.

OK, I’ll try. Iori did his best imitation of Bethlehem’s smile, but only succeeded in looking goofy.

Bethlehem laughed out loud. Oh, and it also means you’re a nice person.

You know, I’m not so sure about that one. I think we’d both agree that these guys are not very nice.

What guys? She investigated her surroundings. Finally noticing the intimidating group of kids who had just appeared from around the bend at the far corner of the corridor, Bethlehem understood at once. These ‘Spidey’ senses of yours. She shook her head, envious Iori could perceive things before her, even though of the two, she was the one who could see. Anyway, ‘not very nice’? That’s an understatement. I can’t stand them!

There must have been at least eight of them. Leading the charge was an unlikely trio, the ‘Notorious Big Three’ as they liked to call themselves. They loved having a good time at Iori’s expense. Sure enough, the bullies wore the most sadistic looking smiles on their faces as they approached Iori and Bethlehem, who’d agreed to walk past them and get to class in a hurry. As they got closer, the larger group of kids got in their way.

Yo, Iori, a voice hollered, a little birdie told us today is your birthday. It was Rafael, a tall, dark fifteen-year-old boy who was foul mouthed and stubborn. He was often punished for his juvenile pranks, and it appeared he’d become quite immune to the whip. He’d also made it his personal mission to get Iori in as much trouble as possible and would display a sadistic smile whenever Iori was then punished as a result of his antics.

And you wanna know what we did to the little birdie? asked a shorter boy who appeared to be the sidekick. His name was Lorenzo, a stout, freckle-faced fourteen-year-old who didn’t seem capable of formulating any opinion of his own. It was as if his every word was a mere echo of Rafael’s. Iori faced them in silent indifference.

I shot down that poor little birdie with my rubber gun, that’s what, Rafael answered, extending his smile.

And we’ll be having it for lunch today, Lorenzo added, flashing an awkward smile through a set of ugly, crooked teeth.

Never one to mince her words, Bethlehem decided it was time to chime in. Now that’s just gross.

Shut up, you little brat! The lone female member of the Notorious Big Three always felt the need to assert herself whenever Bethlehem spoke. Her name was Samara, and she fancied herself too pretty for her own good, and for most of the other girls too, which was why she preferred the company of boys. She was only fourteen, but looked well into her early twenties.

Listen, guys, we’re just trying to get to class, we don’t want any trouble with you. Iori had said this line too many times and was weary of it.

"Of course you don’t, Your Majesty!" They all laughed at Rafael’s favorite pun. They enjoyed poking fun at the fact that Iori had only one normal looking eye, often teasing him of being a ‘one-eyed king.’

Why don’t you open your eyes and see who you’re talking to? Lorenzo dared Iori, well aware that the latter preferred to keep his eyes closed, even as he walked about without a walking cane or guide dog leading him.

C’mon, you know Cyclops here couldn’t see a thing even if we held his eyes wide open.

"Ha! Cyclops. Good one, Samara." Lorenzo cheered, too easily impressed.

"Oh, I’m sorry, did I say eyes just now? Gosh, what was I thinking? I obviously meant E-Y-E." Samara mockingly spelled out the word.

Bethlehem grew agitated while Iori retained his signature composure.

It’s a pity, you know, that you can’t see, Samara walked up to Iori and placed her hand under his chin, because you’re kind of cute. But I guess you’re forced to miss out on all this. She sighed.

Bethlehem snapped, getting between Samara and Iori. Keep your hands to yourself. Ugh, you’re so full of it.

Samar laughed. Aww, someone’s jealous. Don’t worry, I won’t date the handicap—

Don’t you dare call him that!

Fine, you can have your blind boyfriend all to yourself. Samara seemed content to have struck a nerve and made her point.

He’s not my boyfriend. But—

It’s OK, Betty, just let it go, Iori broke his silence at last. Let’s go.

But we’re not done here, Rafael got in Iori’s way as soon as he started walking again. Remember, it’s your birthday and I’m yet to give you your birthday licks. He turned to the group behind him. Ready, boys?

That won’t be necessary, Iori sighed, I don’t care that it’s my birthday and neither should you, so, please, leave us alone. I don’t want to hurt any of you.

Hurt us? Ooh, we’re really scared now. Rafael and his gang of bullies erupted in laughter.

At his signal, Lorenzo and at least five other boys surrounded Iori, pushing Bethlehem out of the way. Samara quickly stepped aside since she never engaged in their physical confrontations. She was content with being a cheerleader, providing the group with verbal and moral support. Meanwhile, Lorenzo and another boy grabbed Iori. He didn’t resist.

Let go of him! Bethlehem yelled. She tried charging at the pair restraining Iori but Samara and two of the boys got in her way.

You stay right there! Samara must have felt she could at least handle the little girl. "I don’t recall it being your birthday."

Bethlehem knew she was outnumbered and outmatched, and she felt helpless. Soon she heard the sound of blows landing and looked over to where her friend was being beaten. Stop it, you cowards! she roared, but the blows continued.

Five, Six, Seven... how old are you again? Rafael enjoyed making a human body bag out of Iori—jabs, hooks, elbows, uppercuts, the whole ten yards. Eight, Nine... the group joined in the count.

Eleven today, I think, Lorenzo answered, still latching onto Iori and all too happy to be assisting in the assault.

Awesome, I got to save my haymaker for last... TEN! A firm underhand punch to the gut reduced Iori to one knee. "And now, for the grand finale," Rafael smiled as he glanced over at Bethlehem who was now being restrained by Samara and monitored by two of the boys for added measure, Ready for the K.O.? Rafael lunged his right hand back as though preparing to pitch a baseball, clenched it into a solid fist and drove it right into the crown of Iori’s nose. ELEVEN! Iori’s head jerked back furiously as the boys let go of him at last, dropping him to the ground and leaving him lying on his back.

Bethlehem slapped Samara’s hand, broke free of her grip, and ran over to Iori, past his assailants, who ignored her as they made their triumphant return to their posse.

Why didn’t you fight back? she questioned him, kneeling at his side as she helped him up into a sitting position.

Iori simply gazed into her manic hazel eyes. Hey, calm down, Betty, it wasn’t that bad. I mean, I have a feeling you know as well as I do that try as they might, they couldn’t really hurt me. This was true. He didn’t seem to be in pain and he didn’t appear even slightly bruised from the licks he’d just taken. Iori knew Bethlehem had witnessed one of his flash ‘accidents,’ and so she had to have some idea about what he could endure.

I suppose so, but it still doesn’t make their actions right.

I know.

Seriously, I wish they’d learn a much needed lesson.

"And maybe one day they will, but for now, if we don’t get moving again soon, we’ll both be late and won’t get to learn our lesson today."

Oh wow, you’re actually smiling, Bethlehem observed, pleasantly surprised.

I guess I’m a nice person, huh? Iori remarked, extending his smile. The two friends shared a hearty laugh.

Aaahhh! Bethlehem screamed as she suddenly found herself being pulled back aggressively by the hair. It was Rafael again.

What the hell are you doing? Iori instinctively sprang up.

This isn’t supposed to be funny, the bully spat. So I don’t know why the two of you were so fucking amused just now.

It was obvious that more than only his knuckles were hurting; his pride had been wounded too. In all his previous altercations with Iori, this was the first time he had imposed himself physically on the younger, smaller boy, and he didn’t like the results one bit.

No one mocks me! Irate, Rafael continued to drag and shake Bethlehem violently by the hair even as she screamed and wailed. This should wipe that smile right off your stupid, blind face. He held Bethlehem up firmly, placing his hands around her neck as he stood behind her.

He was right. Iori’s countenance completely changed. His whole body appeared to go dark. If one looked closely enough, it almost seemed as though fumes were rising out of the pores of his skin. You’ve already done your worst to me, so don’t bring her into this. Let her go. Iori’s voice was steady, and deeper than usual. He approached Rafael in slow, deliberate stps. I’m only going to say this once more, let her go! This time, his voice thundered through the long corridor.

Don’t you come any closer, Rafael’s voice shook as he spoke. If you take one more step, I’ll choke her, I swear— Before he could finish his threat, Iori was standing behind him. Releasing his grip on Bethlehem, Rafael spun around, completely stunned. What the—how the heck—

In one swift move, Iori grabbed him by the neck and flung him with such relentless force, his body went flying and crashed into a few lockers several feet away. You talk too much. Just like that, the timid boy had vanished, replaced by an uncharacteristically defiant one.

In another barely traceable move, Iori stood over Rafael’s slumped body as the tall boy now looked up at him with familiar scorn, but newly discovered fear. Iori simply stared down his incorrigible bully with equal anger. His eyes remained closed but there was a hint of a red glow apparent from behind his right eye.

You freak, Rafael hurled a worn-out insult at Iori, except this time he was all but crying.

I told you to let her go.

By this time, several of the other children had run down to the corridor where they’d heard all the commotion taking place. Everyone stood in disbelief at what they were witnessing. Iori was holding Sacred Heart Orphanage’s most notorious bully up by the neck with one hand, and slamming him against one locker after another, again and again and again.

FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, the blind boy was drunk with rage as he performed a count of his own, TEN, ELEVEN! Iori tossed Rafael aside as if the nearly 6 ft. boy didn’t weigh almost 200 lbs.

In a panic, Lorenzo and Samara rushed over to their ringleader, who now lay broken and bruised. Oh, my God! What have you done? Samara sobbed.

You fool! You’ve killed him! Lorenzo chimed in through restrained tears.

The dark countenance left Iori just as suddenly as it had come, and the glow in his right eye also disappeared. He fell onto his knees, covering his eyes in excruciating agony. My eye. This pain again. Why? Feeling the surrounding ground, and glancing toward Rafael’s unconscious body, Iori sobbed as well. No, God, no! What have I done?

Bethlehem was crying too. She got up and moved toward Iori who didn’t even look her way but kept his face buried in his hands. She was also scared but knew she had to be brave for him.

I didn’t mean to get angry, I swear. I thought I— his tears choked his words. I thought I could control it.

Bethlehem knelt at his side. I know, Iori. I know. She tried to comfort him but he pushed her away, got up and sprinted down the corridor. He almost knocked Jargen over as he whisked past the old custodian through the double doors to the courtyard and out of everyone’s sight.

Jargen scowled, glancing back. Hey, where the hell do you think you’re going running off like that? Hey, do you not hear me? I’m talking to you. You should know there’s no running in my goddamn corridors!

Curious as to whatever the fuss was all about, the grumpy janitor rushed over to where all the children were gathered. Make way, make way. When Jargen finally saw the chaotic scene, he was just as shocked. JESUS CHRIST! He pulled out his walkie-talkie.

Moments later, Syke burst onto the chaotic scene, shoving his way through the crowd of bewildered children. Glancing at Rafael’s still body, he simply shook his head. All of you return to your dormitories at once. He gave further instructions that the house captains and class prefects get ready to round up their members and escort them to their respective dorms.

Where is he? Syke asked Bethlehem. And you’d better not lie to me. He wagged his right index finger at her.

Bethlehem sat in a daze, still speechless from everything that had just transpired.

He ran out to the fields, Jargen replied in her stead. Damn near knocked me over too. Stupid, blind kid!

I see. Syke glared at Bethlehem as though it was the little girl’s fault.

She didn’t even look back at him. She simply remained slumped to her knees with her hands resting on the floor between her thighs, directing her dazed teary eyes out toward the fields Iori had run off to. I shouldn’t have encouraged him to fight back earlier. Bethlehem couldn’t help but blame herself.

You’ll go to my office at once and wait for me there.

Yes, sir. The little girl had no energy left to say anything more.

As will the two of you, Syke added, now directing his scowl toward Samara and Lorenzo, who were still tending to their motionless leader.

But sir—

At once!

When it came to Syke, protesting was futile. The pair of bullies followed closely behind Bethlehem as she inched around the corner toward Syke’s reclusive office. It was the last place any of the children at Sacred Heart ever wanted to report to.

Syke pulled out his walkie-talkie and alerted Sister Eva and Ms. Worthington. Shortly thereafter, Sister Eva announced over the telecom that all lessons were canceled for the day, and that students were to remain in their dorms while teachers were to return to their living quarters until otherwise instructed.

Syke had two prefects carry Rafael’s body on a stretcher to the infirmary as he trotted behind Bethlehem, Samara and Lorenzo, his menacing grin a familiar symbol of the corporal punishment he would soon unleash on the day’s troublemakers.

Chapter 4

Cruel and Unusual

The punishment doesn’t always fit the crime.

"I s the boy dead?" Syke sounded indifferent as he burst into the infirmary. He’d just finished disciplining the three children he’d sent to his office earlier.

No, thank God! Ms. Worthington was frantic. What the hell happened? She glanced down at the motionless boy on the bed with uncharacteristic concern.

Well, he’s obviously a stubborn kid. Never knew he was just as stupid. You know what they say about playing with fire.

Ms. Worthington placed an open palm on the boy’s forehead. Goodness gracious. Not sure how long will be out, but he’s still unconscious.

I see. Well, give me a report as soon as the boy regains consciousness. His punishment awaits him.

Punishment? How can you be thinking of such a thing right now? Besides, isn’t he the victim here? I mean—

Because it’s what I do. Syke appeared flustered by the audacity of her question. And don’t worry, the blind one will get what’s coming to him too. He moved toward the exit door of the infirmary. Like I said, I’ll be expecting word the moment this troublemaker awakens.

Yes, sir.

Few argued with Discipline Master, Robert Syke. Good, I have a report of my own to deliver to Sister Eva, Syke headed toward the exit, and there’s at least one more bastard who needs a major lesson on discipline today. He slammed the door behind him.

Sister Eva sat leaning back in her comfortable leather office chair, sipping on some lukewarm tea as she scrutinized the distraught boy sitting across from her desk through her low hanging glasses. His head was down and his body language spoke of guilt.

So am I to understand you have nothing more to say for yourself?

Iori didn’t respond. He had nothing more to say. He figured no one could understand what he was going through, no matter what he said.

Well, I’m sure you know by now that such reckless actions cannot go unpunished. Sister Eva took another slow, deliberate sip on her mug. It was almost as if she was savoring the moment. You know the protocol. He’ll be here soon.

Iori knew the protocol she was referring to all too well. Every time he’d had his ‘accidents’ as Sister Eva had dubbed his explosive flashes, the moment he’d recovered from the infirmary, he’d been sent to Syke’s office, which was really a makeshift prison at the far end of the orphanage. And there, more than any other child, Iori had become well acquainted with the reasons the children nicknamed Robert Syke, ‘Psycho.’

I accept the consequences of my actions, Iori said at last. I just hope— he was interrupted by three loud knocks on the door, followed by the imposing figure of Syke, who strode in like a man on a mission.

Sister Eva— he stopped short, confused by the wanted boy’s presence. What is the meaning of this?

Calm yourself, Mr. Syke. Sister Eva sat up. She placed her teacup carefully on her desk and crossed her wrinkled fingers together under her long chin. The boy returned from the grass fields just moments ago and reported to my office.

Syke turned toward Iori with an intimidating glance. "Oh, so you thought you could escape me? Did you mean to talk your way out of your punishment, huh boy?"

No, sir, Iori replied in a coy tone, not even glancing the angry man’s way.

"Then you should’ve