Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1 - Chapter 14: Chapter 14

"I don't get it."
Jordan squinted at the tablet in front of him, but the squiggles still refused to make sense. Laurel sighed, looking at Jordan's scratchy earth alphabet and then back at her version in neat Nictavian Common.
"Neither do I."
They glanced at each other and laughed.
"This is ridiculous," Jordan said. "I'm never going to learn it this way."
"We need to find someone who knows earth Common," Laurel said. "Somehow. Anyway, eat. You haven't touched your food and Killian's taking you out soon."
"Oh yeah." He picked up his plate and began shovelling food in, forgetting for a moment that she was watching him. "I forgot."
Laurel giggled and he slowed, dull heat going to his cheeks.
"Sorry."
She smiled and shrugged, pulling the two tablets towards her again. "I don't care. Kiel's beard, your letters are so odd."
"Yours look just as odd to me," he muttered through a mouthful of starchy vegetables. Nictavians didn't seem too adept at agriculture, he'd noticed, at least insofar as how edible their produce was. He wolfed them down before he'd taken the edge off his hunger and couldn't bear to eat anymore.
They sat on the pallet in Jordan's tiny room on the top floor of the Demon's Brew. His eyes ached from his terrible night on the straw mattress. Yddris had left him late the previous evening without explaining what he was supposed to do with himself now, and it had been nothing but awkwardness since.
It wasn't that he didn't like Kedrick or Killian, he reasoned, it was that they seemed to forget he had no idea how anything worked in this world. It created something of a barrier when they tried to start small talk about the races or the state of castle politics. Even the weather was hard to comment on. He couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that they were doing it to avoid talking about more important things.
And then there was Grace, who wouldn't leave his thoughts for more than a moment.
"How's your head today? I forgot to ask."
"Hm?"
Laurel smiled at him over her own food. "Distracted, huh?"
Jordan blinked, half-heartedly returning the smile. To stop her from prying any further, he reached up and touched the lump on the back of his head from the thug's attack. It pulsed faintly under his finger, the pain spider-webbing all over his head. He let out a hiss through his teeth and left it alone.
"Not great. You've been distracting me pretty well, though." He paused, thought a moment, and then cringed. "That came out wrong."
Laurel laughed. It was light and tinkling. A smile tugged on his lips.
"Are you nearly ready, Jordan?" Killian asked, stepping inside just as Jordan was scraping the last of his food up with a heel of bread. Laurel had returned to comparing their alphabets, brow furrowed.
Jordan got up, brushing crumbs from his tunic. He wasn't all that fond of Nictavian clothing, either. It was scratchy and too tight-fitting for his tastes – and warm. It made sense, he supposed, considering how cold the Reach was, but inside it was stifling. A thin sheen of sweat stuck his shirt to the small of his back when he moved.
He experienced a not-so-rare pang of homesickness. His eyes strayed to the jacket he had arrived in, seeming lurid and out of place on the chair in the corner, and wondered again about the note from Arlen. Perhaps the man could help them get home.
Or perhaps he was just being a gullible idiot.
"Have fun, boys," Laurel said, standing up and tucking the tablets under her arm. She wore a cornflower blue frock that made her eyes shine. A funny lump stuck in Jordan's throat as he quickly averted his gaze from her tight bodice, found no relief in her pretty face, and finally settled on staring at the floor with a determination that made his eyes water.
"We will." Killian took Jordan firmly by the shoulder and steered him from the room. Once they were on the stairs, he leaned in and murmured, "You don't look like the type to try anything funny with her, so this is a warning for your sake." A grin split his face. "Once she gets comfortable with you, she can be a nightmare."
Jordan knew he had gone violently crimson straight away. Killian laughed, and it boomed down the stairwell. The murmur of voices from the taproom below quieted before picking up again.
"I'm messing with you," Killian said. His hand came down on Jordan's shoulder with a force that made him cough. "Come on."
"Are you bullying Jordan, Kil?" Laurel called from Jordan's room. "If you are, you'd better stop right now."
"Or what?" Killian called back. His grin hadn't faded.
"Just don't do it, you brute."
Jordan kept his head down as they passed the bar where Kedrick was wiping glasses with a rag. The bruise on his head was pounding with the rush of blood, producing flashes of light in one eye that made him nauseous. The cold air outside was a welcome reprieve from the stuffiness of the inn, but suddenly his once-stifling tunic wasn't enough.
Killian had brought Kedrick's wagon round to the front. The stable hand – a gruff man whom Jordan had already learned to avoid – was guarding the cart, glowering at passing civilians as they stepped off the bridge. When Jordan appeared, he grunted and shambled off, thrusting the horse's reins into his hands as he went. The animal snorted and stamped its feet.
"Me too, buddy," Jordan muttered.
He looked up at the sky. Despite it being mid-morning, it already looked grim. The clouds were heavy and dark, and a thin mist had seeped through the city overnight. Even so the mountains were still visible, vast and dark emerald on the far horizon. He shuddered as a crackle of faint static passed over his body.
"There's a blanket on the cart somewhere," Killian said, emerging from the inn with a waft of warm air following him out. Jordan turned, and realised he already couldn't feel his feet.
"Is-is it always this cold?" he asked through chattering teeth. He clambered onto the driver's box next to Killian, and the giant threw the blanket over his legs.
"We're getting into the dark season," Killian said. He snapped the reins, and chuckled when Jordan almost fell off the box in surprise. He raised his voice to be heard over the clatter of hooves on the bridge. "It'll get worse than this, I'm afraid."
Jordan felt queasy, rocking in the movement of the wagon. He kept his eyes on his knees instead of the river Aven boiling below them and tried to think of another question to keep himself distracted. Killian supplied one for him.
"You've been to the market, haven't you?"
Jordan laughed, but his stomach shrivelled at the memory. "Yes. I fell through someone's stall roof on my way here and got arrested there."
"Oh." Killian was quiet for a minute. "Well, hopefully this trip will be more enjoyable. I'll do all the talking; you can just pass me stock when I need it. Sound like a plan?"
"Sounds good to me." He breathed as the cart left the bridge. "So... Does Yddris live at the castle, then?"
"No," Killian replied. "He has a house on the street below it. Not that he uses it. I went there once and it didn't even have a bed."
"Where does he sleep, then?"
"On the floor, is my best guess." Killian shrugged. "I don't think Unspoken really like beds. Most of them sleep under the open sky given the opportunity."
"Why?"
"Closer to Nictaven, I suppose. You'd have to ask one of them."
Jordan frowned.
The city was busier than he had anticipated. Crowds parted around their cart and closed in behind it. All manner of people were milling around, but Jordan didn't see a single Unspoken among them. He didn't know why that bothered him so much. He almost asked Killian about it, but the man looked too focused on trying to steer the cart without running anyone over.
Someone touched his hand. He jerked it into his lap and looked down in alarm, to see that a small cluster of people were keeping pace with him on the road below, a fanatical gleam in their eyes. Some of them didn't speak any language he recognised, and the others spoke Common but were all talking at once. Inwardly, he cursed himself for not wearing something that concealed his hair.
"Bless the child!" someone called. A bundle with a baby inside it appeared over the heads of the expanding gathering. As it grew, more and more people became aware of Jordan's presence and turned to stare or join in.
"Killian," Jordan muttered.
"I know," Killian grunted. "I'll put on a bit of speed and as soon as we get to the next street put that blanket over your head. I'll find you a hood when we stop."
Jordan shuddered, immediately thinking of Yddris, but nodded. He was more than eager to leave this gathering behind.
Killian snapped the reins and yelled, "Coming through!"
The horse ploughed forward, scattering people to either side, the wagon rattling on its hinges behind them. The voices of those who had been following Jordan faded to nothing as Killian steered the cart around the corner and slowed. Jordan let out a long breath and pulled the blanket over his head like he'd been told, keeping his eyes on his knees so that they didn't make contact with anyone else's. His hands were trembling.
"I really hope this isn't what it's going to be like from now on," he grunted, swallowing a rush of bile as the wagon went over a bump in the road.
He felt rather than saw Killian look at him. The giant seemed to struggle with what to say next. In an oddly strained voice, he said, "I'm sure it won't always be like this."
Jordan frowned at him, and decided to take a punt at confirming some of his suspicions. He hadn't had a chance to confront Killian alone before now. "How do you know?"
It was Killian's turn to frown, though that too seemed strained. "Well, I was just thinking to reassure you. I don't know for certain."
"You sounded certain." Jordan's frown deepened into a scowl when Killian fidgeted. "Do you know something I don't?"
"Like what?"
"Like the real reason Yddris left me at your dad's inn?"
Killian shrugged helplessly. "I'm not the one to tell you, Jordan. If...if nothing happens in the next few months, then Yddris will find you an apprenticeship somewhere else."
"If nothing happens," Jordan repeated flatly. "Nothing being I turn out not to be Gifted?"
Killian gave him a sharp look and turned away again. Jordan sighed.
"I knew it." Even to his surprise, he was more angry than upset. It wasn't like the possibility hadn't kept him up for hours the previous night once he'd made the connection. It had taken him long enough to do so. "So why couldn't he tell me that?"
"Because," Killian said slowly, seeming resigned, "because the normal response is panic. He didn't want to scare you unnecessarily if you were never going to manifest a Gift in the first place."
"Why? Should I be scared?" He glanced over his shoulder. "Why weren't there any Unspoken back there?"
"Unspoken are...."
Killian swore and jerked on the reins, bringing the cart to an abrupt halt that almost threw Jordan from the box. They had reached a wall of people blocking the exit into the next street. Though they all seemed too focused on what was happening on the road beyond to look behind them, Jordan pulled the blanket further over his head. He couldn't see anything in the street, but everyone else seemed to be waiting for something.
He turned to Killian, who pressed a finger to his lips and shook his head, pointing forward. Jordan turned back. Something was approaching; something that sounded like many marching feet and more than one horse. He swallowed. He hadn't wanted to see Lord Harkenn again quite so soon after the last encounter.
The armed men that appeared, however, were not dressed like any city guards Jordan had seen. Their armour was ornate and ostentatious, polished to a high shine. They wore burgundy tabards bearing a stitched emblem of an iron crown with a gold dagger in the centre, instead of Harkenn's violet livery with the ram skull. The man who rode in their midst was not Harkenn, but carried himself like someone of similar status. His skin was dusky tan, unlike Harkenn's unnatural paleness, and his eyes were less unnerving, but he was still intimidating.
"Baron Ethred," Killian muttered, "Next in line to take the Orthanian headship. Third most powerful man in Nictaven."
"Who's the second?"
"The current Orthanian head."
The procession passed them and the whole street seemed to breathe out at once. Killian snapped the reins and pulled out into the street as the crowd cleared. Jordan tightened his grip on the blanket over his head.
He recognised the street they were on once he found the nerve to look up from his feet. It was the same street Yddris had taken him down to reach Kedrick's inn, and in which Arlen had interrogated him. The end of the street opened into a broad plaza which already had several stalls set up. It looked different without all the garish tents in it, but Jordan could still see the guard post from the driver's box and felt sick at the memory of it. Over it all loomed the great silhouette of the castle, fires burning on the turrets.
"Do you think we'll see Yddris?" Jordan asked, trying to look at everything at once as Killian parked the cart and got down. On the opposite side of the square, a blacksmith had opened the front of his shop and was lighting the forge fire. A small herd of odd-looking cows with milky eyes and horns that could impale someone ambled into the market from another entrance, followed by the farmer and a dog the size of a small bear. Jordan swallowed and looked away, to find Killian holding up a cap.
"Wear this," he said. Jordan took it. "As for your question, it's unlikely. As far as I'm aware, Yddris would rather jump from the castle tower than willingly subject himself to the market in full swing." Killian snorted softly and smiled. "We might see others, though. I know there are a few Unspoken in the city already. They'll be preparing for the dark season."
Jordan winced. "Is the dark season so bad?"
"It's pretty bad," Killian admitted. "Demons only hunt at night. The dark season is endless night for the entire season and the hunting gets bad on the plains. But the Unspoken know what they're doing."
Jordan found himself less than reassured, but said nothing. He got down from the drivers' box and landed in the wagon between a barrel of ale and a crate of anaemic-looking cabbages. He squatted down and removed the blanket from his head, then put the cap on and hurriedly stuffed as much of his hair as he could underneath it. He didn't have high hopes for it being a very successful disguise, but he was banking on people being too distracted with their shopping to present their babies for a non-existent blessing.
By the time he'd wriggled out from the back of the cart, Killian had set up a table and the framework for the awning. Jordan hung back with his hands in his pockets, tensing every time somebody walked too close or said something nearby. His cap, however, seemed to cover enough for people not to look twice at him, and as more time passed and no one started harassing him, he relaxed more and more. The anonymity of the growing market crowd was a small comfort, and he was able to focus on helping Killian unload the produce they had brought. The innkeeper's son seemed relieved that the subject of being Gifted had been dropped, and for the time being Jordan was also more than happy to leave it alone.
Until he next saw Yddris, that was.
"Ah," Killian said suddenly. "Here you go, Jordan. They're here already."
Jordan looked up from heaving a crate of dark-leaved lettuces on top of a barrel of ale. Two hooded figures were approaching from the opposite end of the square, parting the crowd as they went. The crowd seemed to move away from them as if repelled, rather than the reverent way crowds moved aside for barons and lords. A moment later a third demon catcher appeared, this one in a brown cloak.
"It's Hap!" Killian said, breaking into a grin. "Well, I'll be. Well met, old man!"
One of the Unspoken in black, walking with the aid of a stick, sped up and accepted a gruff embrace from Killian. The other nodded deeply. The one in brown skipped over and surreptitiously parked himself on Killian's table. Jordan, who had been standing right behind it, took an involuntary step back.
"And Nika," Killian said, still smiling as he gripped the second man at the elbow. Jordan stiffened, looking at him more closely. "How are things?"
The voice that emanated from the cowl – to say anything else would be to imply it sounded entirely human – was soft and melodious. "Busy, unfortunately. Busier than I'd like for this early in the year."
"New help, Killian?" the first man, Hap, said. He certainly sounded old. It took Jordan a moment to realise that he had become the focus of the group's attention.
"W-well met," he stuttered.
"Temporary help," Killian said, nodding, and the atmosphere suddenly changed. Jordan suppressed a frown. It seemed that everyone had known why he was left at the Demon's Brew except him.
"Who brought him?" Nika asked. When Killian didn't reply immediately, the man turned to Jordan. "Who brought you to Kedrick?"
"Yddris." Jordan clenched his fists and resisted the urge to turn his gaze to the floor. "Yddris did."
"Of course," Nika said. "Is he still there?"
"No. I don't know where he is now."
"Seems strange," Hap commented. Killian fidgeted. "Normal practice is to stay with them."
"This is.... This is a different situation," Killian said. He leaned in. Jordan shuffled closer. "There's more uncertainty. This is Jordan Haverford."
Nika, who had fallen into subdued silence, looked up sharply. "The otherworld boy?"
Jordan felt three sets of invisible eyes on him and shrank where he stood. His heel caught on a crate as he started backing up, forcing him to sit back down on the edge of the wagon. He didn't like the sensation of being watched but unable to return the favour. It sent chills down his spine. And it wasn't only that; the three individuals had brought with them the same crackling-static aura that always followed Yddris around. With all three of them, it was making his head hurt.
Nika fidgeted as if he was about to say something, but before he could their attention was drawn to the other end of the market. It took Jordan a little longer to realise which direction the noises were coming from, but suddenly all the others, Killian included, were staring at one of the entrances to the square. The shoppers and stallholders around them slowed in what they were doing.
Jordan squinted, trying to place the strange, chorusing sounds coming from that street. It sounded like men shouting, interspersed with sharp slapping noises.
"Nict," he heard someone curse, but then the cry was taken up around the square. "Nict! It's Nict!"
"Behind the cart," Killian muttered in his ear, grabbing him by the arm. "Now!"
Jordan cursed loudly and stumbled over the crates to get behind the wagon, but before Killian dragged him to the ground by the scruff of his neck, before he could even get an inkling of what exactly was going on, the crowd broke.
And then there was blood.