Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1 - Chapter 44: Chapter 44

Nika was exactly where Koen said he was. He was deep in conversation with another member of the guild, and Jordan slowed when he realised it wasn't Yddris, and that they were too tall to be Hap. Other full-fledged Unspoken made him nervous, especially since there were so many of them. When Yddris had mentioned the festival, he hadn't mentioned the sheer number of demon hunters planning to show up.
He had not been particularly encouraged, either, by the fact that for all the Unspoken who were present, he was one of only four apprentices, and the other three were all much further ahead in their training.
"Jordan," Nika said warmly, when he could put off his approach no longer. "How are you feeling? Are you coping alright?"
"I'm okay," Jordan said. "Koen said you were looking for me."
"I was," Nika replied. He indicated the person beside him. "This is Ortin."
The Unspoken stranger clasped Jordan's elbow and nodded.
"He's the guild's namekeeper."
Something tickled the back of Jordan's memory, but his gut seemed to remember it faster, since it was already filled with dread.
"Ordinarily you'd have to wait until your first visit to the Guildtown to choose a name," Nika said, and Jordan wasn't sure whether he hadn't noticed Jordan's anxiety or was choosing not to acknowledge it. Ortin's gaze was heavy, and Jordan knew that the namekeeper had noticed. "But Ortin is in town for a few weeks and I think it unlikely you'll be able to address this before the end of the season if we wait until you can make the trip."
"Choose a name," Jordan repeated, not quite making it a question. "Like an alias?"
"It can be," Ortin said. His voice was deep and ponderous, and oddly reassuring. "Many of us choose to adopt it as a true identity of the person we become or may become when we take the cloak. It can be whatever you want it to be."
"And if I don't want a new name?"
"You're under no obligation to take one," Ortin replied without changing pace or tone. "Regardless, I must put down your given or chosen name in the guild's records."
"Harkenn has already applied for your place in the guild," Nika explained. "But he can't register your name, and the application still requires a signature from you."
"It wasn't my intent to panic you," Ortin said, faintly amused. Jordan tried to still his trembling.
"Not panicked," he muttered, not caring if he sounded sulky.
"We'll help you," Nika said, "We won't rush into anything."
Belatedly Jordan noticed his tutor's presence at his shoulder. Yddris didn't say anything, but it made Jordan feel a little better to have him there.
"So you all have..."
"Chosen names, yes," Nika said.
"Right."
It wasn't something he was enthusiastic to address right now, if he ever would be, and as if he'd sensed this, Yddris changed the subject. Jordan couldn't have been more relieved.
"Are you staying with me, Ortin, or do you have rooms?"
"Haven't had time to get rooms," the man said, accepting the turn of conversation with ease. Jordan fidgeted. "No one expected to be needed so soon after arriving."
"It's a good job you set off early," Nika said. "I think everyone was expecting another week to prepare, at least."
"Harkenn almost had a fit," Yddris said, and the tone of his voice suggested that it had not been a pleasant experience. "He was pissed enough already that the guild put its foot down over transporting civilians across the Barrens this year."
"Oh, he got that letter, did he?" Ortin asked. "I thought he seemed chilly."
"He's not happy about it," Yddris agreed grimly. "I'd stay away from the castle if I were you. You're closer than me to the head of the guild and he's already nagging my ears off to get the decision changed."
"I wish him luck with it," Ortin replied. "Cara can match his stubbornness when it pleases her to do so."
"It often does," Nika said. He sounded like he had recent first-hand experience.
Jordan hung back, shuffling his feet. He had no idea what anyone was talking about and didn't know how to say so or to excuse himself without displaying the unplumbed depths of his own ignorance. Sometimes he forgot that there was a whole world beyond Yddris's house and the castle, a world that he knew almost nothing about, and when he was confronted with it anew it felt like drowning.
He turned and looked around the plaza, at all the people still gathered there for a celebration he didn't understand. Everyone seemed so happy, and yet all he had heard about the coming season were dire predictions. The drink he'd had sat uncomfortably in his stomach and for the first time he found himself thinking wistfully of his bed at Yddris's.
A hand came down on his shoulder. Nika and Ortin were still deep in conversation, but Yddris was watching him, his eyes pinpricks of green fire in the depths of his hood. His question went unsaid, and so did Jordan's answer.
Yddris leaned in and said something to Nika, who nodded, and then Jordan found himself steered through the crowd. Harkenn was visible from across the plaza, standing at around a foot taller than an average man and surrounded by a glittering entourage, and they were heading in his direction. Jordan hesitated.
"Can't just disappear with you," Yddris muttered. "I'll be beaten five ways to eighthday."
"Eighthday?"
Yddris faltered, and Jordan got the sense he'd said something stupid – again. He was glad he was facing the other way, so there was no chance Yddris would see his embarrassed flush.
"Last day of the week," the Unspoken said, recovering quickly. "Very simple system. Eight days to a week. Follows how you might expect. That's the Common weekday – the houses have their own versions, but there's not time for it now. They're just picky buggers."
"Got it," Jordan muttered, and then it was all he could do to keep up with his tutor as the crowd pressed in on all sides.
It was difficult getting to Harkenn due to the sheer number of people around him; many were clearly wealthy, some in religious robes. Guards were scattered through the group. Jordan scanned the area for Grace, and found her near the lord's horse talking to Nova, who looked up as if she sensed his gaze and gave a short nod of acknowledgement. He nodded in return, and hoped she couldn't tell how much she unnerved him. Her lips twitched as if tempted to smile.
It wasn't long before the way cleared, when the hangers-on realised there were Unspoken trying to get through. Then it was like a fault line opened and scattered the crowd to either side, leaving them a straight route to Harkenn. Jordan crept behind Yddris and tried to pretend he hadn't noticed the gawking.
"Yddris," Harkenn greeted evenly, his only acknowledgement of Jordan's presence a quick glance. Though it had only been a second, Jordan felt his insides wither.
"I would be very grateful if you allowed me to take my apprentice home, my Lord," Yddris said. "It's been a long night and he's been through a lot in the last few days."
"Are you going to stay with him?" Harkenn demanded. "I won't stand for a repeat."
"Many of the guild are staying with me until they can find accommodation, my lord. He will not be unaccompanied at any point."
"Good." Harkenn looked away, dismissing them. "You have my permission."
Jordan barely had a moment to sigh in relief when the atmosphere in the plaza changed. Not for the first time Jordan wondered if bad luck just followed him around; this time he recognised the sound of overzealous Nict worshippers before they reached him. Their whips cracked through the sudden silence, their chanting the only voices.
"Night take me," Yddris muttered behind him, "There's no telling them, is there?"
"Doesn't seem to be," someone else said. The guards had closed in around Harkenn, leaving them in earshot. "His Lordship was very clear that they weren't to turn up."
"It's that Marcus," another muttered. "He riles 'em up good and proper."
Jordan did recognise the leader of the group as they trooped in, whipping and wailing, quickly filling the space that opened for them in the crowd. The same man had shouted insults at him across the market square in what felt like another lifetime. Marcus had no way of recognising him anymore, but Jordan still shrank back.
"Are we making arrests, sir?" the captain of the guard said to Lord Harkenn, whose face looked like that of someone who'd been forced to eat several lemons in quick succession.
"Only if Lord Callan fails to discipline them," he replied.
The head of House Nict was a small, withered-looking man in a dark grey robe, who nevertheless carried himself like the man of stature that he wasn't. His expression was amicable as he approached the leader of the group, but something about him suggested that there was a storm brewing under the surface.
The Nicts stopped shouting and all dropped a knee, all except for Marcus, who lowered his head but otherwise showed no signs of deference. Someone behind Jordan hissed through their teeth. Harkenn's expression promised blood.
"What are you here for, Marcus?" Callan said, showing no sign that the disrespect bothered him. His tone was still even, and he didn't speak loudly, but the whole plaza was holding its breath and so it was still possible to hear what he said.
"To bring in the dark," Marcus replied, and he raised his head. "The proper way."
Someone made a noise of disgust nearby. Jordan eyed the bloodied backs of the procession and thought he much preferred everyone else's way of doing it.
"You were prohibited from attending," Callan said severely.
"It is our right to be here."
"You have not earned it."
For a moment, it looked as though Marcus might attack the priest, jaw clenching so hard that a vein jumped out under his skin. Instead, he turned on the lord's group.
"You won't hold that throne for long, Harkenn," he spat.
"We'll see about that," Lord Harkenn replied in an icy voice. Several guards drew their swords, stilled by a sharp motion of the lord's hand. "Leave immediately, or you may find your prohibition extends to the whole city for the entirety of the year."
Marcus spat. "Nict will bring plague on your house," he said, and looked around the plaza, "He will bring plague to all your houses! Fraternising with barbarians..." and at this several Varthians in the crowd shouted wordless cries of outrage, "and accepting foreigners amongst you. Plague on you all!"
He stalked forward. Without Jordan's noticing, Grace had crept closer to him through the crowd, and she shrieked as Marcus dragged her into the square by the elbow, plucking her from Jordan's side. Her fingers closed on Jordan's wrist only briefly before she was pulled away, panic written all over her face.
"Hey!" Jordan shouted, before he could stop himself. He shook off Yddris's hand before the man got a good grip on him, and stalked forward.
He had not been athletic at school. Nor had he ever been violent. If anything, he was incredibly squeamish at the idea, but nonetheless he felt a kind of grim satisfaction as his fist connected with Marcus's face, a punch fuelled by countless threats against Grace's life and the number of bastards who'd tried to take her away from him.
The satisfaction didn't last; the wiry zealot was stronger than he looked, and in the haze of his anger, Jordan hadn't considered the possibility of retaliation. The first kick to the gut almost floored him; his next punch was clumsy, and Marcus caught it easily, wrenching his wrist back until he felt the joints groan with strain. Jordan stumbled back, panting, and as Marcus stepped away with a triumphant grin, lurched forward and kicked upwards as hard as he could between the man's legs.
Marcus howled. Grace was shouting; he felt her hands on him a moment later, and then Yddris's grip like iron bars on his shoulders, dragging him away.
"What the fuck were you thinking, boy?" he hissed into his ear.
"He put his hands on my sister," Jordan growled. "If one more piece of shit tries to threaten my sister I will throttle someone and I don't care who it is."
His breath left him as Yddris forcefully turned him around. Inches from his face, he snarled, "Don't say things you don't mean, boy. That was fucking embarrassing!"
He had never heard Yddris so angry, and it cowed him into seeing some sense. Mortification flooded in when his anger left him.
"Never turn to violence to solve these issues except as a last resort," Yddris snapped. "Lord Harkenn has two hundred guards on duty tonight, there was no need to try playing hero. You are Unspoken, and you have a shared duty with all the rest of us to keep the guild from looking worse in the public eye than it already does."
Jordan fired up again. "I don't fucking care about being fucking Unspoken. I signed that contract because Harkenn threatened to hang my sister, not because I want any part in this magic bullshit."
"Grow up, boy," Yddris replied. "This is your reality. Suck it up or let it get you killed. Those are your options." He looked over Jordan's shoulder. "And you'd better think about those options carefully. Don't struggle."
"Don't struggle with what?"
Gauntleted hands clamped down on his shoulders.
-
"Nothing's broken." Nika withdrew his arms from between the bars and sighed. "You'll survive."
"Do you have anything for the pain?" Jordan asked. His wrist had swollen up like a small grapefruit, and hurt something fierce. He hugged himself closer to the bars of his cell, trying to stay out of the shadows. Something in those shadows smelled like hell itself.
"I just have plant salve," Nika said.
"I'll take anything."
Nika rummaged in his satchel, producing a thick ointment tube. Whitish-green paste came out when he squeezed, stark against the alarming purple-red of Jordan's skin. Nika removed his gloves, and then with gentle hands began to massage it into the swelling. Jordan clenched his teeth and pressed his forehead against one of the bars to stop himself screaming.
"Are you angry too?" he asked, when the pain subsided enough to allow him to breathe.
"I don't see any reason to be," Nika said. Jordan felt like he shouldn't have been quite so relieved to hear it. "You're not officially my student. It's not my concern to discipline you."
Jordan winced.
"But you think I was dumb to do it?" he asked. He didn't want to know, but at the same time desperately did.
"I think your reaction was understandable," Nika replied. "It doesn't mean I think it was the right thing to do. But I do understand why you did it. You've been subjected to a lot of threats against your sister since your arrival, and no doubt in the moment that looked like another one."
"It did," Jordan said, and hoped he didn't sound like he was whining. "I don't know what happened. I just snapped. I swear I'd never normally do that."
"Jordan," Nika said gently, "I believe you."
He realised he'd been gibbering anyway, pleading for someone to see where he was coming from. He slumped against the bars, a weight off his shoulders.
"Yddris seemed so pissed," he mumbled, cheek against the metal.
"Oh, he was." Nika resettled himself and replaced his gloves. "But you're not the only one capable of overreacting."
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. In the cell next to his, someone rattled their chains and cursed. Nika stood in one fluid motion and bowed, muttering, "My Lord."
Jordan shuffled back from the bars, cradling his sprained wrist in his lap and hoping no one would see it. Lord Harkenn appeared outside his cell, eyes almost glowing in the dimness. With him were Yddris and Callan. Jordan swallowed.
"Get back from the door," Harkenn ordered, as a guard materialised behind him and stepped forward with the keys. Jordan got to his feet and stepped away, and then hesitated as the guard stepped aside, waiting for someone to tell him he was allowed to leave before he got himself into even more trouble.
"Get out," Harkenn said impatiently. He didn't seem as angry as Jordan had expected him to be, and he wasn't sure whether it was safe to be relieved or not. Perhaps one night in a cell was the punishment for a brawl; though he didn't think so, otherwise Callan wouldn't be present.
Jordan shuffled out, shaking his sleeve down over his swollen wrist. Somehow, he thought Harkenn noticed.
"I will have you cuffed if you cause trouble," the lord said. There was no expectation in his voice that he would need to carry out the threat. "We'll speak in my study."
Callan's eyes were on him. The expression in them was unreadable, though the head of Nict didn't seem angry, either. Jordan glanced at Yddris, who avoided his eye.
"Are you coming?" he asked Nika in an undertone, as Harkenn walked away.
"Would you like me to?"
"Please."
Nika nodded and gestured for him to go ahead. Jordan stuck as close to the Unspoken as he could, the only comforting presence in the whole group. He wished Grace was with him, but hadn't expected to be allowed to see her – and he hadn't been. His night in the cell was even more miserable than it had been when they had arrived in Nictaven.
There was a fire roaring in the grate in Harkenn's study. Jordan shuddered at the temperature difference as he stepped inside; he had become accustomed to Nictaven's perpetual chill. It was the warmest he'd been since he got here. The room smelled faintly of wood smoke, a familiar smell from home that calmed his nerves. When he came to a stop in front of Harkenn's desk, he even managed to stop shaking.
The lord installed himself in his chair, and though he was shorter than Jordan when he was sitting, he still gave the unnerving impression of towering over him.
"You're aware of what you're here for."
"Yes, sir."
Harkenn offered him a thin smile. "You're fortunate, boy. Circumstances work in your favour when it comes to dealing with this case; you are foreign, you are under considerable strain, and you had been drinking yesterday. In the public eye this can be covered up as no more than a drunken brawl, which works in your favour, and Yddris tells me that the incident at the warehouse was not the first time you have been threatened. In the light of all this, I think your actions yesterday were understandable, if rash and very poorly judged."
Jordan bowed his head and waited, hoping the embarrassment flooding through him didn't show on his face.
"By the looks of you, you understand this. You have served your punishment; being provisionally employed by my household, it is within my jurisdiction to do so. You caused no lasting damage in your attack. However, since you attacked an ordained priest of Nict and he had not attacked you first, Lord Callan also has the right to extend further punishment."
It made sense, he supposed, that so much fuss had been made after he kicked a priest in the balls. He almost thought about pointing out that he hadn't known, but didn't think it would help his case.
"It's an easy task," the priest said. His voice was dry and cold. He was unsmiling, but his eyes still searched Jordan with a glimmer of curiosity in them. "But we don't have enough acolytes to do it. You're to help organise the temple archives."
"One day a week," Harkenn added, "For two months. Eight trips. Yddris will escort you there and back." His mouth pinched into a thin line, and he said, "Don't let anyone say I can't be merciful, but mind yourself, boy. Your circumstances saved you this time, but don't make a habit of embarrassing me."
"Yes, my Lord." Jordan only just managed to force out the words. "I won't. Sorry. Thank you."
He couldn't have escaped the room fast enough.