Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1 - Chapter 53: Chapter 53

I can't believe I'm doing this.
Jordan walked away from Arlen's home cursing himself. His hood made it hard to keep the Varthian brute accompanying him in view at all times, but Usk wasn't making any attempt to be subtle. Inside his hood, Ren's claws dug into the back of his neck, her fur bristling against his cheek in response to his fear.
Usk couldn't have been much shorter than seven feet. When Jordan had first seen him in the taproom of the Demon's Brew, he'd been intimidating; walking beside him was like walking beside a human wall. He could only be grateful that the teasing had stopped once they'd left Arlen's rooms. It had been incessant since the brute had appeared abruptly in the stacks at the Nict temple and frogmarched him out into the night.
He shuddered at the recollection. He'd genuinely thought he might faint when the Varthian stepped out from behind the bookcase he'd been set to clearing. All the priests had been conspicuously absent, which now made sense if Callan was working with the Devils. He wondered if Harkenn knew, and then decided he valued his life far too much to check.
"You sense any demons, you tell me," Usk rumbled.
"Okay." Jordan was sure it'd be far too late by the time he realised a demon was within range, but he said nothing.
He thought about asking about Arlen's wound, but decided it would be taken badly. The assassin had looked like shit; he was always sallow and smelled like a drain, but the man in that room had looked borderline cadaverous. Jordan couldn't decide whether it would be a good or a terrible thing for him if Arlen died from a wound like that. Jordan didn't have much knowledge of the medicines available in Nictaven, but the only painkiller Nika had ever provided was plant sap, and that wasn't a promising start.
They crossed the bridge back into the living city; the same one Yddris had escorted him across just a couple of hours before. He dared to hope that his tutor might have stayed in the area, but they moved on unhindered. Jordan recognised a few of the streets. All roads in the merchants' quarter led back to the market like the spokes of a wheel, but Usk took him around the edge. The rest of the walk couldn't have been more than twenty minutes at the punishing pace Usk set them, but it still felt like forever in the silence. Jordan's attention was torn between keeping up, making sure his lungs didn't expire, and trying to keep an eye out for demons before they were close enough to chew their heads off. By the time they stopped, Jordan's brain was foggy with exhaustion.
"You're in the area," Usk muttered. He seemed unfazed by the journey. "Arlen will have my guts if I go with you any further than here."
Jordan looked around. They'd entered a dense network of narrow streets lined with tiny cottages, all uniform and small. He looked up, and dark orange streaked the sky above a smoke-belching behemoth of a factory. The air smelled faintly of rancid fat.
With another nervous glance at Usk, Jordan stepped forward. He whirled at a rustle behind him, terrified for a fleeting moment that Usk had brought him out here to kill him, but the huge man was gone.
"Ah," he breathed, letting it stretch out on a shuddering breath. He didn't know what to expect. Arlen had only given him a name. Was this Darin another Devil? If he was, why wasn't Usk allowed any closer?
And why was he still doing this?
Grace, he thought determinedly, I have to do this for Grace.
Briefly, and only briefly, he considered calling Arlen's bluff, but he wouldn't play with his sister's life like that. He stepped forward, keeping the factory in view, and followed the street ahead along the row. Some houses had no visible numbers, and they were all so uniform it was easy to lose track of which ones he'd ruled out even with his magic-assisted vision. It was a miracle he hadn't exploded into flames. He almost wished he hadn't been trying so hard to gain control in the days since the fleshmonger attack. His magic remained docile, even as he fervently wished for a way of telling Yddris he'd landed himself in the shit again.
It seemed it only wanted to erupt when it was least convenient for him; he was still unable to coax it forth on demand.
A brass three winked at him from one of the doors. The second three had come loose and was hanging upside down beside it. Jordan paused, and then stepped forward and knocked before he lost his nerve.
For a long moment, he allowed himself to hope no one was home, but then he heard movement inside and the door opened.
The man on the other side was almost unnaturally pale, his hair white with two dark streaks on the right side of his head. His eyes were unnerving, such a pale grey that they looked eerie in the dark. The closest things to colour on him were the deep purple rings around his eyes and the red-raw skin on his hands.
The stranger visibly startled to find an Unspoken at the door, and Jordan tried not to think about the suspicion in his gaze. He had only ever dealt with the public with Yddris at his side doing all the talking, and the hostility was bad enough then.
"Yes?" the man said.
"I'm looking for Darin."
The man spread his hands. "That's me. Who's asking?"
Jordan looked down the street. It was deserted, but he still leaned in as he murmured, "Arlen."
The change in Darin's expression was immediate. "Get in."
Jordan stepped inside. The houses were no bigger on the inside than they looked on the outside, and it appeared Darin had just returned home; there were boots sitting abandoned by a low-burning fire, and a satchel dumped on the single chair. The only other features were a tin bathtub pushed into the corner and a closed door. It didn't look at all like the home of someone an assassin would associate with.
"So tell me," Darin said, still keeping his voice low as he closed the door behind him, "how an Unspoken apprentice has managed to get tangled up with my dearest brother."
Jordan thought he might be sick. "He's your brother?"
Darin's lip curled. "He was adopted. And disowned twelve years later." He narrowed his eyes. "You're Harkenn's new project, aren't you? Yddris's boy. If this is an investigation, he hasn't had shit to do with us for years."
"How'd you know that?"
"You don't have any accent I've ever heard, and as far as I know there's only one otherworld Unspoken in the ranks."
Jordan tried not to wince. "And if this isn't an investigation?"
That earned him a reluctant hint of a smile. "If it isn't, I'd still want an answer to my first question."
"It's complicated."
"Always is with Arlen."
Jordan hesitated. He had no reason to lie if Darin knew Arlen already, and while he didn't much trust himself to judge, the man didn't seem to fall in the same category as his adoptive brother. Darin wasn't friendly by any means, but his manner also didn't scream 'criminal'.
"He's threatening my sister," he muttered. He left out the bit about the portal home. The longer he was stuck in Nictaven, the frailer that hope seemed, until it felt like if he spoke it aloud it might vanish altogether. But he hadn't let go of it. They had made it here, after all. There had to be a way back.
Darin looked surprisingly sympathetic. "Sorry, kid."
Jordan snorted softly and shook his head. "S'pose that means you can't talk him out of it."
"Oh, Kiel's teeth, no," Darin muttered. "Can't talk that boulder-brain out of anything. He's about as easy to budge as a fucking mountain." His gaze hardened. "Well? What's he sent you here for?"
"The vault key," Jordan said, glad to steer away from those waters, "He wants the money in it."
Darin made a strange noise that sat somewhere between a groan and a sigh. "What for?"
Jordan hesitated again. "I...don't know. He wants something from the apothecary but he didn't say anything else."
"He's sick?"
"No."
"You're lying to me." Darin scowled. For a moment Jordan feared that he was about to get turned out into the street again, but then Darin sighed again and his expression cleared. He stalked past to the closed door on the other side of the room and slipped inside, holding up a finger for Jordan to wait just before it snapped shut again.
Jordan rocked back on his heels and took another, closer look at the room. Where Arlen's tiny apartment had been smelly and ill-kept, clearly just a place the assassin stopped in at on a regular basis, Darin's tiny cottage was immaculate. There were no ashes on the hearth, no dust gathered in the corners or along the roof beams. Even Yddris's hadn't looked as clean after an intervention from Nika. If it hadn't been for the abandoned boots and satchel, and the low-burning fire in the grate, it might have looked unoccupied.
Darin emerged again, and all Jordan saw in the brief glimpse into the room behind him was darkness. The man closed the door again. He was carrying a coat over his arm and something small in one fist.
Jordan swallowed. He hadn't realised they'd be leaving the house.
Darin must have sensed his unease, because he was smirking as he shrugged on his coat. "Don't worry, you don't have to protect me from demons. I'm perfectly capable of utilising a human shield if the need arises."
He stamped on his boots and then opened the front door, gesturing for Jordan to lead out.
"You leave the fire burning when you go out?" Jordan asked, peering nervously down the road as Darin locked the door behind them. A second later he cringed at the lameness of his question, but decided it was better than more silence.
"Not if there's no one else in," Darin asked, in a tone of voice that brooked no questions. Jordan frowned and left it alone, reaching into his hood to pet Ren. The pounding of his heart eased a little as she nudged his fingers in return.
The man led Jordan back up Wick Row and took a sharp turn down a narrow alleyway just before they reached the main street. The buildings on either side sat so close together that Jordan could have run his hands along both sides without straightening his arms. Even with his magic alleviating the darkness the space was claustrophobic, but Darin marched ahead of him without faltering even though normal vision would have rendered him blind. There was something odd about Arlen's adoptive brother, and for the life of him Jordan couldn't put a finger on what it was.
He wasn't given long to ponder it. The rune work down this alley was weak and barely formed a net, and despite Darin's offhand attitude, he could sense that the man was no more at ease than he was. He tried not to think about the position he'd be put in if a demon were to follow them, and failed miserably. Every prickle of his skin or spark of rogue magic seemed to signal impending death.
The alley finally opened out into a tiny courtyard, just big enough for them both to stand in without touching. The rune work was stronger here, though Jordan felt no less nervous; over a high brick wall he could hear voices, and light spilled through cracks in the brick. As they stood there in the dark, a roar went up from inside a nearby building.
"It's a pub," Darin muttered, as Jordan turned instinctively. The man knelt down and wedged his fingers under one of the paving stones of the floor. "Help me move this."
Jordan hurried to the other side, eager to distract himself from the night around them. Ren chittered in his ear at another roar, followed by the uptake of rowdy chanting, and he had to use his shoulder to nudge her back inside his hood as she threatened to bolt out.
The slab was several inches thick, and Darin had to do most of the work. Jordan tried not to feel self-conscious bout how little good he was doing, and made a mental note to try harder in training. His weakened wrist only made things worse, but if Darin was judging him for it he showed no outward sign. They levered the slab over, and it took every ounce of self-control Jordan possessed not to let go and jump back as a multitude of small creatures with too many legs scuttled from their exposed hiding place. This time Jordan couldn't stop Ren as she scrambled down from his shoulders and gave chase. Darin had given no sign of surprise at the leggy explosion, but Ren's appearance made him gasp.
"Kiel's teeth, kid, you could've told me there was more than one of you in there," he hissed, watching Ren corner a cricket-like creature that let out a piercing whine as she snapped it up.
"Sorry," Jordan muttered. "She doesn't usually jump out like that."
Darin shook his head slightly but let it drop. Below the paving slab was a hatch, made of metal the same colour as the earth around it. Darin leaned into the dip and produced a small set of keys from his pocket, then undid the padlock with no small amount of difficulty. It didn't seem as though the hatch had been opened in years, and as it lifted from the ground there was the sticky tearing sound of years of accumulated mildew and cobwebs. Ren immediately lost interest in her rapidly-vanishing quarry and darted back to the hole to sniff at the edges. While she was distracted, Jordan leaned over and snatched her up, coaxing her back inside his hood.
"Stay put," he muttered. She just licked his ear in response.
"Don't suppose you can make a light?" Darin muttered, peering into the dark hole with distaste.
Blood rushed to his face. "Erm...haven't got that far yet."
Darin gave him a droll look. "Isn't that the point of you people?"
"I only apprenticed a few weeks ago," Jordan snapped, bristling. He was starting to dislike Darin. "I also almost burned a house down last time I tried to do anything helpful, so pull your neck in, arsehole." He stopped himself and cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry. It's a sore point." He shuffled his feet. "I do have good vision, though. If I can be any help that way."
"Sure." He covered it well, but Darin looked a little rattled. "Come down after me. Mind the third rung, it's broken."
He turned around and descended down a ladder Jordan hadn't noticed. Fighting his nerves, he followed, swallowed by blackness even his sight had trouble penetrating. There were no runes to speak of, and just likeit always did, it seemed as though the air was being sucked out of his lungs.
It wasn't a long descent, but it felt like forever in the claustrophobic darkness. The only sounds were their footsteps and laboured breathing. The tunnel eventually opened out into a low ceilinged room, dank and reeking of damp and must, which contained only three locked chests against the wall. Even though his sight was hampered by the low levels of magic around them, Jordan could tell they were all different. The one furthest from the door looked to be cast iron, wrapped several times over in chains with links the size of Jordan's fist.
"Where's the smallest one?" Darin muttered. "I can't see down here."
"On the left," Jordan replied. Darin felt his way to the left along the wall and then knelt down to unlock it.
Next to his ear, Ren growled. At the same time, Jordan's skin prickled with magic, and he knew deep down and with a dread certainty that something was above them in the courtyard.
Trying to make as little noise as possible, Jordan edged towards Darin and knelt down. "There's a demon up there."
"You're joking," Darin hissed, hands pausing in their work. "Can you not do anything about it?"
"Not deliberately," Jordan breathed. He could hear it now. "But I think the threat of having my head chewed off might be enough to make something happen anyway."
"It better had do," Darin said. He popped the lid of the chest. Several sacks lay inside. One of them was lumpy and rattled when he grabbed it, and they both tensed, listening for any sign that the demon had worked out where they went.
"I don't suppose you closed the hatch behind you," Darin said out of the corner of his mouth.
"No."
"Shit."
They stood in breathless darkness for a long time. Up above, Jordan heard dragging noises and the occasional clicking of claws. His lungs wouldn't fill properly, and his skin was live with static. Darin seemed to have stopped breathing altogether; in the gloom, Jordan could just make out the man's eyes trained on the ladder even though he couldn't see.
A huge bang shocked them both into motion. Jordan jumped back and jarred his spine on one of the unopened chests, and Darin darted to a corner and crouched. With a strange sensation not unlike the precursor to being sick, Jordan's magic roared to the surface and illuminated the room.
"Fuck," he hissed, "fuck!"
Darin sprang forward and looked up the tunnel as it lit up. "It's knocked the hatch down. We just need to hang tight for a bit."
"Not if I cook us first." It was already too hot in the cellar, and Jordan was sweating with the effort of holding back an inferno. "We need to get out of here. With any luck this'll scare it off. Or at least distract it enough for us to find a rune net to get behind."
"I'm not just rushing in anywhere with a huge sack of cash," Darin growled. "You think you can keep that going until we get back to my house?"
"I think a better question would be whether I can put it out when I get there."
"Close enough. Come on, you go first."
"Carry Ren for me."
Darin grabbed hold of the wriggling shadow runner and tucked her under his arm. Before he could paralyse himself with fear, Jordan launched himself up the ladder. Forced into the tiny space, his magic turned the tunnel into a chimney, and the hatch was hot to the touch when he reached it. He hoped Darin had waited before climbing after him.
A wight was prowling the courtyard when he managed to force his way out, yellow eyes reflecting the flames back at him. Thick strings of drool glittered below its jaw. It shied at the blaze, but didn't retreat. Instead it prowled from side to side, searching for a weak point, and a yip from the alley behind it alerted Jordan to the presence of at least one more clogging the exit. Jordan sucked in a deep breath of night air, trying to find his centre. There was a scuffle and a gasp as Darin emerged behind him.
"Stay well back," Jordan grunted. His shirt was clinging to him with sweat. He felt like an unexploded bomb; he needed to let off some of the pressure before it turned on him.
He heard Darin scramble backwards. Another wight poured itself out of the alley like a shadow and struck out to try and edge around Jordan for the easier prey.
Jordan let go.
Fire ripped through the alley, seeming to tear itself from deep inside him. He couldn't see where it went, hoped he hadn't caught any humans in the blaze. He heard a cry from behind him, but the flow of magic wouldn't stop no matter how hard he tried to focus on something else, anything else, like he had before with Yddris.
Stone under his hands. The night was suddenly cold and dark again, and he was panting on his knees. He lurched and vomited, and it was streaked with blood.
"Are you..." he groaned and wretched again, "Are you alright?" Are you alive?
A moment passed where it felt as though his heart stopped, and then he heard a quiet, "I'm alright."
He heaved a sigh of relief that went solid in his throat as someone else spoke.
"That was stupid, boy."