Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1

Eight: Hidden Blade

It was too much to handle.

Everywhere, Jordan saw things that reminded him how far he was from home. Each step where his feet touched solid ground was a reminder that he wasn't dreaming. His legs felt leaden, and he barely kept up with Yddris as the man led him through the streets. Occasionally he would look back the way they'd come towards the castle towers looming over them, or up the street, hoping to see Grace come running to apologise for dragging the prank out for too long.

People stared. He felt their eyes like ants on his skin. They didn't come close to him, and though he suspected it was to do with Yddris rather than himself, the staring was enough to make him wish for the ground to swallow him for a second time. Maybe he'd end up somewhere less miserable.

Shadow's Reach, as the city was called, was miserable. The sky was unbroken lead grey overhead and the people, though they moved and smiled and acted human, all went along their business like they were carrying a burden on their shoulders. For some, they walked as though that burden had already broken their backs. The fear was tangible in the air. Jordan didn't think himself particularly perceptive, but even he found it thick enough to choke on.

"Why is everyone so afraid?" he asked, not expecting Yddris to answer. For a long minute he didn't, but when Jordan glanced over he was staring at him.

"You can feel it, can you?" he grunted. "Awful, isn't it?" He sighed and took a pull from his pipe. He hadn't stopped smoking since they'd left the castle grounds. "It always gets like this when the dark season's coming. Probably not the best time to say this, but you couldn't have picked a worse time of year to come and visit."

"What's so bad about the dark season?" Jordan asked, a tremor rocking his body. He squinted at the sky and its ominous green tinge from the mountains in the distance. "Apart from that it's dark?"

"Demons," Yddris said. He finally put his pipe out and tucked it away into his cloak. "I'm about to get very busy."

Jordan stopped in his tracks. "They come into the city?"

"Not much food out in the mountains at the best of times," Yddris said, sounding unconcerned, "Let alone on the plains. They get desperate. Some of 'em just want to rifle through your sewers, but others..." He glanced Jordan's way. "Please don't puke, boy, I can't stand it."

"What?" Jordan said. "What do others eat?"

"Apparently people taste quite good. Varthi's followers certainly seem to think so." The Unspoken started walking again. The street broadened out, milling with people and lined with shops, but Jordan didn't have eyes for any of it.

For a few long moments of dumb shock, he didn't notice the man kneeling on the ground at his feet, either.

He blinked, staring down at the clasped hands and sweaty bald pate of the stranger on the ground. He took an alarmed step back, and the old man looked up at him imploringly. Between his hands dangled a pendant, tangled around his fingers so that Jordan was staring into the fat piece of jade stone in the centre.

"Please," the man said.

"Please what?" Jordan asked, looking around for Yddris and feeling his heart jump into his throat when he didn't see him. He tried to edge around the kneeler, but the man toppled onto his front and clutched at the leg of Jordan's trousers.

"Tell me why she died," he moaned. "You must know. You're otherworld, you have to know."

Horrified, Jordan reeled back, only to come face to face with a man in overalls. He seemed more lucid than the other, and smelled of metal and coal smoke, but there was a gleam in his eye that Jordan didn't like. From the shopfront behind the man's shoulder, eyes peered out at him in wonder.