Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1

Thirty Five: Lessons

Jordan started awake to something howling outside his window. At first he mistook it for a remnant of his dreams – they frequently featured demons these days – until it happened again, even closer this time.

He shot upright. Ren stirred and resettled at his feet, unperturbed by the sound. The world beyond the glass was pitch dark, save for the faint radiance of a distant moon.

He got out of bed, wincing at the cold floorboards and the chill that hit him as he left the warmth of his blanket. He didn't feel the cold as much as he used to, not since his Gift had manifested, but at night Nictaven was still freezing, even to him. Something clattered outside. He stumbled to the window and peered out, but couldn't see anything except the top of the wall that marked the back of Yddris's land, the one where Arlen had been sitting just days before.

He jumped as the world turned green, and spidery runes glowed like beacons on the walls. The demon he had heard was rendered visible, and when he recognised it his heart fell into his stomach. It was the same type of demon that had started all this, which had dragged Grace into the crypt with it and brought them both here. He recognised the large ears, like satellite dishes, twisting and turning in response to sound; the awfully humanoid torso, the thick hairy legs, the queasy fear that roiled in his stomach at the sight. His hand, resting on the window ledge, spat green and then burst into flame.

Jordan cursed, and then jumped as a floorboard creaked near the doorway. He turned.

"Yddris," he breathed. "You scared the living shit out of me." He paused. "Do you ever sleep?"

"It's not a habit," his tutor said, stepping into the room. He joined Jordan at the window. "And well done, by the way."

"For what?"

"You knew who I was without me telling you."

"I..." Jordan stopped, realising it was true just as the protest rose to his lips. "Oh. How did I do that?"

"Astral signature," Yddris said, watching the Listener root through a neighbour's rubbish pile. "Everyone has one and they're all different. It's how we identify each other without needing to see faces. It's easier to do with Unspoken, since the signature is exaggerated by our magic, and you'll be most familiar with mine since I keep a leash on yours. But it's a good start. Out of interest, do you smell it?"

Jordan frowned. "Smell what?"

"Some Unspoken describe the differences in signature as smells. Just wondering if you're one of them."

"No," Jordan said, "Unless yours smells like whatever it is you smoke."

Yddris laughed. "I've been reliably informed that mine smells like nettle wine, so no, you don't."

"Do you?"

"No. Koen does, I believe."

"Really?" Jordan said. He felt strangely embarrassed at the idea that the other Unspoken was able to smell who he was, and he'd never even known. "Has he said what mine smells like?"

"Dog shit."

Jordan opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

"Don't look so horrified, boy, I'm joking."

"You're awful," Jordan muttered, face heating. He turned back to stare at the Listener. It seemed to have grown bored with the rubbish pile, and was making a slow retreat down the alley that ran behind Yddris's house. "Aren't you going to kill that one?"

"Nika is at the other end of that alleyway. Good job you're up already, because I was going to make you watch it anyway."

"Watch wh—"