Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1

Fifty Nine: Kolter

Jordan looked up from his sketchbook. Something had changed.

He closed the book on his last bit of rune practice – still infuriatingly difficult, and showing no signs of easing up – and crept to his bedroom door. He had avoided everyone since getting back from seeing Grace earlier in the day, but even in his isolation he noticed when the atmosphere shifted.

Then he heard someone wailing.

He stepped out into the corridor, frowning. The hallway was plugged with Unspoken, their backs turned to him as they watched something unfold in the front room. The one closest turned as he came up behind them.

"What's happening?" Jordan murmured.

The Unspoken struggled for a minute, and then Ortin, the namekeeper's, voice said, "Another death."

Jordan swallowed. "A murder?"

Ortin nodded. "Kolter." It sounded familiar; Jordan had heard that name in passing. "Astra's tutor."

"Oh." Jordan blinked. "Oh god."

A rush of confused emotions crossed his thoughts and evaded all his efforts to make sense of them. He clenched his fists until the leather of his gloves squeaked, muscles painfully tight, but all the tension left him in one great sweep at the next thing out of Ortin's mouth.

"Nika was there."

"What? Is he alright?" Jordan's heart clambered into his throat and stayed there. Nika was strange, and distant at times, but he had become familiar over the weeks. How familiar, Jordan only understood at the flood of panic washing through him. He frantically scanned the clustered Unspoken, trying to see beyond them.

"He's uninjured, if that's what you mean."

"Is Yddris here?"

"He doesn't know yet. He's at the castle in a city meeting."

"I need to see Nika."

Jordan scooted from one side to the other, but couldn't find a way through. He jumped as an arm passed over his shoulder and tapped another Unspoken on the back.

"Let the boy through," Ortin murmured.

Far from the scene he braced himself to find in the front room, the Unspoken were all gathered in sombre silence around Nika, who sat in Yddris's only chair clutching a bottle of drink. His other hand held a glass, but it didn't look like he'd been using it; as Jordan broke through the circle, Nika paused in whatever he'd been saying and took a long swig directly from the bottle. Jordan looked around. He'd heard wailing, but there were no other apprentices here, and he wouldn't admit how relieved he was that there was no body, either.

He started to step into the circle to see Nika, but hesitated at the feeling of eyes on him around the room. He hadn't thought it through; he didn't know what he had been thinking to achieve. Nika's anger from the night before was still fresh in his mind. Maybe the Unspoken didn't want to see him, least of all after the death of his friend. But his appearance had still had an effect; the silence was expectant. He shrank into his cloak, wishing he'd brought Ren with him.

"Jordan," Nika croaked, making a feeble attempt at raising the bottle to him.

"What were you saying about the sword, Nika?" someone prompted, when the quiet stretched too long. Jordan's face was burning. He wasn't sure if he was more ashamed of himself for not making the effort to fill in the gaps, or more embarrassed that he'd thought Nika would have anything to say to him.

With seemingly great effort, Nika refocused, fingers flexing around the neck of the bottle. "It was this big, curved thing. Looked like a normal sword otherwise. Very sharp. There was a scratch on his arm where the attacker touched him with it." He took in a long, shuddering breath. "That must have been when it stopped his magic. When it cut him."