Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1

Eight: Hidden Blade

"Can you explain this?" the man said, and Jordan looked down at what he was carrying.

"Oh my god," he breathed. It was a lamb's carcass, but the head was malformed, two pink snouts with lolling tongues and a third, milky eye filmed shut between them. It stank, but the man didn't seem to notice the smell as he offered it on outstretched arms.

"Take a look if you want," he said. "Third one my uncle's had this season. Is it a sign? Are we doing something wrong?"

"How would I know?" Jordan squeaked.

Then he knew. These people thought the portal was from the gods; that he was some kind of messenger. If he hadn't been certain things would turn ugly if he did he might have laughed.

"I'm not blessed," he protested, dancing out of the way as the man thrust the carcass at him again. "I swear I'm not..."

He bumped into someone else and froze as a hand clamped on his shoulder. The man who held him, however, was not Yddris.

"Let's leave him be, eh?" The stranger glanced down and winked, nails digging hard into Jordan's shoulder. "Let him get comfortable. Maybe he'll open up a fortune-tellin' booth for ya."

He cackled and began to tug Jordan away, and though the gathered mob looked disappointed they hung back, eyes wary. Jordan himself felt more than a little uneasy, but his attempts to get out from the grip on him were fruitless. The stranger frogmarched him back up the avenue of shops the way he and Yddris had come, and as they went Jordan tried to divide his attention between keeping an eye on him and looking for the Unspoken among the crowds. He refused to believe the man would just abandon him. He couldn't believe that or he would have some kind of breakdown.

Though not quite as bad as the rotting lamb carcass, his rescuer also stank. He wore dark clothes that could conceal any manner of dangerous or shady objects, and his black hair was half shaved to make room for the tattoo of a grinning horned mask taking up one side of his skull. The grin he threw over his shoulder at Jordan was yellowed and full of gaps.

"Where are we going?" Jordan asked, finding his voice. It came out as a squeak.

"We'll stop soon." The man tugged Jordan around a corner, into a narrow, dingy alley. It smelled of raw sewage and things skittered in the gloom that Jordan couldn't see. There was no one else around, and the shadows were deep enough that anyone passing would only see one man; Jordan was pressed against the wall out of view.

He tried to steady his heartbeat, and only seemed to succeed in squeezing it into his throat and making it hard to breathe. One dark eye regarded him from below the shaggy half-mop of hair. The other was milky white and stared off down the alley. A pale scar split the brow above it and dug a deep furrow in the man's cheek.

"Here we are," the man said, stepping back – though not far enough for Jordan to make a run for it – and rolled his shoulders. "Isn't this nice?"

"No."

The man snorted, pinning him to the wall with one dark eye. "You already seem too honest, boy. It won't get you far here."

"It got me out of prison?" Jordan said, ending on a gasp as the man turned to stare him fully in the face. To Jordan's surprise, he laughed.

"I like you," he said. Jordan's breath left him in a sharp gust as his back hit the wall. He hadn't even seen the man move. "So make this easy for yourself, would you?"

Under Jordan's chin, something cold and sharp made its presence known. His breath came in short gasps, sweat rolling down his face. He was sure the man would feel his heartbeat against the arm on his chest.