The Promise of No Words

Chapter 10

“You’re capable of it. I can tell you do.”

The voice broke through the darkness with a snap, coming quickly and sounding very close. It filled the air with the heat of anger or fear, a voice that made your back stiffen before your mind realised what was happening.

I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. I just kept going, carefully moving my fingers along the windowsill where the feathers were neatly arranged. The shadows were all different in the pale moonlight: some were dark and shiny, some were light and grey and some were spotted brown and rusty like dried blood on paper.

I touched the newest feather with my fingertips, barely pressing down. It was much smaller than the others, as pale as bone and so delicate that it looked like a breath could break it. Where the moonlight touched it, the ice shimmered and seemed to have silver frost on its edge.

The silence was there behind me, thick and ready to pounce. Yet, I didn’t move in that direction.

Not yet.

The door behind me opened a little more. Then the door was slammed shut.

“I told him,” he said, “you have it.” It’s a small bronze object, but it’s not a coin.”

I eventually turned my head to see. Bunny was in the doorway, with blood on her body. It’s not terrible, but it’s enough. A cut on the jaw, a split in the lip and a torn sleeve. His hands were not shaking out of fear. Perhaps with rage. Or hunger.

"You break into Salla’s again?"

"Fuck you. Give it back."

“I don’t steal things that aren’t mine.”

You took me, didn’t you? He moved nearer, leaving a dark shadow that looked like oil on the floor. “That night. We’re going to the herb garden.”

You were caught stealing.

“I was just getting by.”

“And now you're sulking.”

He growled and for a moment his fangs were visible before he realised what he was doing. I’m not being moody.

“Fine. Snarling, then. Want food?”

He looked at me as if I’d hit him from the side. “What?”

“Food. I’m eating. Would you like some?

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at her, my eyes fixed, as if I had put a dead body on the table instead of a question. The quiet between us grew deeper and heavier than anything words could solve. Whatever he believed about me, it was clear in the way he held his shoulders and kept his hand close to the knife at his belt.

I didn’t pay attention to it.

Turned the pot back toward the low flames. The soup was watery and had some boiled root and wilted greens floating on top. It might not have won anyone over, but it smelled good—earthy, seasoned and lively compared to everything else in the room. Salla had placed the food by the fire, probably hoping I would have eaten it long before. I’m sure he thought I wouldn’t come with blood on my shirt.

I poured the soup into a chipped ceramic bowl and the steam rose slowly into the dim room like the breath of something resting. I put the plate in front of him, making sure my actions were unhurried. Not a gift. It is not a truce. I just wanted to remind you.

That we were still alive.

Still human.

For the time being.

He didn’t budge. But the corner of his mouth moved slightly.

“I can manage on my own.”

“Good. It’s not about giving away money. It’s soup.”

“I ought to rip that smug look off your—"

“Go sit down, Bunny.”

He did so, step by step, as though he wasn’t sure if he was giving up or laying a trap. It seemed as if every movement he made had to be approved by doubt before it could move his body.

His hand paused for a moment, then clenched around the bowl, squeezing too hard and making his knuckles white. The cup shook a little in his hand and the edge pressed against his skin hard enough to leave a mark. A tiny twitch of his thumb revealed more about his feelings than anything his face could show.

The steam between us was thin and slow, hiding his face but not the tension that still hung over him.

“What has happened to you?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

You don’t look like you’ve been through much.

“I said give me the fucking trinket.”

“I haven’t got it.”

“You’re lying.”

I can’t tell you something that isn’t true. Remember?”

He squinted his eyes. “Right. Magicless freak. What, exactly, are you? A ghost? A mistake?”

I didn’t say anything. I just picked up the feather again—the one that looks almost transparent. I lifted it up.

He flinched.

Wasn’t that her own? I whispered the question.

He didn’t say anything.

“Who was this woman?”

“Drop it.”

“Someone you couldn’t fool?”

He was so quick that the bench made a loud noise. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“I’m making an effort.”

“Don’t.”

He picked up the feather. I didn’t try to stop him.

He didn’t accept it quietly. He snatched it from me in a sudden, harsh way, as if the thing burned him just by touching it—as if holding it for a moment more would mark him forever. His breath came out in a harsh, shaky way and then he turned, his shoulders hunched, already starting to move and change.

I took a step back without thinking.

The bones in his spine stretched and twisted, pushing against his skin as he shifted, with his joints protesting loudly. His neck muscles tightened and the tendons looked like wires that had been pulled too far. His hands landed on the ground and his fingers spread out as he twisted them, making his claws push through his nailbeds like knives being pulled from their sheaths.

After that, the smoke appeared.

It started as a thin, black liquid on his skin, winding around his limbs and then it thickened and pulsed with heat, making it seem like his body was burning itself. His outline grew fuzzy, making him look less solid and less human.

I stopped breathing.

He had more to show.

Not by a long shot.

“Don’t get involved in things you don’t know about,” he warned. “You’re not prepared for the truth.”

He broke the door open and disappeared into the darkness.

I wasn’t able to follow along.

I continued to watch the bowl of soup which was still untouched, as it cooled by the fire. I turned off the lamp and got onto the cot. I didn’t fall asleep right away. I kept thinking about the green fire, what Salla had said and the bruises on Bunny.

There was something going on and it wasn’t limited to me.

I was woken up by a bump against the wall at about midnight. I jumped to my feet, but didn’t turn on the lamp. I went to the window and stood there quietly.

Bunny was lying curled up in the half-shade beneath the window.

Half-boy. Half-fox. The light glinting on his fur and his hands were still human. One foot uncovered. The other paw moved.

He took shallow breaths as he slept. He said something, but it was so quiet I couldn’t hear it. Or, perhaps, clearer.

“No more slavery…”

I didn’t let in any fresh air. I just sat down again. I could hear the wind blowing outside. To the peaceful beat of his dreams.

He hadn’t gone very far with the feather. It was placed just below the windowsill and it shone.

He’d made it a close game.

Not gone. Just circling.