The Promise of No Words

Chapter 2

“Keep him pinned down.” Gently.”

Thomir moved closer, keeping his breathing calm even as everything around him was chaotic. The light above was dim, making the shadows in the cramped room appear even more unsettling. The person on the cot moved restlessly, sweating heavily and every tremor made the burn marks on his skin stand out clearly. They found a pattern on his arms that looked like chains, twisting and moving as if they had a mind of their own.

"Stay with me," Thomir urged, his voice barely more than a brittle whisper. The man’s words were urgent, but the stranger could only groan, with his mouth hanging open as if he was caught in a nightmare. Sweat dribbled from his collarbone onto the old fabric below him, showing how different it was from the intense heat in the room.

What was done to him? The thought echoed in Thomir's mind like a war drum, the burn marks a silent testament to some malevolent force. As he looked at the stranger again, Thomir could feel his desperation growing. He realised he needed to act fast, as the fever seemed to have a strange quality that was more than just physical. 

He reached out a tentative hand, hovering just above the stranger's arm, hesitating as if terrified to touch the scars left behind. What storeys were hidden in those marks? Every link, every flame could reveal a secret, but it was a secret he wasn’t ready to face, as it would destroy whatever peace he held on to. Still, the solution was hidden and Thomir had to discover it before it was too late.

I leaned my arm against the traveller’s shoulder. I had a prosthetic on the other side for support. He jerked back, saying something that sounded more like curses than prayers.

“Oath... oath-flame... he said the name... he broke it... black mark... it... hurts...”

His voice sounded like glass that had been broken. Thomir moved closer, took a whiff of the burn and then placed a cool cloth on the man’s forehead. The wounds gave off a strong smell, reminding me of copper, ash and a sour odour. It caused my tongue to curl at the back.

“Have you seen this before?” I asked.

He didn’t respond immediately. She just kept crushing the herbs into a paste, her jaw tight.

I have witnessed the results of war. Not at this distance. He wiped his hands with his apron. This is a case of oath-magic that has turned bad. The person who tied him did it incorrectly. Or did not fulfil the terms of the contract.”

“Accident?”

“No.” He looked straight at me. The purpose of this was to punish. The leash was turned into a noose by someone.

The man had another fit. Thomir held him still and chanted quietly, using old sayings to help his hands. At times, that’s all we need.

I walked over to the window and stood there. The wind was blowing from a different direction. A heavy silence hung over the shutters, as if the air was waiting for something to happen.

A hawk flew overhead and then suddenly jerked and spun around, moving its wings in a way that seemed unnatural. I frowned.

“Something’s off.”

“Off how?” Thomir was washing the blood from his clothes.

“Birds. It’s the same one I’ve seen all morning. It seemed to forget how to be alive as it flew.

He turned around to look behind him. You were always the first to notice anything odd. Trust your gut, son.”

There was more to it than just the hawk.

As I walked by the wards on the door, they seemed to come alive and flicker. A flicker of light, similar to a candle in a strong breeze. I ran my thumb over the runes. They made me feel comfortable.

Wards will only do that when something is close to happening.

I went back to the traveller. His breathing was rough. His shirt was soaked and stuck to his body. His eyes slowly opened, looking hazy.

“He tied me up... told me I was too open with my words... said I understood too much.”

“Who did?” Thomir spoke in a gentle tone.

“The Whisperer. That’s the name they use for him. Not bandits. Not anymore. Something... something from the past. It smells like smoke and teeth. Speak as you would normally speak.

The man stopped moving. Not dead, but he had sunk into a deeper sleep, as if his body was too tired to stay awake.

Outside, hoofbeats.

Seconds after the door opened, Kesh came in, panting for breath.

She could only manage to say, “Caravan.” “North road. Completely wrecked. They require assistance.

Thomir was ready to go before I had even started packing.

“Stay,” he said to me.

I nodded and went along with him.

There were muddy tracks on the road and the deep grooves were full of stagnant water. A horse pulling the lead waggon was limping and blood was visible near its side. The wheel was not securely attached. The tarp was only partially burned. The patients in the bed were bent over, with pale faces and trembling hands.

One reason was that our reeve and I had an argument.

They did not say a word! Not once! He just pointed at us. The air, holy crap, it was completely different! Just like you wanted it in your lungs!”

Another man, who looked much younger, had his arms torn to shreds as he looked up at the sky.

They seemed to be saying something. I was unable to resist. I shared our ledgers with them. I showed them where I had hidden the coin. I told them where my sister lives—fuck—” He coughed.

Thomir acted with composure and confidence. We’ll take care of the wounded. What happened to the attackers?

“Gone. Into the forest. I didn’t take the goods. Instead, I chose to express myself with words.

That gave me a shiver. Words can harm you more than swords if you cannot take them back.

I saw a sigil engraved on the side of the waggon. Three rings with a line going through them. Not the markings of a bandit. Older. Symbolic.

An idea suddenly came to me. The storeys my mother would tell me before the night of screaming. I felt my jaw tense up.

Back in his own home, Thomir was filling sacks with supplies. Dried roots. Bandages. The blueleaf powder he had.

“Do you think they’re planning to come here?” I whispered my question.

I believe they are getting close already.

I was seated near the fire, watching the burning embers. Every time I heard a crackle, it sounded too loud. There was a faint squeak from my prosthetic arm as I adjusted it. The straps caused my shoulder to become very sore today. I didn’t mind.

“What would happen if the wards were to break?” I asked.

“They won’t. Not yet.”

“However, they’re not as bright as they were before.”

He didn’t say anything.

I began to feel a heavy sense of unease. Not panic. Not fear. Just the dreadful burden of realising what is happening. I felt the same fear as a child, when fire came down the valley and I saw the bandits with torches and my mother did not wake up.

I did not believe in prophecy. However, I thought that patterns were real.

All of this—the bound flames, the secret promises, the birds that changed direction, the air that felt like a question you didn’t want to answer—led to the same conclusion.

Toward something that was already familiar with me.