The Promise of No Words

Chapter 6

“Why the fuck are we stopping here?”

Bunny stood in front of me, making a loud crunching sound with his boots on the gravel. He stood tall, his arms crossed and stared hard at the hill in front of him—a sharp rise of burned land and dry weeds that looked like they were trying to break free from the ground. The hut was at the top, leaning and decaying, as if it were a scab that would not heal.

He didn’t speak, but I could sense the anger radiating from him, barely under control. He was gripping his jaw and his eyes looked both fearful and angry. He seemed ready to bolt away and never look back or to burn the place down for simply being there.

I wasn’t sure which of the two he would pick.

“You can smell it, can’t you?” he whispered. “Old magic. Dead magic. This place is full of it.”

I moved slowly and my boots sank into the dust. There was a copper and lavender taste in the air. An old and dry object.

I assured him, “It’s safe.”

He scoffed. “Safe doesn’t sound like a beast about to die.”

He still went along with them.

From far away, the hut appeared to be just a neglected ruin, sinking to one side and covered by weeds. However, when I got up close, I could feel it breathe. The old, warped and blackened wood groaned softly as the breeze moved, as if the house were shifting and watching. The old beams were bent and strained, but their joints were still intact.

The wind made the chimes on the porch rattle, as they dangled like thin ribs from the overhang. They made a sound that was both slow and precise, so it was hard to ignore. The noise was unpleasant; it sounded like secrets being shared through old wood and rusty metal.

Every little sound seemed to be part of the plan. It wasn’t just a hut that was there.

I listened to what they had to say.

I tapped on the door once. It sounded as if a heartbeat was beating in the distance.

The door was already open by the time I knocked a second time.

He was present. Velk.

His hair was long and grey, his face looked like old leather and his eyes were blank but full of fire. He didn’t say anything. He just tilted his head, as if he’d been waiting for me for ages.

Bunny moved next to me, looking uneasy. He’s not the kind of old man you’d expect.

I agreed. Not out loud, but I felt it in my chest.

Velk lifted his hand slowly, as if the movement held importance from a previous existence. His fingers were thin and spindly and while they were stiff from age, they remained very accurate. His hands were clean and unmarked by work—only the ink stains in the folds and under his nails, like memories that had faded.

The scent of parchment and dried herbs from the ink reminded him that his true strength was in knowing, not in physical strength. With a gentle twist of his wrist, he motioned for us to come and his gesture looked more like a writer’s stroke than a soldier’s order.

He moved in a way that showed he had survived many tough winters, not by force, but by paying close attention and refusing to give up. He didn’t just recall the cold—he knew the names of every storm and every chilly season, as if they’d once told him secrets.

Even with a fire in the hearth, the inside of the hut was colder than the outside. Only a table, a few cushions and a shelf with unlabeled bottles were in the room. The centre of the room was occupied by just one object:

A harp.

Stringless. Made from pale bone or something that appeared to be bone. It leaned against a stool, in silence.

Until Velk came in contact with it.

No strings were touched. No ties were involved. A simple hum will do. A note. Then another. Notes that curve into silence, slowly building up like rain falling into a deep cave.

And then—

I noticed it.

Not by the fire. Not present in the meeting. However, there is much more going on behind my eyes.

Smoke. Black and painful. A child shouting, not out of fear, but with rage. Walls made of wood and gold were covered in flames. And a voice shouting, shattering a promise like glass. An old, urgent feeling. I could detect the smell of the fire.

I fell back a few steps.

The harp stopped playing.

Bunny was low to the ground, with his hands covering his ears. He was not taking in breaths as he should.

“What the fuck,” he gasped, shaking his head. “What the fuck was that?”

Velk didn’t say anything in response. He put his signature on something. It’s just one word.

I looked at his hands, hoping to recall the old signs. Years ago, Thomir had shown me some of what he knew. Not enough.

However, I should stop here.

I said, “Unbound.”

Bunny stiffened.

Velk gave a slow and serious nod.

“No, I’m not going,” Bunny replied, moving back. “Absolutely not. We’re leaving. This is over the top. I’m not a fan of old magic and I especially dislike bards who talk in riddles and remember things that aren’t there.

“Wait.”

I refused.

“Wait.”

He stopped moving when I touched his shoulder. He stood still, unable to move.

I repeated, “Unbound.” What does that question mean for you?

“Nothing,” he said with disgust.

“You reacted.”

“Everyone reacts to mindfuck visions and creepy sign language!”

I glanced at Velk. “What was the reason for showing us that?”

He didn’t speak in response. Just looked at me.

After that, I played the harp.

Then, once more, aim at me.

Bunny groaned. “Oh, stars. You have a special gift. It’s the kind of pain that’s really deep and unpleasant. It’s no surprise that oath-magic doesn’t affect you. You’re not resisting, you’re just wrong. You remind me of myself.

I was shivering all over.

“I’m not the same as you.”

He laughed in a way that sounded both empty and sharp. Keep repeating this to yourself.

Velk went to the table and took out a thin cloth from the stack. He gave me the letter with care.

It was a map and it was old and had been drawn by hand. The ink became a brown colour.

“Should we move on to this place next?”

He didn’t give a nod. I just played a single note on the harp. A sad, soft sound that sounded like a final goodbye.

I folded the map and put it in my backpack.

We walked out of the hut without saying anything.

Bunny didn’t say anything until we were past the treeline.

“You’re making me a little nervous,” he said.

I’m beginning to feel a little scared.

He stopped. Gave me a sideways glance. “What if you’re not just a damaged village boy?”

“What if I actually am?”

He didn’t say anything in response.

I continued to walk.

We heard the harp singing softly behind us. A single, long and low note. Like a memory. Like a warning.