The Unspoken: Book One in the Keres Trilogy (23 page)

“
Why is it that whenever I see you two together someone is always in a prostrate position?
”
he says, offering Zink his hand.

“
Good fortune?
”
replies Zink, with an appreciative slap on the back for Frehn, he takes off running again.

Back in our common room, full of fresh game hen and greens, PG3456 searches for devices, then settles in for the evening. Harc shows off her latest acquisitions from the factories: a pair of scissors that only want sharpening and a box of scrap metal. Merit stuffs them in his pack to add to the stash under the roof of the horse barn in the morning.

“
Teach us a song, Frehn,
”
Wex says after the run down of our day
’
s accomplishments is complete. Frehn has improved marginally on his fiddle over the last few weeks and insists we all pay homage to his hard work. Doe tucks her feet under herself in preparation for the night
’
s entertainment, her big brown eyes trained on Frehn
’
s hands while he tunes the instrument.

“
I learned this today from one of the older guys on the granite track. There
’
s a whole collection of underground songs that have been quietly passed down for hundreds of years, right under The Mothers
’
noses.
”

He draws his bow down across the strings and starts a simple, sanguine tune.

I, oh aye, toil away

Aye, oh I, yes all the day

Just to walk back to you

Only to get back to you

Aye, oh I, look up to the sky

I, oh aye, wish I could fly

Over the wall to get back to you

Only to get back to you

I, oh aye, push past purgatory

Aye, oh I, to sing out my story

So I can bring it back to you

Only to get back to you

Aye, oh I, have earned my sweet rest

I, oh aye, stopped my own chest

Only to get back to you

Only to get back to you

As Frehn
’
s voice fades on the last stanza, I feel my heart sinking. It
’
s the first love song I
’
ve ever heard, sung in Frehn
’
s low, rich voice with the tapping of his foot to keep time. The melody was so upbeat we could have danced to it. And then it ended in pain and death. Just like everything else in Chelon.

“
Are there more songs?
”
asks Doe from her corner of the sofa.
“
You said there was a collection.
”

“
There are so many,
”
Frehn says with excitement,
“
The miners sing them to keep pace with their picks. Bik, the old man who taught me this one, said that every Service has them, but it
’
s the miners who have the most as The Mothers hardly ever go past the tunnel entrance. Running the rail car, I
’
ve picked up a lot of things I never knew before.
”

“
Like what, for instance?
”
asks Merit.

“
Like fifty or so years ago, they had to shut down one of the diamond tracks because they were inches from tunneling out of the mines.
”

Wex sits bolt upright.
“
Inches from tunneling out? To daylight?
”

“
Yep, Bik said there was a crack in the cave wall where the sun shines through. He wouldn
’
t tell me where though.
”

I look at Wex and then Frehn. That could be our way out of Chelon. We can escape through the mines.

“
I know what you
’
re thinking, of course. And it might work if I was running the bullet train. We would be overtaken instantly if we tried to get through the mines on foot. If we could take the train, they would have to follow us in carts at best. We would have hours of lead time,
”
Frehn says, looking at Wex.

“
But getting to run the train would take some time, more time than I think we have. You have to be useless at everything else before they let you conduct the bullet. The woman who runs it now had her leg crushed in a collapse. The Healers took it off, so now she sits in the front of the train because she can
’
t do anything else for the Service.
”

“
We
’
ll have to find a workaround, is there a way to break the bullet so it can
’
t chase us?
”
Wex
’
s eyes are alive with planning, scheming.

“
Maybe, but that will take a ridiculous amount of preplanning and probably outside help. I don
’
t know anything about the bullet. I
’
m not even sure where the engine is, it
’
s not in the front.
”

“
Just keep your eyes open, there has to be a way. It
’
s too perfect an exit not to be achievable.
”
Wex leans back in the chair. I watch him from my place on the floor, I can tell he is living out our escape in his mind. His lips move slightly as he forms each step of the plan and I rest my chin in my hand and lose myself in studying his face. He is beautiful. Pensive and alert, his face is vivid with excitement. As if feeling my eyes on him, he looks down at me. I quickly change my focus to the book in front of me, hoping my hair covers my cheeks which are now flushed with embarrassment.

In our goodnight line, Wex
’
s lips linger next to my cheek for a second longer than the night before. I can feel his breath on my ear and I shut my eyes and I lean into him just as he pulls away. I have to take a step to catch myself. Feeling cold and confused, like I missed the bottom step of the staircase, I shut myself in my room for the night.

It was your imagination
, I tell myself as I pull on my pajamas. He did not pause or kiss my cheek any longer than he did Doe or Harc
’
s. And even if he did, we cannot be anything more than what we are already. The Mothers would not stand for that kind of affection before Banding. I will not lose control again and subject PG3456 to the Amendments Spire. This strange hungry feeling for Wex will have to be squashed. I start to drag my thumb over the tree tattoo behind my ear but stop, remembering forcibly what Abbot told me the day I earned it.

There are Unspoken who can
’
t sleep without using it.
They are
addicted to putting their thoughts away the way some of the Healers are addicted to the pain numbing drugs kept in their building. Trying to blot out appalling sights of mangled bodies fresh from the Amendments Spire, in search of relief. They become so dependent on the drugs, they stop eating, choosing to shoot their veins full instead of their stomachs. They become thin and gaunt, their skin gathers and sags around their wrists and ankles in papery layers. I drop my hand to the bed and roll over. Pulling the covers over my head, I try to think of anything but the addicts and Wex.

The nightmares which follow center around Wex as a rawboned addict, racked and spewing blood, lethargic, with Juwas
’
milk-white eyes bulging from his head. I
’
m jolted awake by my own screams, my hair ringing wet with sweat. In the shower, I sink down to the tiled floor. His beaten, broken face appears before me every time I shut my eyes. So I cry wide-eyed, letting the hot water beat against them, stinging the vision of a broken Wex out of them.

Marum is already in the ink production room when I arrive in the Warren. He is flipping through several books at the far table and doesn
’
t notice me when I enter. Coughing as if to clear my throat, I walk over to him.
“
Abbot said you would teach me brewing today.
”

“
Yes,
”
he says not looking up.
“
You
’
ll start with a basic Demoror blend.
”
He picks up a sheet of paper and holds it out to me, still not looking up,
“
Ink elements list, find them and then follow the directions. I
’
ll take a look when you
’
re finished.
”

I take the paper and walk to the other table where a clean set of bowls and instruments await me.
Tuber of elevated gastrodia
is the first item on the list. When I locate
the right box, I gingerly pull out one of the bulbous roots. It looks like thick shed skin from some kind of prehistoric snake. When I
’
ve gathered camphor, logwood, powdered goat horn and others elements on the table, I set to work, carefully mincing the tuber. Following the instructions to the letter, I light the fire under the glass bowl and wait. The ink starts to thicken immediately and turns a grayish-purple color.

Marum walks over and sticks his pinkie finger in the bowl and takes a closer look sniffing. Then he flicks his tongue over the speck of ink on his fingertip.
“
Very good. It
’
s salty-sweet just as it should be. Ready to try it?
”
he asks me.

“
Should I get Abbot?
”
I ask uneasily.

“
No need,
”
he retrieves a brass case from the shelves, pulls out a thin glass tube and uncorks it. He tips the glass bowl of my ink and starts pouring it into the tube. There doesn
’
t seem to be enough space in the tiny phial to hold all of the ink from the bowl, but every drop fits. Marum replaces the cork and hands me the tube of ink and the brass case.
“
Take these to Abbot, he
’
ll show you how to use them. Naturally, I am not surprised your brewing ability is astounding. Thankfully it
’
s easier for you to control than magus. Zink wasn
’
t able to keep anything in the bowls, we went through several tables before I gave up trying to teach him. Well, we all have our m
é
tier of course. Still. Extraordinary.
”
He moves back to his books as he speaks,
“
I am confident that you will not try anything beyond your means. This is one area of the Warren in which you will not need guidance. Brew what and when you like. I would discourage you from experimenting though. There are countless lethal combinations of even the most benign elements, many of which still remain undocumented.
”