Promised Silence

Somewhere far away, Reagan heard birds chirping. He smelled something awful, a burnt, acrid odor mixed with something like an animal that had decayed in a damp corner of an enclosed room for a week. He tasted a strong bitterness that seemed to travel from his tongue down to the very core of his being.

As soon as he registered the odd taste, a sharp, burning pain rushed to cover it up. He wanted to scream but couldn’t find his voice.

It took everything Reagan had to crack one eye open, and even that caused him excruciating pain. He groaned.

“Thank goodness you’re awake,” Liam said, coming into view. His voice shook, but relief melted across his expression. “Hurry, you have to perform the healing spell. There’s the enhancement herbs right next to you, already made into a paste.”

Reagan’s thoughts moved in slow motion, fighting a fog that dimmed his awareness of anything except the pain, but his body moved even slower. He tried to sit up only for his vision to go white and his head to almost fall off his shoulders. It felt like it was hanging by a thread, if that.

Giving up, he lay back and reached blindly to his right for the herbs.

“A little higher,” Liam said. “There’s the mortar. The mixture’s in there.”

The pain was too much for Reagan to entertain a single thought. He dipped his fingers into the wet, mushy concoction and smeared it from his chin down to the center of his chest, where the pain was so intense, he could barely breathe.

He recited the spell in an agonized hiss. The relief was immediate. Beneath his hand, he felt the familiar heat of a spell and tensed, fearing the fire he’d felt last time. But this was the gentle warmth he was used to.

It stole the pain away like a warm hug from his mother could steal his sorrow. He relaxed, finally, and opened his eyes to the cluster of stars looking down upon him from the dawn sky. The air still smelled rancid, but nothing felt better than taking a deep breath.

“Did it work?” Liam asked, looking Reagan up and down. Worry creased his brows together, and his voice shook in a way Reagan had only heard once before, in the moments before Liam died. “Are you cured? Completely?”

Reagan nodded, but the motion made him dizzy. His entire body was sluggish and heavy. It felt like Liam’s cottage had fallen on top of him.

“You still don’t look okay…” Liam said. His face hovered close to Reagan’s, looking him over again.

To Reagan’s disappointment, he could make out the stars through Liam’s translucent head. So the spell did fail, he thought, and the realization sapped him of what little strength he’d regained. “I’m just exhausted,” Reagan replied, and though he tried to make his tone comforting, it was hard for him to speak without slurring his words together.

“How about using some of the valerian root the apothecarist gave you?”

As Reagan entertained the idea, a realization dawned on him: his head was resting atop his satchel, using it like a pillow, even though he distinctly recalled setting the satchel down beside a tree, several meters away.

And where did the mortar or herbs come from? said a little voice in the back of his head.

Did the spell work?! Reagan sat up, eyes wide. The clearing spun around him and made it difficult for him to look at Liam, but he forced his body to stay upright. Three Liams swam in and out of focus, surrounded by at least a hundred swaying trees and a muddy, blackened cloth on the ground, but all three of him looked the same as he had for the past decade.

“I don’t get it,” Reagan said, and he dropped back down, missing his satchel and landing in a face full of leaves. “If the spell didn’t work, how did you do any of this?”

Liam refused to meet Reagan’s eyes. “I didn’t,” he said, looking off to his right with a guilty look on his face. “Before you say anythi-”

But it was too late. Reagan had followed his gaze and spotted Elisa, sitting on her heels by the trunk of a tree.

“You brought her here?!” Reagan hissed, sitting up. Adrenaline chased away the dizziness as he looked behind Liam at the linen cloth, at the circle he’d drawn on it and the weird, black tendrils of rot and mold that had spread out from all angles of it. I don’t know how to explain that away… Panic gripped him like an icy hand trying to squeeze all the blood out of his heart.

“What choice did I have?” Liam asked, raising his voice. “Did you want me to watch you bleed out and die?!” His mouth was pulled down into a grimace, his eyes scrunched like he was about to cry.

“I’m sorry,” Reagan said, softening. He reached out but couldn’t comfort Liam as his hand went through Liam’s shoulder, and Reagan pulled it back.

Inside, his thoughts raced around in circles. I just said ‘spell.’ Did she hear me? I performed a healing spell. Did she see it?

He couldn’t voice any of them. Unable to look at Elisa for fear of what he would see, he asked Liam quietly, “How much did you tell her about…?” He gestured vaguely between himself and Liam, looking down at the tether that still connected them.

“Only what was necessary,” Liam said, but the guilty look on his face hinted at more. “She went through a lot to help you.”

“I know,” Reagan said softly. Turning to Elisa, he bowed his head and said, “Thank you for helping us. I’m sorry for the trouble I caused you.” He hesitated, wavering between wanting to ask how much she knew and not wanting to find out. “How much did you…?”

“I saw you perform a spell just now, with that beautiful silver light.” Excitement sparkled in her eyes, but she quickly shook it away and said, soberly, “Liam told me that you’ve been hiding all this,” she gestured around to the cloth and Liam. “I promise, I won’t tell anyone.” The smile she gave him was warm and genuine, but her words sent a chill down Reagan’s spine nonetheless.

“I… Appreciate that,” Reagan said. He struggled to push the words out of his mouth. His chest felt so tight, he almost forgot how to breathe.

“We can trust her,” Liam said softly, coming closer so only Reagan could hear him. “She wouldn’t have helped if we couldn’t.”

“What spell were you trying to perform over there?”

Reagan exchanged a look with Liam, who shrugged and said, “He was trying to bring me back to life.” He said it with a smile and without a hint of sorrow in his voice.

“He died in my place,” Reagan continued, looking down at the brown leaves beneath him. “Because we looked so similar, whoever it was mistook him for me, and killed him alongside my parents.” While I was hiding in the closet like a coward. He didn’t voice the last thought, because he knew Liam would counter him. “I don’t know why, and I don’t know who, but all that matters to me is bringing Liam back, because he should never have died in the first place.”

“Whoever they are might still be out there,” Liam added, “Which is why Reagan can’t use his own name anymore. Although, why he chose ‘Alois’ of all names…”

“What is your problem with Alois? You made such a face at it.”

“It’s the name of that grumpy old man from our village! Well, now that I think about it, I guess it suits you fine.” Liam grinned mischievously.

“Watch it,” Reagan said with a glare. “I wasn’t going to keep using your name, after all, so I needed something else, and that’s the first one that came to mind.”

“What’s wrong with my name?”

“I’m trying to give it back to you. There’s no point if I keep borrowing it.”

“There can be more than one ‘Liam’ out there. I’m sure there is.”

Elisa’s amused laughter cut off Reagan’s next retort, and he caught himself, coughing to hide his embarrassment. “Anyways,” he said to her. “Thank you for helping us -- me -- so much. We’ll escort you to Baktry, of course, and-”

“About that,” she said, cutting him off with a sheepish smile. “I don’t think I’ll be welcome in Baktry any time soon. Or ever, really.” She gave Reagan a brief explanation of the crime she had committed on his behalf, and he felt a warmth spread throughout his chest, but it wasn’t coming from the spell.

“Well then,” he said. “I guess it’s a good thing I stocked up on extra food. Our next stop is a few days away, in Apolde.”