So, the National Write a Novel in a Month has begun. As such, I will be drawing upon my backlog of writery in order to provide my posts for the next month or so. This is a new little something I wrote this year. It also was a gift – though perhaps pre-order would be more accurate as I’m now going to post it to the rest of the world. But, at least enough time has passed that the original receiver should have finished it by now.

Now you, fellow readers, get to profit. Enjoy!

Silence by Johann Heinrich Fussli

Prologue – The True Nature of Silence

 There are some that say silence exists in three parts. The first is the most common. It is the empty, hollow song that fills the brokered space between noise. It is the silence that lays still in forgotten crypts, on empty roads or amongst abandoned farmsteads. It is the hard, cold silence that drives men to seek shelter and refuge in the only establishments designed to keep its foreboding presence at bay.

It is the reason that the group of young men huddled in the confines of the new Stone Swan Inn. Their burnished mugs clattered against the dented, worn table tops like so many others had before. Their fingers tapped against the wood. Those that could, whistled disjointed chords and off-tune melodies. They fidgeted. They sniffled. They coughed and swallowed. They did everything but talk, and in doing so they provided the second silence.

It was the silence of that which is unspoken. The silence that hides behind other words. It is the traitorous silence, waiting for just the moment when the guard is down to quietly open the door and usher the first in.

But the third silence was the most insidious. It was also the most subtle. Had one sat in that hall for the entire evening they may not even notice its presence. It didn’t hang awkwardly about the cautious young men. It didn’t linger outside the windows wrapped in the deepening night. It buried itself deeper and enveloped the heart of its carrier like a heavy, stone blanket. It pressed down in a crushing grip, squeezing out all other feelings.

It was the silence of one waiting for the end. And the others in the inn knew not that it was carried amongst them.

For none even thought to look.

The five young men pounded the tables with the flats of their hands: their signal for more booze. In the corner the innkeeper nodded obliging, setting down the thick bottles he dutifully polished. He slipped over to their table, offering a friendly smile as he scooped up their mugs and deposited them on the back counter. He opened his mouth to call, but his assistant was there before any words emerged. Silently, the mugs vanished to the back and returned before the keeper could run his hand through his unearthly vibrant redder than red hair.

His lips pursing into an unfamiliar tune to the locals, he brought the drinks back, easily dropping them before their eager fingers before resuming his position at the back. He picked up a new bottle, slowly turning it in his hands as he gently rubbed its surface.

For the inn was his and his domain to see over. Just as the silence was his to keep and hold at bay. For the innkeeper was the ruler of all he purveyed and he didn’t concern himself with that which lay in the shadows.