The Mirewalk was a district built to drown. Its houses leaned drunkenly over canals, stilts rotting, stones sweating with mildew. Boards creaked beneath our boots, some loose enough that water gurgled through the cracks. The fog here was not mist but a swampy mass, thick with the stink of stagnant water and rotting reeds. Every breath felt damp, cloying, as if inhaling through wet cloth.
Seraphine's iron arm clicked softly as we moved, its runes glowing faintly in the haze. Her other hand rested near her belt, though no pistol would banish what lingered in this place. I clutched the Ledger close, my candle-mark weak, a dying ember flickering against the weight of Mirewalk's whispers.
They came first as faint murmurs, threading between the creak of boards and the drip of water. At first I thought they were citizens, crouched in their sagging huts, muttering prayers. But the words were wrong. Too fragmented, too repetitive. One voice muttered about debts unpaid. Another about drowning. A third whispered my own name. Over and over.
"Varrow," Seraphine murmured, her voice tight. "Do you hear them?"
I nodded, throat aching, and rasped, "Yes."
The Ledger opened without my touch, its page bleeding ink:
Phenomenon Detected: Whisper-Lease.
Effect: Borrows the voices of the living. Spends them until silent.
Directive: Identify source. Contain contagion.
We turned a corner into a narrow boardwalk that hugged the canal. The whispers grew louder, layering over one another until it felt like walking through an audience murmuring in anticipation. Faces peered through shutters, pale and trembling, mouths moving but no sound escaping. Their voices were not their own anymore. The Mirewalk had leased them out.
Seraphine's eyes narrowed. "If the source isn't cut, this quarter will be voiceless by sundown."
The Ledger scrawled new lines:
Options Available:
Burn Candle: Expose the source in light. Cost: One marrow beat.Confess into fog: Draw the voices to yourself. Cost: Silence deepens.Spine of Iron: Break structural tether. Cost: Severe strain.
I clenched my jaw. My marrow was thinning, my voice already cracked beyond repair, and the Spine of Iron had screamed through my bones since the Listener. Every option was ruin. But doing nothing meant Mirewalk would drown in silence.
Seraphine laid her human hand on my shoulder. "Choose carefully. Don't bleed yourself dry for them if it breaks you entirely."
Her words carried no softness. They were iron truth, hard and heavy. But she didn't remove her hand. She would carry me if I fell.
We reached a collapsed warehouse at the edge of the canal. Its roof had caved inward, beams jutting like ribs. From within, the whispers thundered—an endless chorus, rising and falling like a tide. The air was thick with it. My candle-mark flared faintly in recognition.
The Ledger blazed:
Source Identified: Echo Broker.
Status: Feeding on leased voices.
Nature: Incomplete debtor, forming.
I stepped closer. Inside the ruin squatted a figure draped in dripping nets, its form shifting beneath layers of reeds and fish bones. Its head was no face but a swollen sack of pale skin, mouths stitched across it at random angles. Each mouth whispered, fragments of stolen speech spilling like coins from torn purses.
It turned toward me, and a dozen mouths spoke at once. My father's voice. Aurelius' voice. My own voice, clear and unbroken. "Varrow. Varrow. Varrow."
I staggered back, bile rising. The Ledger pulsed furiously, demanding action.
Directive: Sever Broker.
Warning: Delay will spread contagion to all of Mirewalk.
Seraphine's iron arm flared, ready to strike. But she looked at me. Always me. The Ledger never accepted another's hand.
The Broker lurched forward, its stitched mouths opening wider, spilling sighs and secrets into the air. Its chorus pressed against my chest, demanding I answer. My candle-mark trembled, the Spine of Iron groaned, my fractured throat bled with silence.
I raised the Ledger high. The page glared back, demanding a price.
—End of Chapter 23—