The sound of Silas's piercing scream was absorbed by the scouring wind and disappeared into the succulent forest, alerting nobody to his location. The Unspoken recoiled and took a step back as if Silas had slapped it. Mirroring the creature's motion, Silas also stumbled backward, halting only when he felt the sharp prickle of cactus catch in the material of his coat. The two regarded each other from their respective positions. Silas's chest heaved great, choking gasps, wheezing through the panic gripping his throat. The Unspoken lifted a three-fingered manus to its globular, swollen cranium. As its articulated fingers met its dark, scaly skin, a low buzzing seemed to emanate from the creature's head to be detected in Silas's mind. Silas clutched at his ears in response, realization flooding his consciousness.

  All this time, he thought, mind reeling, the Voices came not from my own mind but from the Unspoken?

  As if hearing his thoughts, the Unspoken jerked and slightly adjusted the pointed fingers aimed at its bald cranium. Like twisting a radio's dial to tune into a frequency, the buzz in Silas's mind changed in pitch, transforming into a soprano whizzing that fizzled like static. A murmuring could be discerned for but a moment, cut off the second it began, as the whizzing transformed again into a hollow emptiness filled with hissing reverberations.

   Echo finally asked, its Voice clearer than it had ever been. The Unspoken relaxed once more, fingers falling from cranium to rest limply at its side, the limb swinging slightly as the preternaturally long arm came to lie flush against its leg.

  Silas stared into the Unspoken's unblinking eyes. His legs shook with fear, knees threatening to collapse under his weight. The Unspoken watched him watching it, its carapace crackling with the subtle motion of its multi-jointed neck tilting to one side. Silas shivered at how unerringly human the gesture was.

   Echo's Voice said again, filling the hollowness of Silas's mind with its sound,

  The Unspoken risked a step forward, its four-toed pes crunching upon the brittle dirt beneath it. Unable to retreat farther, Silas stood his ground, his head swiveling as he searched desperately for a way to escape.

   It took another step forward, now mere inches from Silas.

  His body trembled with fright, his eyes impossibly wide.

  No, no, no, no, no!

  The terror consumed his awareness until only a single notion—a rejection of reality in pure denial—projected from him in one amalgamation of thought:

  No!

  Again, the Unspoken retreated, flinching away as if assailed by an invisible force. Silas interpreted this as an opportunity to escape. He lurched forward, his boot catching clumsily in a cactus taproot, and he sprawled to his knees. The Unspoken's hand sprang forward to grab his ankle. Before it could touch him, Silas yanked his leg, sharply repositioning his foot on the sandy soil and launching into a run with a spray of dust behind him. The Unspoken regained its footing and stood, staring after the boy while he sprinted against the wind toward the double doors of the school. From the succulent forest sprang a large canine, its snarling growl tripping Silas when he chanced a look over his shoulder. The large beast dashed for him—spittle flying from its jowls with each bounding leap. Black, undulating veins pulsed beneath translucent skin, naked without fur. The clipity-clop of the beast's curling claws mirrored the galloping drum of Silas's boots as he ran desperately.

  A carrion wolf! Silas's heart missed a beat as he faced forward once more and continued his flight. He was familiar with the monstrous hounds from his biology lessons. Domesticated by the Unspoken and used as animals of war, these ferocious predators also prowled the wilds of the Badlands, killing weary travelers with their venomous claws and supping from their marrow to stay hydrated in the desiccation of their habitat. With one scratch, a carrion wolf's neurotoxin left its prey numb and paralyzed, unable to run or even scream while the beast feasts upon flesh.

   Echo cried, its usually monotonous Voice suddenly pronounced with emotion.

  Before Silas could process the Unspoken's words, he stopped before the double doors, about to throw them wide to admit his entrance into the safety of the school. A resounding boom exploded from behind Silas. Wincing, he turned to discover its origin.

  Standing between Silas and the Unspoken was a lone man holding a phlogiston rifle, the muzzle trained on Echo. The Unspoken stood, unharmed, the bullet ampule shattering harmlessly against its carapace. But as Silas watched, the alchemical concoction that spilled from the ampule's shattered remains began to sizzle and corrode, melting away the protective chitin to burn at the sensitive epidermis beneath. Echo seemed to shudder as if in pain. The rifle-wielding man cursed under his breath and reloaded, nodding between Silas and the double doors as if to usher him inside. The boy remained, transfixed, his attention locked on the standstill between Unspoken and man. The carrion wolf, which had halted its chase of Silas at Echo's orders, began to growl and pad threateningly toward the rifle-wielder. Silas attempted to alert the man with grunts and hand waving, but the man either took no notice or ignored the boy, staring down the barrel of the rifle at his enemy.

  In an excruciating, deafening wail that pierced Silas's skull and forced him to his knees, the Voices rushed forward at once, with them revealing a horde of Unspoken who moments before were hidden deep within the succulent forest. Silas watched—teeth gritted against the pain searing his brain—as Echo was flanked by dozens of Unspoken who came to stand protectively around it. Scores of carrion wolves bolted from the succulent forest after them, forming a defensive position around Echo. The rifle-wielder wavered, the barrel of his weapon jerking back and forth between numbers of Unspoken and wolf, his brain calculating his unlikely odds. A conspicuous tension settled in the standstill, neither Unspoken nor man willing to make the first move.

   Echo declared from somewhere within the fray, its Voice difficult to discern over the hubbub of the others.

  There was a shifting of movement among the cluster of Unspoken, the tumult of their tangled Voices nearly obscuring Echo.

  Silas sniffed, blood beginning to trickle from his nose. Behind him, the double doors banged open with a flood of confused and concerned people rushing outside to investigate the rifle shot. Silas turned to look, still seated awkwardly on the cold cement of the walkway. Through the crowd rushed Pa and—behind him—Ms. Adlewood. The teacher stopped suddenly, her hand covering her mouth as bewilderment passed over her face. She reached out and swung a protective arm around Charlotte, whose hands were pressed hard against her ears to ward off the clamor. Pa, undaunted, rushed toward Silas, his concern evident, yet his courage drawing him onward.

  Time elongated. Pa reached forward through the throng of people, stretching toward Silas determinately. The Unspoken turned their unblinking eyes all at once, watching the wave of humans pour from the school to gather in a huddle before them. The growl of carrion wolves rattled low and deep. The creatures were crouching, poised on powerful limbs in preparation to pounce. The lone rifle-wielder hovered his finger upon the trigger, finding resolve in the presence of other humans to resume his attack. Silas sat in the middle of it all, observing the entire scene as if dissociated from his own body. For one singular instant, all was still—time frozen between the ticks of a clock. Then the rifle-wielder squeezed the trigger, annihilating the tranquility with a concussive boom.

  Pandemonium ensued.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Bullet ampules struck home, corroding the carapaces of the hit Unspoken with acidic alchemy. Silas perceived the pained cries of the injured Unspoken in his mind as an ear-piercing howling. He cried out and clutched at his head in sympathetic pain, feeling what the Unspoken felt in his mind. Pa finally reached him amid the chaos, the humans around him shouting over each other to voice their confusion and shock.

  "What in the frozen hells is going on here?" cried a man at the edge of the human mob, holding his wife and daughter protectively in a tight embrace.

  "How did they get so deep into the city?" asked an older boy who peered on tip-of-toes over the heads of those around him.

  "Get back!" boomed Headmaster Warren, an Imperial officer on either side of him. They had switched out their Records for thick cudgels, which they pulled from the deep pockets of their uniforms with practiced efficiency.

  "Somebody hail the Guard!" squealed a young girl at the front of the mob, her arms wrapped around her body protectively.

  Pa lurched forward, freeing himself from the crowd and stumbling to kneel in front of Silas. He grabbed Silas by the shoulders and studied his face urgently, noting the blood leaking from the boy's nose. "I thought we had more time," he whispered, tears beginning to gather in the creases of his eyes.

  Before Silas could respond, something large and impossibly strong collided with his shoulder and knocked him to the ground. He felt Pa's grasp release from his shoulder. Falling forward, Silas caught himself with his hands, scraping the skin of his palms against the rough walkway. Screams full of terror and horror exploded from the crowd of people. Silas looked up, desperate to find Pa amid the mayhem.

  A strangled cry ripped from his throat when his eyes landed on the prone figure of Pa trapped beneath a carrion wolf. On hands and knees, Silas crawled over, oblivious to the people running and shouting around him. Feet kicked at his head and stepped on his bare fingers, but he kept moving forward, watching in utter dismay as the carrion wolf's jaw opened wide and then snapped shut over Pa's throat. Silas screamed and leapt for Pa, reaching his side after flinging himself the final few feet.

  Pa lay limp and still. The carrion wolf's venom coursed through his body—the resulting paralysis leaving him vulnerable and powerless to fight back as the beast tore out his throat. Stop! Silas cried out in his mind. Please make this stop!

  The beast suddenly froze, staring at Silas in anticipation. Mucousy blood dripped in sticky strings down the wolf's jowls. It eyed Silas hungrily but did nothing, sitting back on its haunches and waiting. With an angry grunt, Silas barreled past the beast—which whimpered at his touch—and closed his hands around the gaping hole in Pa's throat, his fingers quavering. As bright red blood oozed and squirted from the cavernous wound, a wet gurgle escaped Pa's lips in an attempt to inhale. Silas squeezed harder, trying to staunch the river of blood, and received an eyeful of humors for his efforts. His body convulsed as a spasmodic sob racked through him, loosening his grip on Pa's neck. Regaining his composure, Silas felt around the brutalized flesh of Pa's wound, his fingers finding a severed tube pulsing with escaping blood. His artery! Silas pinched the vessel closed with forefinger and thumb and felt, to his relief, the tsunami of blood recede to a static trickle.

  Pa's eyes—previously glazed over and unmoving—snapped into focus as the carrion wolf's ephemeral venom began to wear off. While Silas continued to pinch his artery shut, Pa lifted trembling hands upward and began to sign. Silas struggled to understand what he said; Pa's hands were shaking terribly, muddying his attempts at sign language. Silas shook his head, trying to convey that he did not understand. Pa's hands hovered for a moment. He opened and closed his fists as though pumping feeling back into them and then tried again. This time, Silas comprehended.

  "47 Brimthorne Lane, East Gloam." Once Pa had finished signing, his hands dropped to rest upon his chest, which rose and fell with shallow, shuddering pants.

  An address? Silas thought in confusion. He's bleeding to death, and his last words are an address? A crazed grin drew Silas's lips tight, and a hysterical sound—half-laugh, half-sob—cackled from his chest. As he laughed, tears streamed down his face, trickling onto his hands and mixing with Pa's blood.

  While he continued to laugh, a pair of gloved hands replaced Silas's around Pa's neck. A second pair of hands gently guided Silas's arms back to his sides and hoisted him up into a standing position. The vitalists are here, Silas thought vaguely, watching the red-and-white clad figures rush around Pa and begin loading his limp body onto a stretcher.

  Silas's laughter melted into numb shock as he beheld the scene before him. Imperial Guards rushed from armored boilers, cudgels and phlogiston rifles raised as they flung themselves into the fray against the Unspoken and their defensive line of carrion wolves. Blood splattered the ground and collected in puddles beneath the dead and dying, who lay scattered upon the surface in various petrified postures as rigor mortis took hold. Children and adults wailed in grief, clutching the bodies of fallen loved ones. Silas found Ms. Adlewood among the dead, her body slouched upright against the pole of a starbloom lamppost—her head lolled forward—a red stain billowing under her body from a laceration somewhere on her torso. Curled against her bosom lay Charlotte, her limp arms—horribly mauled by carrion wolf claws—wrapped around Ms. Adlewood's neck. Charlotte's usually bright hazel eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, staring lifelessly at nothing.

  Silas felt himself take a step toward them, watching from far away as his body was jolted into motion. He tottered over on swaying legs that felt nothing, a penetrating numbness enveloping his soul. He crouched low and pressed fingers against Charlotte and Ms. Adlewood's cold necks, detecting no pulse beating beneath the surface. His arm dropped to his side, and he stared with eyes as lifeless as the bodies before him at the corpses of his best friend and mentor. His shoulders shook with racking sobs, but no tears flowed. Behind him, the fighting reached its climax as the Guard ignited a fulmination orb and discharged it at the Unspoken, who scattered to avoid the explosive detonation. Echo broke off from the other Unspoken, who retreated in a disorganized throng toward the succulent forest with carrion wolves whimpering and howling in tow. Slinking in the shadows, Echo snuck away from the fight and toward Silas, who paid no mind to his surroundings.

   Echo said, stopping to stand behind Silas.

  The boy winced at the Voice as it drew him back to reality. At once, the sounds of the dwindling battle returned, his senses gradually restored. In place of the numbness aching grief and rising rage bloomed. Silas wheeled around to face the Unspoken and wobbled to his feet.

  Why?

  He cried the word into his mind, its meaning reaching the Unspoken standing a few paces ahead of him.

  The creature regarded him, its expressionless face revealing nothing. To their right, a lone Guardswoman glanced up from polishing her rifle and watched with narrowed eyes as the boy and Unspoken faced each other. The woman alerted her colleagues, and together they observed the unsettling scene of a human boy "speaking" with a lone Unspoken.

   Echo explained, taking a step forward.

  Silas said nothing and stood his ground, shaking with a fury that swelled from deep within his core and threatened to rampage out of control.

   Echo took another step forward. Echo reached out its manus, three fingers extending toward Silas's head.

  "Do NOT touch me," Silas signed at the Unspoken, swatting away the touch. The skin of his palm tickled where it brushed against the creature's carapace. It jerked back, the "lips" of its vestigial mouth twitching slightly.

   the Unspoken asked, its Voice shrinking back in volume as though whispering.

  As Silas paused for a moment to consider this, he turned to address a group of several Guards marching over. The leader of the group held manacles while her colleagues aimed phlogiston rifles at Silas and Echo. The Unspoken risked one last look at Silas before it retreated, running to the succulent forest in zig-zagged motion to avoid being struck by the Guards' rifle shots. Once Echo had disappeared into the spiky embrace of the cacti, the Guardsmen leveled their rifles at Silas. The leader stepped forward, brandishing the manacles as she approached. Silas stared lamely with lips parted in shock.

  The Guardswoman closed the manacles around Silas's wrist with a conclusive click and locked them tight with a key. He gaped down at his bound hands, the gears in his brain slowly turning to process the situation.

  "You, boy, are under arrest on suspicion of conspiring with the Unspoken to launch an organized attack on the Foundry School for Education and Asylum." The Guardswoman looped a thin yet sturdy chain around his bound hands and pulled tight, causing Silas to stumble forward. "You are to present to the Imperial Crownhold to hear your charges and punishment."

  Flanked by the two rifle-wielding Guards and led by the leash of the Guardswoman's chain, Silas was guided to a heavily armored boiler parked amid the uneasy calm that had settled at the battle's resolution. Dimly aware of the shocked, angry, and horrified faces of the conflict's survivors—who stared at him accusingly—Silas was guided into the boiler's fortified interior and driven away.