The Unspoken: Book One in the Keres Trilogy by A. E. Waller Read Free Book Online

talking about the hall, it will most likely do it in an acutely painful way. Thinking about Abbot and the hall certainly hasn ’ t caused it to do anything. I ’ ve thought of nothing else since I was stamped.
    I try first whispering Abbot ’ s name. Nothing. And nothing would happen, as he lives among the rest of Chelon, he even wears a Banded cuff. Of course his Play Group would have to call him by his name. His existence and that he is an Unspoken aren ’ t secrets. Next I whisper that I was in the Gratis Building tonight, again nothing happens. And again it ’ s clear to me that these are things everyone already knows. I relax a little and start to say in a normal voice “ The hall, my den, ” and the tattooed smoke fingers push hard into my chest and I am thrown backwards against the tree trunk, knocking the wind out of me. Trying to stay calm, waiting for my breath to return, it strikes me that this method is incredibly effective. It wasn ’ t the impact with the tree that knocked the air out of my lungs, it was the push itself. You can ’ t talk if you can ’ t breathe.
    Gradually, I am able to gasp in air, and I lay choking in the dirt for several minutes. Abbot was right. I don ’ t like it. It feels like I am drowning with heavy chains wrapped around my chest. When PG3456 asks questions about my Service, I might be able to say my leader is Abbot and we are in the Gratis Building but that ’ s all. I wonder if I could show them the black smoke fingers and if they would understand. Somehow I don ’ t think it would be allowed.
    Breathing normally again, I turn my attention to the pack. Unfastening the cords and clasps, the only thing I find is a leather bound notebook with a symbol embossed on the cover, a wooden case filled with colored pencils, and a jar of writing ink with a pen. I tilt the notebook so I can see the symbol better. A swirl pattern circles around the soft leather, enclosing a hand. All the fingers of the hand are curled inward like a fist with only the thumb extended to the side. On the thumb is a carved ring. I can ’ t make out the pattern on the ring; it ’ s too detailed for the thick leather of the notebook. It sends an uneasy prickling feeling over my spine and I bury the notebook deep inside the pack again. I have a feeling that the smoky black fingers on my chest won ’ t let me show PG3456 this either.
    Suddenly, I don ’ t want to be alone anymore. I scramble out from under the tree branches and start towards the Quad. The feast is already in full swing, the Keepers performing an over the top exhibition of dance and water art on the center stage. The feast tables, loaded with every kind of food imaginable, are set up along the edges of the courtyard. Dishes of sauces, complex desserts, and every kind of meat available are piled high on beautifully crafted etched orange and purple glass serving pieces. My stomach rumbles a deep appreciation for the smells drifting past. I ’ m starving. I load my plate with chunks of beef stewed in rice and tomatoes, yellow and green squash sliced into thin ribbons, and something that looks like yams cut into little star shapes.
    I already have a mouth full of rice when I find PG3456 sitting at a table right in front of the stage. It ’ s so loud this close to the performances I can ’ t hear Harc welcoming me back to the group. I think Frehn says something about the yams because he takes one off my plate with his fork. Each of us take trips back to the feast tables for seconds, some of us even go for thirds. The Service entertainments swirl around the stage in a mass of color and sound.
    When we can ’ t eat anymore, Frehn grabs hold of my wrist and pulls me to the dance floor already crowded with other Play Groups. Soon Wex and Harc appear beside us and I see Doe dragging Merit out to join us. We dance until we are dizzy, sweating with exertion. I can ’ t hear anything but the music of the strings and horns from the Architects now on