The Whisper that Replaced God, page 1
THE WHISPER THAT REPLACED GOD
TIMOTHY WOLFF
Copyright © 2024 Timothy Wolff.
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ISBN: (Paperback)
ISBN: 979-8-9907730-2-8 (eBook)
ISBN: 979-8-9907730-4-2 (Audiobook)
Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.
Front cover image by Alejandro Colucci
Edited by Jonathan Oliver
Title page image by Coe Landsell
Book design by Lorna Reid
First printing edition 2024.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Thank you for Reading!
Meet the Author
Thanks, Acknowledgements, Etc.
Chapter 1
The Gift of Silence
While the cost to enter Eleanor’s brothel was two silver, there was an additional price. It wasn’t written on the door, but rest assured, anyone who stepped inside would never find heaven. Such a terrible toll never bothered me, for I had paid it long before tonight. In the way one could never threaten a headless man with decapitation, I would never see, feel, or touch whatever awaited me beyond this life. In a way I cannot describe, that alone was hell.
I handed my silver to Beatrice, headmistress of Eleanor's. Brothels always have a bizarre hierarchy. It would seem most questionable establishments are named in honor of people who, in fact, do not exist.
“Welcome, Lord Mute!” she said with a smile, wisely not referring to me as Prince. “Shall I gather Dorothy and prepare the usual accommodations?”
Usual? Perhaps I had come here too often. Never a good sign to hold any sort of usual in a den of vice. But how could I resist Dorothy? She was my favorite, and she favored my gold. The perfect transaction. I had learned more about supply and demand from the lower half of her body than any textbook of economics. “Sorry, Love. Not that sort of evening.”
“Indeed,” said Beatrice, never breaking her smile. And believe me, I checked for cracks. Very few people could learn there would soon be a murder in their establishment and not show a reaction. But ah, Beatrice. Women stuck with the worst of men often become the best of actors.
I approached an open chair without escort, signaling one of the women to bring me a chalice of wine. Most men referred to them as ladies of the evening, though I always found the phrase absurd. It's not like they’re vampires. Many bizarre sights, sounds and…smells made their presence known as I took my seat. I will do you a courtesy and leave out the less desirable details.
Like an outbreak of plague, the whispers began as soon as I got comfortable. I didn’t need to listen to the words in order to hear them. The intelligent ones would know the Gift of Silence would soon be unleashed. In such moments, I regretted the burden of being forced to wear a mask. The irony of masks is how their purpose of anonymity creates the opposite effect when there’s only one in the room.
My brother, King Merrick Elmere of Balewind, the closest thing to God I ever knew, had made my assignment clear. Tonight, Emissary Archibald would fall to my dagger. He would die screaming and, thanks to the Gift of Silence, no one would hear a thing.
On the second floor was Archibald’s…room? Quarters? Office of negotiation? Not really sure what to call it, but it was guarded by two very distracted guards. Similar to masks, guards can create the opposite of their intended effect. Archibald was “safe,” but guards around a person or place will always create a perception of value for thieves or—in this case—murderers to take notice.
And believe me, I noticed.
I sipped my wine. It was shamelessly powerful. To be honest, it was probably just alcohol with red food coloring. Dens of vice are most efficient without the inconvenience of clarity. Interesting things occur when men are separated from their inhibitions. What a pity: I always favored wine before an assassination. For the uninitiated, several feelings arise when a man dies in your arms. With enough alcohol, you feel none of them until tomorrow. With more than enough alcohol, tomorrow can be delayed for quite a while.
A man’s giggle interrupted my focus. I hate when grown men giggle. But more importantly, a woman’s fake giggle followed. I knew it was fake because it was the voice of Dorothy. She only giggled when she was with me and, right now, she was with my uncle, so each giggle was a fake, a fraud, a sham, or whatever your word of choice for such an outrageous occasion. Dorothy was mine and mine alone. Who would dare tempt the wrath of the Silent God’s chosen one?
Ah, Uncle Gunther. Brother to my father, the fallen king. An uncle who never loved me. An uncle who touched my Dorothy. His hands groped her, touching her in places I will not describe, doing things I will not explain, telling her things I will not repeat.
I drank the rest of my wine and did not flinch despite the awful taste. Alcohol’s only weakness happens to be time. I didn’t want to feel anything, and I didn’t want to feel anything now. Not tonight, not in twenty minutes, but now. Daggers don’t share that weakness. A dagger in the correct location can make a man fade before he ever notices what's happening. A feat I was about to demonstrate on Uncle Gunther. But first…
I closed my eyes, cleared my mind, and focused on nothing. “Hush,” I whispered, then the room went deaf.
My eyes could best explain the aftermath of Eleanor’s without sound. Chairs and tables knocked about, wine spilled over—the dripping red liquid a prelude for what was to come. Patrons and entertainers alike rushed towards the exit. It was like they had died but never lived, trying to scream and failing to whisper. Let them suffer the intimacy of silence. Let them hear the world in the way a blind man views it. I doubt anyone makes a quantitative ranking of their five senses. Like anything else, the quickest way to learn something’s value is to take it away. I always found it humorous how people grab their ears in the wake of silence. It was a total collapse of equilibrium, a complete denial that something they had taken for granted was now lost. Their hearing would eventually return. Usually.
There were two paths. The stairs would lead to Emissary Archibald. I could slay him, remain in my king brother’s favor, and continue to act as the shamed assassin prince for Balewind. The other path…was Dorothy. I could slay my uncle and ride off into midnight with my paramour. She would hug me, kiss me, provide me with other services I will not describe, and thank me every waking morning for how I had enriched her life. She would be so grateful, I would no longer have to lavish her with gold.
This tale would be much shorter if I had chosen the first option.
Uncle cocked his head as I approached. Was it delusion? He pointed upstairs and yelled. Despite the silence, I could still see the strain on his throat. Did he think I was craven? Confused? Mad?
Mad. Now there was a thought.
Like most mistakes, it was the easiest decision of my life. I could only guess if Uncle had chosen Dorothy to spite me, or if tonight was an unfortunate coincidence of chasing a red-haired goddess through the gates of oblivion. To be fair, I never asked, instead tearing my dagger into his throat. Ah, to finally end a man I despised. It felt better than expected, so I stabbed him again. Then again. Again. Again.
Again.
Blood splattered against my mask, fortunately missing my eye holes. To lose sound was one matter, but sight as well? It would have been intelligent to leave in haste, but I couldn’t help but stare at my fallen uncle. Ah, that feeling. The most damnable of feelings: regret.
No, not for Uncle, but for the life I had thrown away. I would never see Brother Dearest again unless it was moments before my execution. To flee would be the obvious choice, but what of Dorothy? How would she manage without me? She must have known I did all of this for her. I was her knight in shining armor who happened to wear a mask, who happened to be covered in her patron’s blood. Hopefully, Uncle had paid her first.
I reached out my hand and mouthed, “Join me, Darling.” Unfortunately, Dorothy kept her gaze on the dead man beneath us. How tragic for such beautiful eyes to linger upon a catastrophe. There was no time to wait. I grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. Stop, I know what you’re thinking, but it was for her own good. I assure you, once Dorothy had a moment to collect her thoughts, she would realize what a joyous occasion tonight was.
Or not?
Dorothy slammed a chalice into the side of my head. I saw it coming but was too disappointed to react. The physical pain was limited, but my heart may as well have been stretched upon the rack. What caused such madness? Shock? Of course! It was shock and nothing more. Shock and nothing more. If only I could explain the scenario to my future wife. What an irony for the Gift of Silence to deny me the opportunity.
Guards rushed down the stairs from my peripheral vision. I could have killed most of them, but not all of them, so by that measure, it didn’t matter. Still, there was no choice but to try. I tugged to create distance, but Dorothy stood her ground, latching onto my arm in pure madness. Ah, poor Dorothy. If my fallen uncle was a strain upon the heart, these men I was about to slay would be a recurring nightmare.
I assumed they knew my identity, so why did they attack? In fact, I never made any attempt on the emissary’s life. One would think they had been awaiting my arrival. Rather odd, really.
And unfortunate.
To be quite honest, they beat me with a wrath I fail to adequately describe with a metaphor. The only saving grace was they couldn’t hear me scream. Silence was indeed a worthy ally. Shame often needs sound to come to fruition—and I had lots of shame to offer.
One of the guards grabbed Dorothy. I forced myself up, gritting my teeth through the privacy of my mask, then was thoroughly beaten again. They must have had orders to preserve my life, for while some unfortunate kicks hit me in unfortunate locations, nothing sharp ever pierced my skin.
Aside from Uncle, the only thing slain tonight was my pride. It was a shattered husk, a homage to failure, a terrible fate for a prince who had been destined to wear a crown but, instead, settled for a dagger.
At ease, Darling, I thought, as the world went dark. Not tonight, but eventually, on the grandest of days, we would live happily ever after.
Oh Brother Dearest, king of kings, what shame had I inflicted upon us all?
Chapter 2
Let The Heavens Scream Our Names
I always favored the snow. Not for the luscious texture. Not in the wonder that no two snowflakes ever appear the same. Not in the beauty of watching nature itself fall from the sky, only to melt within the gap of my fingers. Simply enough, I favored the snow because it made other people unhappy.
So one could imagine my surprise to awake to nothing but smiles and laughter. It hadn’t been snowing at home, so perhaps I was heading east towards the kingdom of Ganfren. More importantly: I was alive. But why was I alive? Where was I going? Why was I within a cart? Obviously, quite some time had passed since my brothel debauchery. Drugs perhaps? I never favored lies, so I’ll be honest and admit I still don’t know. Rather rude for my captors not to offer me a clock, a watch, or some other construct to measure the finest human construct.
“Hey Boss, the prince is awake,” a ruffian said. I could practically hear the lack of education linger upon his voice. It took a moment to realize his unfortunate voice meant the Gift of Silence had ended.
“Water…May I trouble you for some water?” I asked. Captive or not, it was a reasonable request.
My captors did not seem to agree. I was beaten again quite thoroughly. This time, unfortunately, nothing hid my screams.
“Halt!” a new ruffian said. He was probably the leader since they begrudgingly obeyed. “King was clear on delivery terms. We only get half the gold if he's dead. I didn’t come all this way to lose an entire decade of wages.”
“Can we at least have a go at the woman?”
Dorothy screamed from the back of the cart. I never favored loud sounds, let alone one from my love. Fortunately, I could end it all with a whisper. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and—
The leader pushed a cup of water into my hand. He leaned in and whispered, “Don’t be so quick to call upon the silence. Stay calm and let words work their magic.” Up close, the man smelled like the later stages of depression, despite his toothless smile. He stood straight and yelled, “Leave her. When we get our payment, you’ll have enough gold to drown in whores, and perhaps enough to cure the diseases they give you.”
Whore. A word I despised. A word often used by men to describe women who show them no interest. If this brute was suggesting my Dorothy was anything less than perfect…well, I would follow his advice. When the time was right, I would allow sound the opportunity to give life to their screams.
While my mask hid the vehemence of my scowl, the man must have realized he held my ire. He sat next to me and flashed that miserable, toothless grin. “Sheathe those daggers in your eyes, friend. You should be kissing my ass in gratitude. But really, I don’t get it. Why her? You should see the ladies in Ganfren. They can do things with their tongue that would make any priest renounce their faith.”
“Why her?” I said, tilting my mask to look him in the eyes. Obviously, the man was a fool; his lack of intelligence made the question nearly impossible to answer. How does one describe what beauty is to a potato? “If you even have to inquire, the truth is far beyond your scope of reality. Dorothy is perfection incarnate. If you can look upon her without trembling, you may as well forfeit your eyes, for you see nothing.”
I wasn’t sure why my response provoked laughter. He took a swig from his flask and leaned back. “Don’t know if I envy or pity you, friend. To limit yourself to one woman when there are countless of them, all with various skills and delights. What sort of prince doesn’t desire more? You were born for greatness. For glory!”
Was I? It didn't seem that way. It seemed like I was born to be a monster, a harbinger of sorrow to revel in the shadow of my brother. Oh Brother Dearest, had the news reached his ears? Would he understand why? No. Of course not. The king was similar to our ruffian here in his ignorance of beauty. If Brother couldn’t tell which women were perfect, he may as well have them all. “I was born to end lives. While my journey has led to many things, I assure you, greatness and glory are neither of them.”
The ruffian rose with a sigh. “It's like talking to a rock. Here,” he said, grabbing Dorothy and nudging her towards me. “Be a lass and entertain our prince. My advice? Keep him talking. My men are known to become violent when their ears stop working. Right now, silence holds a price I dare not pay.”
“Don’t leave me with this monster!” Dorothy screamed. She could not have done more damage to my heart if a blade had pierced it.
“Darling, please don’t call me that,” I said, trying to make my voice deeper. “Allow me an opportunity to explain myself. All of this, everything, I did it all for you.” I eased my hand to hers. If only she could feel the gentle warmth of my touch, surely she would—
She slapped my hand away. “Monster! You killed him! You killed him in cold blood!”
I never understood that phrase. Blood is never cold. At least not when it flows out from a dagger wound. “Uncle was…touching you. Against your wishes! Against our wishes!”
Dorothy scoffed, which was odd, considering my words came from the heart. “The only thing I wish for is enough gold to feed my family. Prince or not, do not dare speak for me. Our relationship will never amount to more than business. Monster indeed. No wonder they couldn’t put you on the throne.”
Every word was blasphemy. Dorothy had a family? What family? I turned away from her and towards my hands, which were still covered in blood. Of course! It was shock. Shock and nothing more. Shock and nothing more…
Dorothy was yelling obscenities. Some of the words were so vile, I fear repeating them would make this tale unsellable on Rainforest, or whatever the soulless monopoly of your realm is called. I could take no more. I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want to hear. To be quite honest, I didn’t want to exist. All of my problems were overwhelming, but the Gift of Silence would immediately fix one of them. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and let the darkness—
I flinched as she grabbed me. “Are you mad? They will butcher us both! No…of course not. They will only kill you while I suffer the consequences. Lord Mute, if you truly hold any feelings for me, save your base desires, do not call upon the silence. I beg of you.”
Several things came—feelings first, thoughts second. Hearts always work faster than the mind. “Oh Darling, if sound is the price of your love, then let the heavens scream our names.” Behind my mask was the grandest of smiles. The ruffian—whatever his name was—had been correct: I was destined for greatness. For glory! I patiently waited for Dorothy to rest her head upon my shoulder.
