In Abadosos, nobody speaks of the werewolves—in fact, nobody speaks at all.
Nursed back to health with the help of his friend Zarif and his cousin Remei, he lives on unknowing whether he was bitten or not. But the curse of the lycanthrope proves to be more complex than it appears, and Joaquím begins to doubt not only himself, but those close to him and everything he knows about his hometown. The pressure and paranoia cloud his way, and nobody seems to have answers to his questions.
After all, in Abadosos, nobody speaks.
And here’s the cover, designed by Kirby Crow!
SILENCI comes out May 1, 2019 from Less Than Three Press. Pre-order now!
And now, an excerpt from chapter 6 of SILENCI:
The day of the full moon slid in between the villagers of Abadosos and not a word was uttered about it. That was, after all, how Joaquím had gotten into this mess in the first place. All day trading bread and meat for firewood and not a word had been exchanged.
That day, Joaquím felt like he finally recovered his head’s integrity and went into the woods to chop lumber. The strain on his muscles pushed the suffocating feeling of solitude to the back of his concerns, but as he ruffled his hair, he felt that pinch on the back of his head. The wound had closed and the gut dissolved, but he still had business to settle.
He persisted with his day until he returned with a stack of lumber to match his output before the incident. Guillem traded him a basket of bread and Nura a set of teas to help with headaches; the rest gave only suspicious looks and rude refusals. He returned the provisions to Remei’s house and, with his skin crawling from anxiety and his cheeks aching from so many fake smiles, headed for Zarif’s.
Joaquím did not expect to feel this guilty after abandoning him without a word; was that not how things were done in Abadosos? Had he already become attached? Was it too late for him?
When he knocked on Zarif’s door, the sky had already turned the color of the peaches across the lake. It opened by a crack, and a black mane nearly blocked the peeking eye. Zarif’s eyes had always been large, but they became positively round when they landed on Joaquím. “Did you forget again?” he murmured.
“Not this time,” he replied, trying to hide his misplaced smugness. “But we’ve time.”
Joaquím nudged the door open and entered, much to Zarif’s unease. The moor stepped aside and closed the trapdoor that led down to the shelter with his foot. He ran a hand through his hair and refused to meet his eyes, as if he didn’t know which of the many things fluttering inside his head to address first. “I… thought you didn’t want to see me.”
The statement sank into Joaquím’s conscience like a dagger on flesh. “I was taking care of myself and you,” he said, hiding his remorse with a careless smile. “Consider it returning the favor.”
Joaquím followed his gaze. He had his axe in hand. “It’s for you.” He held it up with both hands and closed the distance between himself and Zarif, offering it up to him. “If I turn tonight, I…” He took a deep breath and swallowed his guilt. “I want you to kill me.”
R. M. Sayan is a writer, sometimes illustrator, amateur photographer, avid tabletop gamer, studious filmmaker, tattoo aficionado, and a constant work in progress. Often referred to as just ‘Robb’, they can often be found ranting about assorted fandoms on twitter, swooning over their beautiful partner, and being overdramatic. They like to dabble in many genres, from historical fiction to urban fantasy, from dystopian sci-fi to weird west, but always sneaking queerness somewhere in there.