Black Bells

by Dawn Napier

  Megan straightened up in the water. The sun had moved behind a cloud, and she felt chilled.

  It was because of the bad thing. The bad thing that had split the family right in half, and Candace had placed herself on the other side of the divide. They had always stayed with Candace for at least half the vacation, and with her support neither offered nor wanted ("That bitch is dead to me!" Megan's father had shouted into the kitchen phone, and Megan could only think of Joey and Tracy and hug her knees), the trips weren't affordable anymore. They would have had to get a hotel room, and that would mean more money and stress piled onto a situation that already called for too much of both.

  The sky clouded over, and the sea was the color of lead. All around her was open water, and she could not see land anywhere.

  Something cold slithered past her ankle.

  Megan yelped and jerked her legs away. She swam for a few yards, but she didn't know what direction she was moving in, and she couldn't tell which way she should go to reach safety. Everything around her looked exactly the same: miles of blue water and sky on all sides. There was no sign of the Island of Dogs.

  The cold thing touched her again. It was long and serpentine, cold and scaly. Megan kicked it, and she felt something give way. It probably wasn't very big, she thought. The size of a large snake, maybe. Did snakes live in the ocean?

  Megan thought that they did. She'd read about them on some science blog or other. Large, aggressive, venomous snakes. She picked a direction and started swimming as fast as she could. But she was out in the middle of nowhere, the water below her kicking feet was black and featureless, and anything at all could be down there. Sharks, jellyfish, killer whales—it would probably be easier to list all the things that couldn't kill her. Megan shivered a little. The water was cold again, and the sky was the color of gun metal.

  What would she do if the sea snake bit her? What if it wrapped its tail around her legs and dragged her down into the dark water? Megan had no idea if this world was "real," if she was actually here or if her body was lying unconscious in her bedroom closet. If she died here, would she be dead forever, or would she wake up in the closet? She didn't know, and she didn't want to find out the hard way.

  And there was something else, too. If she died here, would she ever get another chance to come back and find Paige?

  The cold snake slithered up her leg, caressing her thigh. Megan screamed and kicked, and she swallowed a mouthful of salt water.

  She panicked. "Help!" she screamed. "Someone help me!"

  The snake slipped around her ankle. Megan kicked and sputtered and struggled to keep her head up. "Help!" she screamed again.

  She spun around in the water and tried to kick the sea-snake off her leg. When she spun around again, she almost bashed her head against the wooden prow of a ship. She banged her fist against the wood. "Help!" Oh please, let it not be a pirate's ship, she prayed.

  A net of thick rope dropped down on top of her, almost knocking her underwater. Megan grabbed onto the net and tangled her hands and feet in it. She felt herself hoisted upward, and she held on and prayed silently and desperately. Something dropped off her ankle and splashed back into the sea. She never looked down to see what it was.

  The net dragged on board, and Megan sprawled across the slippery wooden deck. She pulled her hands out of the net and kicked her feet free. A shadow fell over her, and Megan looked up into a black, formless shape.

  She screamed again and scrambled backwards until her back hit the side of the boat. She almost jumped backwards into the sea, but then she remembered the snake. She whimpered.

  "Desist that noise!" the shadow thundered. "I command it, in the name of the powers of darkness!"

  Megan clapped both hands over her mouth and nodded. The shadow was man-shaped, but that was all she could make out. It was just darkness and shifting forms. Underneath the darkness she could see a face, but the face kept changing and moving, lightening and darkening. It hurt Megan's eyes, and it hurt her mind to look at him.

  "What are you?" she asked meekly.

  "I am The Evil Wizard!" the shadow thundered. It raised its arms overhead, and Megan cringed. The sky overhead darkened to the color of pitch, and white lightning slashed it in two.

  Megan closed her eyes. Worse and worse. "What's your name?" she asked. She couldn't remember giving the evil wizard a name.

  Silence. She cracked one eye open. The shadow was very still, and though she couldn't see his expression, she got an impression of confusion.

  "I don't know," the Evil Wizard confessed. Its voice was mild and bland, like no voice at all.

  "You don't know?" Megan opened both eyes.

  "I—I don't know anything." The shadow now seemed less terrifying than abashed.

  "But you know that you're an evil wizard?"

  "That's all I know." The shadow drifted to the left and right a little, shifting like a flag in the wind. "I am The Evil Wizard." Somehow, she could hear the capital letters.

  "How do you know you're evil?" Megan dared to climb to her feet. She held on to the side of the ship as it swayed gently in the waves.

  "Because that's all I know. It has to be true, doesn't it? It's all I know." The bland voice seemed a touch fearful.

  Megan's heart went out to it. What a terrible thing, to be an undeveloped character. "I know your name," she said. "Your name is Gillio."

  The shadow solidified into a rather nondescript, middle-aged man with thinning hair and pale eyes. His eyes looked rather familiar. They were light blue, the color of the stone-washed jeans Megan had worn as a teenager. His robes were dull, washed out and grey, and he smelled strongly of pot smoke. "Gillio," he said. "Yes, that works. I am Gillio, the Evil Wizard!"

  "So, why are you evil?"

  "I don't know!" Gillio looked distressed, and his face blurred.

  "Maybe you just need a friend. Everyone should have friends, don't you think?"

  Gillio firmed again. "Will you be my friend?"

  "Yes! My name is Megan." Megan held out her hand, and Gillio gently took it. His hand was soft as a satin pillow.

  "All right." Gillio smiled. His teeth were large and white. "I have a friend named Megan."

  And Megan had an ally. She thought she might finally be getting the hang of this world.

  Chapter Seven

  Megan and Gillio sailed across the brilliant blue sea. Gillio turned the wheel occasionally, but most of the time it seemed that the ship moved by itself. He never climbed the mast or adjusted the riggings or any of the other sailor-type things that Megan knew nothing about. They just sailed across the brilliant sea, soaked up sunshine, and wondered what they would do next.

  Or rather, Megan wondered. Gillio gave little indication of sentience. He listened politely when Megan told him about her daughter, and he said ‘Oh, that's terrible!’ in all the right places. But he never volunteered information or offered advice. He was a human echo chamber, useful for talking to but not much else. Megan didn't know how to fix him. She didn't have her paper or crayons with her.

  His weak blue eyes reminded her of someone, and it took her a while to place it. He reminded her of her father. As the thought occurred to her, she smelled beer and pot smoke. It was her father, all right. He even smiled like her father: weakly.

  There was no night here, and Megan did not get hungry or thirsty. Nor was there any land visible in any direction, and Megan thought that they might as well be standing still. The cool salty breeze sprayed her face, and the ocean waves thumped against the hollow prow of the ship. It felt as though they were moving, but Megan wasn't sure.

  "How long before we reach land?" Megan asked Gillio finally. She felt like she'd been on this boat for weeks.

  "Eh?" Gillio blinked his pale eyes at her.

  "How long before we reach land?" Megan repeated.

  Gillio cocked his head and tapped his lower lip. He still looked puzzled, as though he didn't fully understand the question. "You want to find land?" he asked.
<
br />   "Yes. I need to get to Far Faraway. That's where Jack Benimble took my daughter. You remember me telling you all that?"

  "Yes… of course I remember. You need to reach land. Of course. Mountain Steep is just past the horizon. We should reach it before the day is out." Gillio took the ship's wheel and gave it a whimsical twirl.

  Mountain Steep. That sounded familiar. But of course it did: that had been one of Debbie's creative additions to the world of Far Faraway. Megan felt a thrill of excitement. Finally they were making progress.

  A few minutes later, she saw a vague green smear on the horizon. Against the blue sky rose a grey mountain over the green. After what felt like an hour—time didn't seem to behave here—the green smear solidified into a rocky island. It was still a fair ways off, but Megan stayed where she was and watched it. She tried not to blink; she felt like the island's existence depended heavily on her perception. It seemed like a silly thought, but was it? Megan still didn't know all the rules about this world.

  Gillio wandered around the ship, tugging this and turning that with an air of amiable vacancy. The smell of weed was almost a physical presence. She wished that he would sober up. He wasn't much use to her like this.

  The island was a rocky, lumpy mass of trees, moss, and boulders. Megan couldn't remember much about Mountain Steep, except that it was full of cracks and tunnels and places to hide. Debbie had always been fond of hiding places, even before she'd had any reason to want to hide.

  There was a thin, pale beach against the water in front of them. Three grey figures stood in the shadow of the mountain cliff. As Megan watched, they began to stomp and hop in a rhythmic circle. It looked like some sort of tribal dance.

  Trolls. Megan thought they were trolls. They were staying out of direct sunlight, and from here their skin looked grey in color. Megan didn't think trolls were very friendly, so she turned to Gillio to ask him to circle the island to find a secluded spot to land.

  He stared across the water at the shuffling, hopping trolls with an expression of deep loathing on his normally placid face. His cheeks were pink, and his ears were red. But his eyes were pitch black through and through. His hands were clenched into fists, and sparks danced across his knuckles.

  "Gillio?" Megan's heart sped up. What was wrong with him? He looked—well, he looked like an evil wizard.

  "Evil," Gillio whispered.

  "The dancers?" Megan tried to convince herself that he was talking about the trolls. She looked at them closely, and saw nothing but stodgy purpose in their movements.

  "I am evil." Gillio raised his hands up over his head. "I am Gillio, the Evil Wizard, and I hate everything that lives. Especially trolls!"

  He made a throwing motion with one sparking hand, and lightning crackled across the water to explode into the sand in front of the trolls. They scattered as the lightning struck, and Megan heard them scream faintly over the crackle and thump of electricity.

  "Stop it!" Megan cried. She tugged on his sleeve. "You're not evil anymore, remember? I said that all you need is a friend, and you're not evil anymore!" She hated the petulant tone in her own voice. She sounded about twelve years old.

  Gillio grinned at her, and she flinched. Now he looked like her father in the last days before the divorce. Angry and drunk. "You don't control everything in this world, little girl," he whispered. "Magic is like dropping a rock into the sea. Once it leaves your hand, it's out of your power—and you can't control the direction of the waves."

  Megan backed away. Gillio advanced step for step, and his hands glowed with power. The dark of his eyes was spreading, covering the rest of his face. Gillio's face was consumed by shadow.

  Can he kill me? Can I actually die in this world? Megan still didn't know, and she didn't want to risk it. As Gillio raised his hands, she scrambled backwards, over the side of the ship. She never even looked back as she plunged off the ship and into the water below.

  It was shockingly cold, and Megan almost gasped. Instead, she flailed about until she touched the pointed prow of the ship, and she grabbed on with hands and knees to keep herself from surfacing. Then she waited. Her lungs ached, and she hoped that he would give up quickly.

  The wood beneath her hands was slimy with algae and ocean muck. Fortunately there were also barnacles everywhere; apparently being an evil wizard meant never having to scrape one's ship clean. Megan counted her blessings as she held onto the bumpy prow of the ship and held her breath. She had no way of knowing when he would give up looking for her, so she just stayed where she was until her lungs burned for air. Then she kicked off and swam for the surface at an angle. With luck she'd be well away from the ship when she broke the surface.

  The first breath of air that swept into her lungs was the sweetest she'd ever tasted. Megan didn't look around for Gillio; she just swam for the island as fast as she could. She was dizzy and a little nauseated from going without air for so long, but she didn't dare slow down. Anything could happen here. Anything at all.

  Her bare feet kicked sand, and then she was on the beach and crawling away from the water. She felt heavy and exhausted, and her heart pounded in her head like a bass drum. Her face felt hot and prickly, and she lay down on the cool sand with a sigh. There was shade here, and she wanted to sleep for a week. Megan closed her eyes.

  As consciousness faded, she was aware of small grey shapes gathering around her.

  When she awoke, she was in complete darkness. She lay on a cold surface that, upon exploration with hands and feet, turned out to be a stone floor. She sniffed, and she smelled dirt, sweat, and a trace of human filth. She listened to the rustling and murmuring around her and tried to determine what and how many they were.

  "What you think we should do with her?" Some sort of British accent. Scottish, Megan thought. But it sounded Irish, too. This world had been created by a child obsessed with fantasy but unaware of history and geography.

  "We could fuck her," another voice said. "I ain't never fucked a human woman before."

  Megan tensed but dared not move. They didn't seem to know that she was awake, and she didn't want to give it away. Had Debbie invented these creatures before or after the bad thing? Knowing could make the difference to her chances of escaping this situation.

  "You always gotta fuck everything that moves." A third voice. This one was definitely Irish. "I'm hungry. I say we eat her."

  "We could fuck her and then eat her!" the second voice suggested.

  "I'll eat you if you don't shut up about fucking," said the third voice.

  Megan didn't think she'd be able to talk her way out of this. The trolls were discussing her as though she were a breathing piece of meat. Like those boys who had cornered her in the bathroom when she was in eighth grade. The three of them had pinned her against the wall and then discussed what to do with her in calm, easy tones. One had had a knife of some kind; she didn't remember the style. Fortunately, a group of girls had wandered into the bathroom, and the boys had scattered. The girls had screamed and shouted at them, but Megan had never told anyone what they had done. It's not like they actually did anything, she told herself later, over and over again. They were probably just playing around. It's not like what happened to Debbie. That was totally different; that was real.

  She would no more be able to appeal to the trolls' sense of decency than a pig could talk its way out of a smokehouse. Could she fight? She'd seen at least six on the beach, but there only seemed to be three here. The trolls were small, no taller than children as she remembered, but they were tough as stone. If she knew which way to go, maybe she could outrun them.

  Since she wasn't in any immediate danger, she lay still and listened. At least their conversation had moved away from fucking her. They muttered a bit about the wizard that had attacked them and took turns cursing his existence. "He didn't stay long this time, at least," the first troll said. "I think the earthquake scared him off."

  "That wasn't no earthquake."

  "The earth shook. We all felt it
. It was an earthquake."

  "It wasn't the earth that shook. It was everything. The world shook, even the air."

  "You're as crazy and stupid as the wizard. Air can't shake."

  "That's how I know things are really fucked up. And I bet it's got to do with her." Megan felt that they were turning to look at her, and she kept her eyes closed lightly as though in sleep.

  "The human? Nothing's got nothing to do with them. All they do is break things and die."

  "Yeah, but they can walk under the fireball. They've got some powers."

  "I thought the Beast Below was going to eat the fireball. Wasn't there some prophecy or something?"

  "The Beast ain't awake yet. He needs more sacrifices."

  "You know that?"

  "It told me during the ritual up there. I felt it talking in its sleep."

  "More sacrifices, eh?" There was a pause. Megan swallowed. "Don't beasts have a thing for human women?"

  There was a groan that Megan thought had come from the second troll. "That mean we can't fuck her?"

  "Nor eat her," the third troll agreed. "But the Beast Below has sworn to swallow the Fireball in the Sky when the end time comes. Maybe a human sacrifice is what's needed to wake him, eh?"

  "Let's do it then," the first troll said.

  Megan shouted, "No!" and kicked out with both her legs. Her feet struck something fleshy but solid: muscle hard as stone. The trolls shuffled backwards a bit, but she could still hear them shifting around just out of reach.

  She rolled over onto her stomach and scrambled to her feet. Something grabbed her arm, but she twisted free and ran with both hands in front of her. She was still blind, but fortunately the trolls seemed to use no furniture; all her feet and shins found were bits of rubbish and bone. Years of putting away laundry in a landmine field of building blocks and talking dolls had prepared her for this.

  She heard the trolls cursing behind her, and just then her hands hit a stone wall. She turned to the left and moved away from the trolls. She heard them gathering around her, but they stayed just out of reach of her other hand, which swung wildly in a circle. They were strong but seemed timid; they made no attempts to touch or grab her.