Bell Mountain (The Bell Mountain Series)

by Lee Duigon

  “You and me both!” Ellayne said. “I wish Wytt would come back. You don’t think he’s left us, do you?”

  “He’ll show up as soon as those men have left us.”

  “If King Ozias could take a bell up the mountain, we ought to be able to take a donkey. I read somewhere that donkeys are good on mountains.”

  “You worry too much,” Jack said. “Go to sleep.”

  Ellayne soon did fall asleep, and after a while, Jack did, too. It should’ve been too cold for them to sleep, he thought. Either the nights were getting warmer, or else they were getting used to sleeping out of doors. Jack tried to count the number of days since they’d left Ninneburky, and that was what put him to sleep.

  By and by, a little noise woke him.

  It was Dunnic and Tom, shouldering their packs and making ready to leave. The sky was just beginning to turn grey, and most of the stars had fled. A smoky mist hung over the camp.

  “Hadn’t we ought to take the donkey?” he heard Tom whisper.

  “That’d be stealing, Tom,” the uncle said.

  “That old man’s a witch or something.”

  “All the more reason not to steal from him,” Dunnic whispered.

  “Burn it, they won’t be needing that donkey where they’re going.”

  Tom started to move toward Ham, who was tethered to a log and asleep on his feet. Jack was just about to sit up and call an alarm when he heard a familiar angry chitter.

  Tom cried out, “Aaah!” and fled the campsite babbling; and his uncle followed after him as best he could, cursing him and calling after him to stop, the both of them crashing through the underbrush. Jack sat up.

  There stood Wytt on top of a stump, brandishing his sharp stick and showing his teeth.

  “What is it?” Obst said.

  “Jack? Jack!” from Ellayne.

  Jack was laughing too hard to answer them.

  Martis pushed his horse to get up into the hills. Dulayl seemed as anxious to get off the plain as he was, and toiled valiantly. It looked like they would be among the trees by sundown.

  Fatigue took some of the edge off Martis’ fear. He saw no sign of the killer birds all day. Maybe they didn’t like the high ground.

  He wondered how far ahead of him the children were. Short legs and old man’s legs wouldn’t make much speed up a mountain. He ought to be able to catch up to them well before they gained the summit.

  Martis had never climbed a high mountain. He knew no one who had. There were men who swam across rivers, raced horses, boxed, wrestled, or bowled tenpins for sport; but no one climbed mountains. So he had no idea what to expect by way of obstacles—except, of course, the cold. There was snow up there even in the summertime. He’d have to do something about getting winter clothes, and probably some furs to wrap around him when he slept.

  With his mind so occupied, he startled when Dulayl neighed unexpectedly. And then he saw a child coming toward him down the long slope.

  He pulled up sharply, rubbed his eyes. It was a girl, and she was all alone. Was it his girl—Ellayne from Ninneburky? But it had to be. Why was she alone? What had happened to the boy and the old man? She walked slowly, stumbling.

  He whistled to her, and waved.

  “Hello! Little girl!” he called. “Don’t be afraid!”

  She stopped, and stood staring at him. Martis dismounted, approached her on foot.

  Oddly, she wore a dress of plain brown homespun, much stained and dotted with green burrs. Martis had expected her to be wearing boy’s clothes. Her face was dirty, her fair hair flying out in all directions.

  “It’s all right,” he soothed her, lest she try to run away, and force him to chase her. “I won’t hurt you. But tell me who you are and what you’re doing here all alone. Don’t be afraid of me.”

  She looked up and showed him deep green eyes. He was sure Ellayne had blue eyes. She looked into his eyes and spoke in a surprisingly clear and penetrating voice.

  “There is a book missing,” she said.

  Martis’ lips parted, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He couldn’t seem to think at all.

  “The book that was lost shall be found,” she said. Her eyes held him prisoner. “They shall hear all the words of the book. They shall hear my words again.”

  And then her legs buckled and she fell.

  She weighed almost nothing. Martis scooped her up, realized he had nowhere to take her, and gently laid her back down. He sprinkled water on her face and rubbed away some of the grime. He kept doing it until she opened her eyes again. They were a much lighter green than they’d looked at first. Her eyes darted this way and that, and her body trembled.

  “Shhh! You’re safe now; you’re all right,” Martis said. “Who are you, child? What’s your name? Can you speak to me?”

  “Thirsty…” The word barely crawled out of her mouth.

  Martis gave her a little sip of water, not too much. He had to minister to her for several minutes before she spoke again.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Just a traveler. My name is Martis. What’s yours?”

  “Jandra.”

  He was sure this was not Ellayne. She didn’t fit the description.

  “What are you doing out here all alone, Jandra?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Men came,” she said. “They burned down the houses. My daddy made me run away. So I just kept running.”

  Martis understood. There were a few small settlements scattered among the hills. Heathen raiders must have burned one out. Or it might be something more than a raid. The Temple had intelligence that war was brewing.

  “Listen, Jandra,” he said. “It’s almost nighttime. I’m going to take you with me a little ways on my horse, and then we’ll make a camp with a fire, and we’ll have something to eat. It’s not safe to stay out here in the open at night. But I’ll take good care of you. All right?”

  She nodded. He picked her up and swung into the saddle. He wanted to be under the trees by nightfall, and he’d have to hurry.

  She fell asleep in his arms.

  What am I going to do now? he wondered. But he wondered even more about her first words to him: there is a book missing. He was sure he would be better off never having heard those words.

  CHAPTER 31

  Of Wolves and Men

  Ham’s load was a little heavier now, with a plentiful supply of the trappers’ dried meat and a pair of treated wolf pelts that would be a comfort on cold nights. But the thought of wolves prowling the woods made Ellayne uneasy.

  “There might be werewolves, too,” she said.

  “What are werewolves?” Jack asked.

  “A werewolf is someone who can turn into a wolf. Sometimes there are whole tribes of them, and they hunt down regular people and eat them up. Abombalbap once had to kill a wicked queen who—”

  “Peace!” snapped Obst, startling Ellayne into silence. The children had never seen him angry like that. His face seemed to have turned to stone. It was more than a moment before he softened.

  “Peace, Ellayne,” he said, this time gently. “Our way will be hard and dangerous enough without giving in to pagan superstitions.

  “There are no werewolves, and that book of Abombalbap stories has misinstructed you. Hundreds of years ago, there were many books like that. Few have lasted as long as your Abombalbap, but they all had this in common: more than half of what went into them was Heathen. I promise you, real wolves are dangerous enough; and men don’t need to turn into wolves to be more dangerous than wolves.”

  Without another word, he turned and picked a path leading away from the trappers’ campsite. The children had no choice but to follow, Jack bringing up the rear with Ham. Wytt rushed ahead, in and out of the underbrush.

  “Wait, Obst!” Jack said. “How do you know the way to go? The trees are so thick, we can’t see the mountain.”

  “Our bodies will tell us the right way. It’ll be harder and harder, always uphill, and we’ll feel it
in our legs. If it ever seems to be getting easier, we’ll know we’re going the wrong way.”

  “Glad I asked,” Jack muttered.

  Certainly the way Obst picked for them all day was hard enough, Jack thought. It was maddening, not being able to see the tops of the mountains. After a time they couldn’t ask Obst anything more because he was all wrapped up in prayer—in the ancient language of the Scriptures, so you couldn’t understand him. But he was right about one thing. It wasn’t long before your legs told you that you were climbing.

  “I don’t see how he knows there’s no such thing as werewolves,” Ellayne said, when they were lucky enough to hit a trail that was easy enough to permit them to talk. “You said Tom thought Obst might be a witch. He isn’t, of course—but why would he say that unless there really were witches in this country?”

  “I don’t know. What’s a witch?” Jack said.

  “Really! Sometimes you talk like you don’t know anything. A witch is someone who can do magic. Nasty magic.”

  “I never heard much about magic.”

  “Oh, there isn’t much of it in civilized places. But we’re not in civilized places now. We’ll be all right, though, because Obst is with us. He’s a holy man, and magic won’t work against him. It says so in my book.”

  Jack grinned at her. “But he doesn’t think much of your book!”

  Ellayne put on a haughty look. “Just because he’s holy doesn’t mean he knows everything,” she said.

  The path narrowed again, stickers snatched at their clothes, and they couldn’t talk anymore. The trees grew so close together, you could barely see the sky.

  Jack plodded on, stung by how much he didn’t know. He’d never heard of werewolves, never read a book, and had no idea what magic was. It was all right for Obst to know so much: he was an old man and a scholar. But Ellayne was just a girl, and she knew all about things that Jack had hardly heard of. He felt like a fool.

  Someday, he thought, when we come down from the mountaintop, I’ll get a roomful of books and read them all. He’d start by making Obst teach him the Scriptures.

  It never entered his mind that there might be neither books nor teachers in the world after he’d rung the bell on Bell Mountain.

  The little girl fell asleep before Martis could feed her.

  They’d reached the trees before nightfall, and he cleared a space for camp and built a fire; but she didn’t wait to be fed before sinking into a deep sleep. He let her be.

  Now there was no way he could bring her with him up the mountain, and he couldn’t sacrifice his mission by going back and finding someone to take care of her. Martis had never married, never had children of his own, and had no experience with children beyond having been a child himself, once upon a time. He never thought of his childhood, and had no clear memory of it.

  As he sat by the fire and nibbled his bread, it struck him that he didn’t know some of the simplest things that even the most ordinary people knew. What do you do with a child?

  It amazed him that he was even thinking along such lines. Of course the only thing to do was to leave her behind and continue on his journey. Whatever became of her afterward was none of his concern. If she went out on the plain and a big bird made a meal of her, what was that to him?

  It was a thought that made his heart grow cold.

  “There’s something wrong with me, Dulayl,” he told the horse, hobbled nearby. “I am an assassin. My calling in life is to kill men whom my master wishes dead. I’ve killed women, too. And I did it willingly because it made me indispensable to my master and the recipient of his trust. I am an extension of his power, which he exercises for the good of the state. Therefore I am good.”

  And now, he thought, I’m talking to a horse.

  Maybe it would be kinder to kill the girl while she slept. One sharp blow from his mace, and her troubles would be over. She would never know the terror of seeing the feathered mass loom over her, the great beak gaping for her—

  He ground his teeth and ground his fists against his skull. What was the matter with him?

  “There is a book missing.”

  He lowered his hands. His mind must be going. To hear those words again, that was not good.

  “That which was put away shall be brought to light.”

  He turned. He wasn’t imagining it. Jandra lay on her back, speaking in her sleep. Her voice had power now—not at all the voice of an exhausted, thirsty child.

  “My people shall hear all my words that are in the book.”

  “What book?” Martis said. “What words?”

  “My words. They shall hear my words, and they shall seek me.”

  He crawled closer and bent over her. She was fast asleep; you could tell by looking at her.

  “Who are you, child?” he said. “What are you talking about?”

  But she spoke no more. She hiccupped once and rolled onto her side, snoring softly.

  Martis sat back heavily, trying to reason with himself. The child was half-crazed with grief and hardship. In all probability, raiders had slaughtered her family. She was raving in her sleep. Her words meant nothing.

  But they do, argued another voice in his mind. You know they do.

  I have a mission to attend to, he argued back. There is no place in it for this. Tomorrow I ride on.

  The birds will have her.

  Biting back a cry, he turned away from her, threw himself down beside the fire, and buried his head in his blanket. Sleep took him unaware; and when next he was aware of anything, his eyes opened to the morning.

  Martis rolled over, stiff and sore, and sat up.

  The girl was gone.

  He struggled to his feet, looked all around. He didn’t see her.

  “Jandra!”

  His call echoed in the stillness of the early morning. Dulayl awoke with a snort.

  “Jandra, where are you?”

  No answer he received but for a soft, mocking echo among the trees.

  “Well,” he said to the horse, “she’s gone. The matter is out of my hands. I did her no harm, and my hands are clean.”

  But who cared if his hands were clean? An astonishing claim to make, for a man in his profession! He laughed at himself.

  All the same, he had a hollow feeling in his bowels, something he hadn’t experienced since his first kill. He hurried to eat, saddle his horse, find a trail, and be on his way.

  It was easy enough to leave his camp behind. But whatever it was, that now resided in the pit of his stomach, traveled with him.

  CHAPTER 32

  In King Ozias’ Footsteps

  Jack would never have thought climbing Bell Mountain might be dull and tedious work. But it was.

  It took them three more days to pass through the wooded approaches to the summit. Without the food the trappers gave them, their journey might have ended there. They found water enough, but the dried meat was all they had to eat.

  “I’m not too familiar with this kind of country,” Obst admitted, “but certainly I expected to see more game than this. The trappers never wanted for deer or squirrels. Well, I suppose if we stopped traveling, we might catch something we could eat. Maybe we should stop, once the end of this forest is in sight.”

  The growth was so dense that you couldn’t see animals even if you heard them. And often enough, you did—a heavy body crashing through a nearby thicket, hidden birds calling from the treetops, and owls hooting by night. Once they heard a cry that was like a great ox groaning, but Obst couldn’t say what that was.

  At least Wytt ate well. He went out one night and came back with blood on the point of his stick. He caught bugs and munched on bits of fungi he plucked from rotten logs. And Ham found some of the plants to his liking.

  Their third night on the trail, as they sat under their shelter with their campfire dying down, Ellayne said something that greatly troubled Jack.

  “How much farther do you think he can go?” she asked. Her eyes pointed to Obst, who’d fallen asleep sittin
g up with his mouth open. “He looks terrible.”

  “He’s tired, that’s all,” Jack said. “We’re tired, too. It must be hard for him to go in front all the time, finding the way.”

  “Do you think it’ll be easy once we’re really going up the mountain?”

  “How should I know? I’ve never climbed a mountain! I guess if King Ozias and a few of his men could drag a big old bell up to the top, we can get there, too.”

  “It’s going to get cold, though. There’s always snow at the top.”

  “If you don’t want to go, just say so!” Jack snapped. He was loud, but it didn’t wake Obst.

  “Oh, don’t be a droop. Of course I’m going. We’ve gone too far to go back, anyhow. We might not even be able to go back.”

  Jack had no answer to that. It made him think of Ashrof saying that anyone who tried to climb the mountain would freeze to death, or starve, or slip on the ice and fall off, or get eaten by a bear. He’d made it sound so hopeless, and now Ellayne was talking about Obst falling down dead on them before they got to the summit.

  “When we come to the end of the woods,” he said, after thinking it over, “we’ll stop for a while. We’ll let Obst rest and get his strength back. We’ll set traps and get fresh meat. After that, it can’t be too much farther. And we have to go on. I’d rather die than turn back.”

  After a long pause, Ellayne spoke again.

  “I’m thinking of that picture of the world, that map in the ruins where I was lost, and how only a little bit of that whole big picture was Obann. All those seas and faraway countries that don’t even have names! If we do get to the top and ring the bell, do you think they’ll hear it even across the sea?”

  Jack laughed. “Ozias put it there so God would hear it!” he said. “Not people across the sea. I hope God’s closer than that.”

  But where exactly God might be, Jack hardly had words to frame the question.

  As if to prove Ellayne right, Obst struggled all the next day. Jack, bringing up the rear, could hear him panting as he led the way. The only trails he could find seemed to fight him, forcing him to push hard with his staff and with his body. It was a warm day, too, and in the afternoon there were tiny flies that wanted nothing but to fly into your eyes and up your nose. Soon Jack and Ellayne were flailing at them, wasting energy.