The Bell Between Worlds

by Ian Johnstone

  Simia glanced about her, trying to see what new wonder he had conjured, and as he raised his arms still further, she saw something: a disturbance on the distant grey horizon, a fleck of white, a shifting of lines. The violins rose through a scale and, as they ascended in pitch, so the furthest waters also seemed to rise, as though the river and open sea were by some miracle reaching for the sky. Sunbeams scattered as they caught the surface as if it was no longer flat, and then they fell upon a long white line on the horizon that leapt and rippled in the light. Still the waters rose, and as the horns soared towards a crescendo, Simia realised that she was watching a gigantic wave, a wave that had appeared on every horizon and even now was building, growing and surging towards the Windrush. She turned wide-eyed to Sylas and saw him drawing his hands inwards, towards his chest, as though calling the wave on. The violins, flutes, oboes and clarinets seemed to obey, rising in volume, tempo and pitch, resolving to a single melody, reaching their climax. As they did, the mountainous wave roared and thundered as it clawed at the sky and hurled surf and spray high into the air.

  She took a step backwards. “Sylas, what... what are you doing?”

  Sylas met her eyes without dropping his hands. His face glowed in the sunlight, his eyes glistened.

  “I believe now,” he said, the trace of a smile on his lips.

  The loud report of a horn led a glorious harmony of violins, drums, flutes and clarinets that seemed to join the thunder of the wave to form a towering, almighty voice: the cry of Nature Herself. In that moment the great circular wave closed in upon itself, meeting at its centre, at the Windrush. A deep, resonant boom shuddered through its timbers as the entire ship was propelled upwards on water and foam, up and up towards the broken clouds until, as the gramophone played the final strains of the symphony, Sylas, Simia and Paiscion looked down on the sun-spotted estuary, the seagulls carving the surf and the silvery fish leaping in their midst.

  As the Windrush descended slowly on a great cradle of water, Sylas reached out and plucked the feather from the air.

  37

  Council at Dawn

  “Our council with our souls must end.

  Done is the pleasant dreaming of night.

  Now is dawn, and the long day awaits.”

  IT WAS A DREAM to cling to; a dream of light and music and hope. It was warm and bright like summer meadows, awash with beautiful sounds like babbling brooks and a mother’s song and birds at the birth of day. It made him feel alive, invigorated, expectant. When the world tried to pull him from his sleep, he strained against it. He pressed his eyes closed, pulled up his blanket and tucked his knees into his chest. He knew the sounds that threatened to wake him: the slap of waves near his head, the creak of ancient joists, the pat, pat, pat of oars, but he tried to fend them off with light and music and hope.

  Pat, pat, pat.

  Sylas groaned and forced his eyes open. A shaft of orange light bisected the Bow Room from the single porthole to the door, which swung lazily on its hinges. The quality of the light shifted and changed with every second, rippling against the timber, shimmering on the Glimmer Glass. Otherwise nothing moved: all was as it should be. He turned his mind back to summer meadows, letting his eyes close.

  PAT, PAT, PAT.

  He pushed himself up on his elbow and listened. The sound was getting closer, and now he could also hear the clunk and creak of rowlocks.

  He turned to where Simia had been sleeping among Paiscion’s many Things, but her bedding was rolled back and she was gone. Gathering his blanket round his shoulders, Sylas pushed himself to his feet, staggered a little as the Windrush swayed to one side, then started to make his way between the bric-a-brac to the door.

  As he passed the Glimmer Glass, something made him stop. He looked back at the two silvered panes. He was sure he had seen a movement: a blur in the corner of his eye.

  He edged a little closer.

  As his pale face moved into view in the white mirror, the black one sprang into life. He made an effort to keep his eyes fixed on his own image and as he did so he saw a shape forming at the edge of his vision. A familiar shape.

  The girl’s face.

  He had so struggled to see the previous day, but it was now clear and true. Something had changed: it was more distinct, more urgent. She no longer glimmered serenely in the glass, but glared across the void.

  Her features were taut with fear.

  Sylas felt the hairs rise on his neck. He fought the urge to look directly into the mirror. She was speaking. No, she was shouting.

  He saw the words plainly on her lips:

  “Find me, or we will die.”

  Sylas clattered through the hatch into the reds and oranges of a chilly dawn. He spotted Simia and Paiscion silhouetted against the morning sun, both peering over the side of the ship.

  “I just saw her again!” he shouted, running up to them. They both swung about, startled.

  Paiscion gathered himself first. “You saw Naeo? In the Glimmer Glass?”

  “Yes, she spoke to me! She was scared! Really scared!”

  “What did she say?”

  “It was clear, almost as though I could hear it. She said: ‘Find me, or we will die.’”

  Paiscion’s face darkened, his eyes betraying his alarm.

  Simia sucked her teeth. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Sylas raised his eyebrows. “No kidding.”

  “This certainly changes things,” said the Magruman thoughtfully. “I had hoped that we would have more time to prepare, but it seems that we must now move more quickly.”

  “How soon could we go?” asked Sylas.

  “Tomorrow, perhaps even—”

  There was a clunk against the side of the ship and then somebody cursed loudly. It was a young male voice.

  “No, no, don’t worry, I’m fine!” came the voice again. “Don’t let me interrupt!”

  The rope ladder over the side of the ship went taut, then a mass of unruly blond hair came into view, followed by a slight, pale face.

  It was Ash.

  He looked up and beamed at the gathering. “Aren’t you just a little bit glad to see me?” he asked sarcastically, hoisting his bag on to the deck. “Or were you hiding from me too?”

  “Ash!” cried Sylas and Simia in unison, extending their hands to help him up.

  Ash stared at the two hands and guffawed. “Now you want to be friends!”

  They all laughed and helped him up, exchanging greetings. Simia took his bag from him and Paiscion ushered him over to a collection of crates, where they all took a seat and began exchanging stories.

  After some moments Paiscion disappeared below and reappeared with a steaming pot of tea, which he poured while Simia asked Ash all manner of questions about what had happened since they parted. Ash, however, was in a playful mood and took to answering every question with a question, such that before long he knew all of what had happened to Sylas and Simia, while nothing was known of him.

  Finally, however, Paiscion politely but firmly insisted that Ash tell his story.

  “Yes, and start at the Circle of Salsimaine,” Simia demanded. “Like I asked.”

  “Right, yes,” said Ash, pushing back his unruly hair and rocking back on his crate.

  He told how, shortly after Sylas and Simia left, he had had the idea of using the dried rivers to confuse and divide the Ghor using an old trick that he learned from the Muddlemorphs. He described the moment when the Ghor had first appeared out of the darkness and, with some pride, he told how he had distracted them with fires formed of mustard and dust.

  Paiscion’s face darkened. “You used Kimiyya?”

  Ash tugged at a lock of his hair. “Yes,” he said defensively. “It’s so useful for—”

  “Nonsense! It has no use whatsoever, especially not in the hands of the Suhl! Such sorcery has robbed Nature of the things She holds most dear!”

  Ash lowered his eyes and shrugged. “Well, I didn’t think a few little fires—”
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  “The Barrens were forged in such fires!” snapped the Magruman. His gaunt, pale face had become flushed as he glared through his thick glasses. “You know better than this, Ash!”

  Ash was a little bewildered to find himself under attack – he had been quite prepared to be heralded as a hero. “Well, I did what I thought I had to,” he grumbled. “I couldn’t face them with just Essenfayle.”

  “‘Just Essenfayle’ he says,” murmured the Magruman. He took a breath. “I know you mean well, young man, but you must remember that Kimiyya is the plaything of Thoth. Nothing good can come of it. Surely we have learned that from the Undoing?”

  Ash cleared his throat. “I wanted to give them the best chance.”

  Paiscion leaned back on his crate. “Of course you did,” he said wearily. “But the Undoing will only end when Nature is healed; it will only end with Essenfayle. You do see that?”

  Ash nodded. “Yes, but—”

  “Then carry on,” said Paiscion, closing his eyes and waving at him impatiently. “You have a story to tell and are too long about it.”

  Ash drew a long breath and widened his eyes at Sylas and Simia, then continued.

  He told of the Ghor moving like silent shadows across the Barrens; of the fires that drew them to the dried rivers and the whirlwinds that they mistook for human shapes. He described how he had stood on top of the Circle of Salsimaine and watched as they chased the air, how he led them further and further from the stones and the scent of their quarry, how he had made them stumble across each other and in the darkness. And then he told of the moment when something had caught his eye, something slow and silent and near: a human shape, standing just paces away, in the shadows. He related how he had felt the hairs rise on his neck and how he had turned to see a familiar figure in the circle below.

  “Espen!” exclaimed Sylas.

  Ash nodded. “The very same.”

  “He found you?” gasped Simia, horrified. “How did you get away?”

  “I didn’t have to,” said Ash. “He let me go.”

  Simia frowned, then glanced at Sylas and Paiscion.

  “But... he betrayed us. Why would he—”

  “He let me go, Simia,” interjected Ash. “He told me that there is hope, that we must be swift, and then he let me go.”

  There was a long silence. Everyone stared at Ash.

  “Well? What does that mean?” blustered Simia.

  “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “It was all pretty quick– there were plenty of Ghor closing in, remember. He said his piece, then he just disappeared into the darkness. I couldn’t have followed him even if I’d wanted to.”

  Paiscion stood and paced round the circle of crates, rubbing his sallow cheeks with his palms. “It means that we were wrong to doubt him,” he said.

  “Just because he says so?” exclaimed Simia incredulously.

  “Paiscion’s right,” said Ash. “I think we can trust him.”

  “But why should we?” cried Simia, throwing her hands out in exasperation. “We trusted him before and he—”

  “Because he let me go,” said Ash. “And he let you go.”

  “What do you mean he let us go? We got away! We ran the whole way in the dark…”

  “He was right behind you, Simia!”

  She put her hands on her hips and seemed about to argue, but Sylas laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “Simia, they’re right,” he said, remembering Espen’s strength and pace as he had run across town and the Barrens. “If he was that close behind us, we’d never have outrun him if he hadn’t let it happen.”

  She clamped her mouth shut and then turned to stare out to sea.

  “Well, I still don’t trust him,” she mumbled. “You’re forgetting that I saw him with Scarpia.”

  Paiscion watched her for a moment and then lowered himself back into his seat. “Well, whatever we think about Espasian, we know that his message is true – we must be swift. Naeo needs our help.”

  “Yes,” said Sylas, glad to be returning to the topic of Naeo. “There was something so desperate about her – as if something terrible was going to happen. Maybe it was already happening. And I didn’t dream about her last night – that’s the first time since all this started.”

  “You’re sure she’s in the Dirgheon?” asked Ash.

  Paiscion nodded. “She was taken by Thoth’s own guard.”

  Ash let out a low whistle. “Well, this isn’t going to be easy.”

  Simia was suddenly struck with a thought. “What do you expect to happen exactly? If Sylas and Naeo meet, I mean?”

  Paiscion looked at her steadily. “No one can know that.”

  “So how do you know it’s right? Talking to her in the mirrors is one thing, but two parts of the same person meeting?” She shook her head. “Isn’t that... weird? Unnatural?”

  The trace of a smile showed on Paiscion’s thin lips. “A fair point, Simia,” he said. “But we must not confuse the unknowable with the unnatural. Essenfayle teaches us that togetherness, connectedness, is the natural state. How can it be right that a person should be kept from their Glimmer? What if we are the unnatural ones? Those of us who know nothing of their own Glimmer.”

  Simia frowned. “That makes no sense. How can we all be unnatural?”

  “Sylas’s world and our world may be different,” said the Magruman, “but they have far too much in common to be two separate places. The Merisi have long believed that they are two parts of a whole, divided by some force and for some reason we do not yet understand. And how could we understand, for we ourselves are divided. Each and every one of us has a Glimmer: a part of ourselves we do not know, that we cannot see, hear or touch.” He turned his eyes to Sylas. “But there is something different about Sylas and Naeo. We’ve all seen it – Essenfayle of such purity and power that they wield it like Merimaat herself. Essenfayle so natural and true that the divisions break down, the Passing Bell rises from the earth and rings again. They meet each other in their dreams; they are even able to look one another in the face.” He looked back at Simia. “No, Simia, this is not unnatural. Far from it. In Sylas and Naeo, the two worlds come together.”

  Simia looked doubtfully at Sylas.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Everything that’s happened to me, to us, leads to Naeo. And...” he hesitated, “I do believe now that this is what my mum wanted. I have to trust that. This may even be the only way for me to find her too.”

  She sighed. “Well, I don’t know.” She looked back at Paiscion. “If it’s so natural, why did the bracelet hurt him when he was using the mirrors?”

  “Because that’s what it’s meant to do,” said the Magruman.

  “Meant to do?”

  “Yes, it’s a warning.”

  “A warning that something bad’s going to happen?”

  “You need to remember that the Merisi Band was made for Bringers, not for Sylas. It was there to protect them from accidentally coming face to face with their Glimmer…”

  “Protect them! They need protecting from their Glimmers?”

  Ash rocked forward on his crate. “She’s got a point, Paiscion,” he said. “Why were Bringers so afraid of their Glimmers?”

  The Magruman let out a long sigh. “Because it’s happened before.” He lowered his eyes.

  “And? What happened?”

  “They died.”

  “Died?” cried Simia.

  Paiscion raised his eyes to Simia and then looked over at Sylas, whose face had paled. “They thought it was the shock,” he said, “but that was a long time ago and it was different. Sylas and Naeo are—”

  “Well, that’s it as far as I’m concerned!” Simia exclaimed, turning to Sylas. “I think you’d be mad to go – at least until we know more. It’s just too—”

  “Simia!” snapped Paiscion. “I’ve told you, Sylas and Naeo are different. Everything has conspired to bring them together, not to keep them apart. You speak of the Merisi Band, well, remember i
t is the Merisi who began this journey – it all started with Mr Zhi. For Sylas the band was just another way to prove that Naeo is his Glimmer!”

  “Yes, but no one can be sure!” she shouted, throwing her hands wide. She looked to Sylas for support.

  He sat in silence for some moments, then he put his hand on her shoulder. “Thanks, Simia. Really,” he said. “But I think Paiscion’s right.”

  Simia gasped. “How can you—”

  “Because I think I’m supposed to be doing this. Because I think Naeo needs our help.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And we’re forgetting something,” he said. “Something in Merisu’s poem.”

  “What?”

  “The third line. It says, ‘fear not where none have gone’.” He shrugged. “Don’t you see? It’s like Merisu wrote that poem about this very moment. He knew that I’d be frightened, he knew that we’d have doubts, and he said go on, you have nothing to fear. Do it, because then at last we may be one.”

  Simia looked long and hard into his eyes, then slumped back in her seat.

  “You’re impossible,” she said, blowing out a lungful of air.

  Ash suddenly clapped his hands together. “Well, this is too fine! Breakfast and a spirited debate! What better way to start the day!” He reached over and patted both Sylas and Simia on the shoulders. “I’ve missed you two!”

  They both gave him a weary look.

  As a sallow sun climbed in the morning sky, the Windrush drifted far out in the estuary, rising and falling on the waves from the open sea. An occasional wind gathered in the half-set sails making them flap and tug at their ropes, as if the old ship was straining at its leash.

  “It’s not going to be easy,” sighed Ash, shaking his head. “The Dirgheon is impregnable. Its defences have never been breached... entire armies have fallen at its walls. The Ghor legions that patrol them are the finest under Thoth’s command. Even if we find a way inside, it’s vast. No one knows how many rooms there are, how many corridors and forgotten passages. And, if by some miracle we found her, how would we get her out?”