The Bellringer

by William Timothy Murray

  He reached the landing and entered the bell room, and he immediately he tried again to shove the great door closed, but it was hopelessly mangled and far too massive for him to budge. He turned inward, suddenly feeling threatened on every side: the carved figures surrounding the room now menaced the place, their forms stern and forbidding in the blazing light. He considered trying to climb the bell, but there were no handholds.

  He grabbed one of the full jars of oil and heaved it up into his arms. Carefully holding the torch away from it, he lifted the other open jar by its rim and made his way back through the door. By now the wolves were coming up the stairs, and he could hear their noisy approach and smell the foul reek of their coats. Dropping the torch, he continued down a few more steps and poured the oil from the open jar, letting the stuff run down the staircase. He let the jar roll away, bouncing a few times before it shattered. He could hear the scratching and sliding of claws from around the curve as the wolves met the slippery oil. He lifted the other jar with both hands over his head and let it fly as far as he could. It struck the stairs and showered oil and gooey pitch downward, setting off a new round of yelps. Picking up the torch, he nervously lit the oil. Flames ran down the stairs, lighting up the passage in a garish light and filling the air with black smoke. As the fire reached the bend and exploded downward, the howls became frenzied and hysterical. Running back up the stairs, Robby turned, and, in disbelief, saw several flaming wolves following him.

  The stench of burning fur mixed with choking smoke assailed his lungs. And now it was hopeless, indeed, for the way was blocked by both flames and enraged wolves, and Robby was on the verge of desperate tears as he fled through the room and to the other side, looking for another way out that he had missed before. But there was none, and he found himself before the great iron door. By now smoke was filling the bell room, and several smoldering wolves entered the far door. And though Robby could not see from where he was, at the very instant the beasts stepped into the main room from the stairway, all of the carved figures lifted their heads, and their eyes opened with a blaze of golden light. Coughing and gagging on the smoke, Robby backed into the iron door between the great warriors, oblivious to their glowing eyes. He stared at the approaching wolves, and the others that were joining in, thinking the eerie and growing light in the room was from the fire, fixated by the foam-dripping fangs of his attackers. He turned and pounded at the iron door with his fists.

  "Open!" he cried. Robby flinched away as the door lurched with a shrill grinding of metal against metal. It then slid straight down out of the way and disappeared through a crack in the floor, landing somewhere below with an earth-shaking thud that brought down dust and chips from the ceiling. Bits of stone flaked from the cheeks and bare arms of the two warriors, and Robby stumbled forward in a nightmare state of panic. He did not notice holes in the ceiling where steady streams of sand now came pouring out, nor had a mind to care if he had noticed. But the opening of the iron door set in motion the release of sand from three chambers above, each housing an iron ball the size of a pumpkin. As the sand leaked out, each ball descended in slow turn, one before the other, sinking downward onto rails that would set them rolling along stone-laid tracks within hidden conduits above.

  Meanwhile, Robby stumbled along the passageway before him, dark doorways opening to his left and right, but he kept on straight. Behind him, the noise of a terrible fight broke out, and he thought he heard the sound of ringing steel and pounding iron amid the screams of the wolves, and it distantly occurred to him that the beasts must have tipped over some of the statues in their frenzy. Suddenly, he came upon another door, this one of stone with the remnants of a lock as big as his hand. He slapped the lockplate, and it instantly burst asunder, the door toppling away from him and shattering into heaps of rubble. Cold wind and rain burst in from the gloom beyond as Robby scrambled out and onto a steep mossy staircase. His torch sputtered in the wind and died, lightning flashed overhead, and as he climbed the last few steps, he found himself to be on the very crest of Tulith Attis, surrounded by the ancient walls of the fortress.

  The storm roared with terrible cracks of continuous lightning and thunder. After a moment, disoriented by the rain and noise and brilliant flashes, Robby saw a wide, round ground, a bailey surrounded by high, vine-covered walls. Turning in every direction, trying to see a way out of the fortress, he spotted the decrepit gateway at the far side and ran toward it, dodging holes and scrambling over rubble, shielding his eyes against the hard rain and the blinding lightning. He saw as he went many ivy-shrouded stone columns, just over his height and shoulder wide, standing in groups all around the yard, and some atop the parapets, but he had no time to wonder at their purpose. Halfway across, the lightning flashed again, and he could clearly see the gate ahead, and, just as plainly, a throng of wolves moving through it into the fortress. Sliding to a halt, he saw a stairway leading up the side of the east wall, and he ran to it and up, slipping a time or two on the mossy stones, until he reached the top of the great wall of the fortress. Peering over the side, he looked for a way off the summit. But all he could see in the flashes of light was a raging river where once the ravine had been. He ran across the wall to the other side, then along the southern face, scrambling around crumbled portions and climbing over piles of rubble. When he had gotten all the way around to the opposite side of the fortress, he looked westward, toward Barley, but could make out no details in the flatlands beyond the base of the hill and could barely even see to the barrows below. The only way off the ramparts was back down the way he had come or else over the side down the sheer walls. He made up his mind to do that, if he had to. He could still hear the noise from within the bell room, and he could not understand how the wolves could be so delayed from following him. In a panic, he continued to run along the wall, dodging around the odd columns that he met, but he could find no place where he thought he could scale down the outside face of the walls. At one point, when he looked over, he realized he must be over the gate, for when the lightning flashed, he saw what he thought to be hundreds of wolves crowding through the wall and disappearing below. Edging over to the inner side, he looked down and saw them emerging into the fortress, running here and there as if looking for him. Scrambling back, he ran along the ramparts, crouching against the torrential rain, searching for another way down and away from the wolves.

  Deep within the fortress, one of the great iron balls settled onto the inclined track that had been crafted for it and began to roll. Like thunder rising from the ground, its course rumbled through the interior of the hill. Robby heard the queer sound and froze. The iron ball burst through the ceiling of the bell room and struck the bell with such a roar that Robby stumbled, instinctively clutching his ears. The fortress shook violently as the din reverberated, the ivy fell from the stone columns, and loose blocks crumbled from the parapets and tumbled down. As the sound faded, the second iron ball began its course and rumbled along its track toward the great bell. During this, the wolves were howling deliriously at the air, running around senselessly, biting stone, vine, and their own flesh alike in their madness. Robby staggered to his feet. The second ball struck the bell with the same force as the first. The clang ripped through the stormy country, and Robby reeled sideways to stay on his feet, screaming with pain, but he could not hear himself over the toll. Losing his balance, he stumbled and slipped off the edge of the wall. Thrashing wildly for some vine to hold, he fell forty feet, landing squarely on top of a wolf with a sickening crunch, killing the beast instantly, and knocking the breath out of himself. Gasping for air, he crawled to his feet, and in madness akin to that of the wolves, he ran, yelling as he went, to the center of the fortress, kicking or beating away with his fists the foul-smelling animals that threw themselves at him, biting at his legs and arms and leaping against his back as he fled. Once more there came a rumble of iron and the crash of the great bell, and once again the ground shook and even the rain seem to flee away. Robby and all of the wolves we
re completely knocked off their feet, stunned into senselessness as the boom ripped eastward through the Boggy Wood. It galloped away westward over the far mountains and the plains beyond, it thundered and rolled north and south, and it blasted the very rain from the air.

  In the stunned silence following the deafening toll, still air descended thick with fog, disturbed only by the return of a distant echo. Overhead, the storm-clouds thinned, and high Lady Moon cast her full pale light on the blue-gray mists that floated all around. Robby staggered to his shaking knees in shock and bewilderment, his head spinning. The dreadful ringing in his ears was made all the louder by the stark hush that settled like a mantle on the old fortress, as tangible as the thickening fog. Around him, the wolves lay scattered, some struggling to gain their feet, others mewling, and a few already up and coming at him, swaying drunkenly from side to side, their heads down, bloody foam dripping from their snouts. Robby heard a slight snap, like the breaking of a dry twig, and then a crack, and another one, sharper, more distinct, from another direction. More snaps, like the breaking of brittle crackers, or the clattering of small pebbles falling upon stone, coming from all around the fortress. He got to his feet, fell down to one knee, got up again, and fell again on all fours, weak and terrorized. Looking around, he saw no source of the odd sound in the strange light, but he was dizzy, and he staggered onto his side, his head spinning, looking for an escape. A new movement caught his eye.

  What he saw was more than he could bear. The columns that stood all around were shedding chips of stone, cracking and crumbling away to reveal vague shapes of some other material beneath. The shapes grew more distinct. To Robby's shock, a face appeared on the one nearest to him, then a shoulder and part of an arm. Robby whimpered, backing away from the emerging form. The wolves began barking and snarling at the columns, all of which were hatching strange beings. Robby then saw what looked to be polished steel, scarlet robes, and glittering mail, as from each column a soldier emerged dressed in gleaming armor, bearing in one hand a straight, bright sword and in the other a shield. Upon their heads were helmets of black, threaded with green vines and golden flowers, like the bell in the bell room, and the device upon their red, burnished shields was the same ivy-shrouded star he had seen on the sails of the ships in the mural. Their faces were fair and pale and their eyes silvery-green like the maple leaf in spring. They looked sternly at one another as if awakened from only a moment's nap, and gazed hard all around, filling Robby with a new terror, though he was half-entranced by their appearance.

  At that moment, the wolves were filled with fury. They charged the strange warriors, screaming with their dog-like voices—words almost, their barks and howls like horrid curses—flinging themselves through the air with their front paws outstretched, baring their claws. Yet the soldiers strode into them resolutely and hewed into the beasts with their swords. Screaming with terror, Robby crawled on his back, unable to get to his legs or to turn away from the hideous onslaught. Steel sang through bone and hissed through flesh. All around, Robby saw the wolves regroup and attack the ghostly fighters again and again. One of the soldiers who wore a circlet of gold rather than a helmet was beset by six of the creatures. With his blood-dripping shield he confidently faced and made a slaughter of the beasts, neatly lopping off the head of one and hewing another entirely in half. Robby marveled fearfully at this man, and yet he wanted to run to him for protection, and perhaps even to serve him, but too many wolves were between the two. In a language unknown to Robby, the great warrior cried out.

  "No mercy! Death to all intruders of Tulith Attis!"

  And all around from his comrades came the answer in defiant voices, "Death to all!! Death to all!"

  Finally, Robby got to his feet and was turning to run when a great wolf came sailing through the air, swinging his claws at him. Before he could react, an arrow pierced the beast's neck, and it was already dead when it collided with Robby, knocking him back down. Yelling with revulsion and fear, he shoved the carcass off his chest and was getting to his feet again when another wolf fell dead before him, this time with an arrow through its eye. Suddenly, he found himself encircled by soldiers, the remaining wolves scattering away into the blades of their rallying comrades. Standing before them, his heart racing and his head spinning, he felt sure of his doom, for their faces were fell, and no mercy showed in their green eyes. Hearing a call, the soldiers stepped back from him, and Robby saw the one with the golden circlet on his brow coming quickly, his sword dripping, and his face full of rage. He strode resolutely through his men and raised his sword against the hapless boy as he came. His strength all but gone, confused and in despair, Robby fell to his knees, his arms drooping at his sides in paralyzed terror and resignation. An arrow hissed over Robby's head and struck the captain square in his forehead, but the missile shattered into a hundred splinters as if it had struck solid stone instead of flesh. All of the other soldiers again drew their swords and stepped forward to their captain's defense, though none was needed. Another arrow struck him in the neck and glanced away into the darkness. The warrior stopped a few yards away from Robby, distracted, though hardly scratched by the arrows, and sought past Robby for their source. Robby stirred, and, looking over his shoulder, he saw two more figures trotting up from the gloom of the gate. One was tall and rail-thin, with straight black hair flowing down to his chest and a black beard to match. He wore the robes of a foreigner and bore in his left hand a sword, still in its scabbard, as though hastily grabbed and not yet buckled on. Robby immediately recognized him as Ashlord. The other figure was shorter and dressed in a brown cloak and hood, with the leggings and boots of a hunter and was presently bending his bow with another arrow from the quiver on his back as the pair speedily approached.

  "Put your useless arrows away," Ashlord told his companion.

  As the soldiers continued to converge on Robby and their captain, Ashlord lifted his right hand high, and in a strange dialect he shouted, "Halt! Stay thy hand! He is but an innocent boy and is no ally to these vanquished beasts."

  The captain of the guard lowered his sword and frowned at Ashlord.

  "Who saith?" he demanded. "What authority hast thee over my duty?"

  Ashlord and his companion continued to approach until they stood to either side of the stricken boy. Robby looked up weakly, but Ashlord did not remove his gaze from the captain.

  "I am Collandoth, called Ashlord, watcher of this place," Ashlord said, his voice like distant thunder, low and powerful, demanding the attention of all. "Hear my words!"

  Waving his hand at their surroundings, he continued, more softly, "Lookest thou. See this place. Dost thou perceive any Dragonkind? See thou any enemy? Look thou at yon battlements? See thou the tree and brush that hast sprung up where once thy sentries stood? See how yon vine dost root into cracks that only Time's own tread may open? See yon gates, once mighty and strong, which art now but rust and corrupted bars, fallen from their weather-corrupted pintles. These are not the heavy works of a day, nor even a year, but of the long light wear of Time's tread. Indeed, five hundred times, and more, hast the stars of summer strode these skies since the day thy stony sleep began. Five hundred years and longer thou hast awaited the summons of the Great Bell. But, alas, when the enemy came, it was never rung, never wast thou called, the battle fought and lost without thee. It is over! Those days art long passed away."

  The captain looked around, his followers doing likewise, as Ashlord spoke, seeing as if for the first time their surroundings.

  "But how can this be? Only yesterday, forsooth it seems, we were put to slumber, by incantation's spell, within the stone. Only yesterday. The battle? Lost? What of our comrades? What of Lord Heneil and his fair wife? What of our kindred? What sayest thou of our children?"

  "Gone," answered Ashlord. "Slain."

  "No. Sayest not that, Collandoth!" the captain begged, shaking his head in terrible anguish while a groan went up from the host as if they had been struck with a blow. "Yet, nightmares h
ast shewn to me the terrible thing thou sayest. Into stone we were cast, and into sleep's slumber to tarry our signal. Yet our eyes did see, but darkly as in a dream, what seemed the quick and terrible change around us. Only yesterday, to sleep we fell," he repeated, "and the dream but a single long night's vision?"

  He looked around at his comrades, and at the ruins surrounding them, forlorn in the pale light.

  "It is too much to believe, yet," he looked back at Ashlord, "we must by the truth of our hearts know it to be so. The battle lost? All slain?"

  "Yes."

  The captain nodded.

  "Then it was all for naught," he said as he turned away, walking toward the shattered gates. His sword fell to his side, and he let it drag, saying as he went, "All for naught. For naught."

  Robby watched the captain walk away into the mist, his comrades following him, and as rain began to fall, the captain and all his soldiers faded from sight, the mists vanished, and black clouds raced to block Lady Moon's view of the scene. Lightning flashed and the rain poured, mixed with hail, and the wind swept across the hill. Ashlord turned suddenly to Robby, leaning down and clutching his shoulder.