The Bellringer

by William Timothy Murray

  Chapter 5

  A Stormy Recovery

  Day 5

  239 Days Remaining

  Four days later, Robby rolled over onto his side and painfully propped himself up on an elbow amid unfamiliar surroundings. He could hear rain and see the nearby window's panes, foggy and awash with water. It was daytime. He saw his shoulder bag hanging on the wall, alongside his torn cloak. His other clothes were clean and folded on a shelf nearby. A curtain was drawn around the alcove where he lay in a cot, and he smelled something like a stew cooking nearby.

  He began to remember. His journey to Tulith Attis. The flight from the wolves. The mysterious bell room and the ghostly soldiers—all was like a dream to him, but for the evidence of his bandaged and sore body. What followed in his memory was even less clear. He seemed to remember being carried for a long while, up and down, in darkness split by lightning, and being deliriously cold and feverish. Ashlord's face, hovering very close to his own as his hand felt his brow. Looks of deep concern.

  There was another face, too, appearing and disappearing beside Ashlord's, a face formed by Robby's own delirious dreams. He remembered, with chagrin, giving himself over to the madness of delirium, shaking so uncontrollably with fever that he could not speak. And he vaguely recalled being bathed, and even fed, by both Ashlord and the other one. Of how they smiled so kindly at him, covering him with blankets as he tried to complain about his pain, saying words of comfort while he had nightmares about wolves and soldiers and ghostly spirits turning him into stone, alternately shaking with fever and suffocating from intense heat while the noise of a terrible storm passed all around. He remembered struggling to get out of bed and to be off home, and Ashlord catching him as he fainted.

  More memories whirled. Someone coming to him to offer comfort, that impossible face of his mad desire, the face of a girl, a young woman, a person he dearly missed. How she shared her warmth with him under blankets as he shivered with the chills of delirium and fever. Later, she was there again, clad in a hooded, brown cloak, standing over him, reassuring him that she would not be gone very long. He did not believe her because, even though he felt her lips touch his brow, he knew she was not actually there at all. He was overcome by madness and grief as tears streamed from his blurry eyes, soaking the pillow on both sides of his head as he watched her recede from view.

  He remembered comings and goings and stirrings all about him as he slipped in and out of dark dreams. There was one in particular that recurred, a feeling more than a dream, of someone trying to get his attention, an indistinct shape, just out of his vision. No matter how he tried, desperate yet afraid to see who it was, he could not bring the figure into focus. Like the person he longed for, this one, too, kept slipping away. Another fever-induced delusion, this strange dream? It seemed so real, though. So very real.

  Now, floating into what he was certain was wakefulness, he turned painfully onto his back and saw perched directly over the foot of his cot, on the thick oaken rafters above, a small owl, no more than the size of his hand. At first he felt the odd aura of dreamtime surround his perception. Robby blinked the feeling away. Strangely, next to the owl sat a small furry creature the same size as the owl with large eyes and little round ears. Like a squirrel it was, but smaller than most and light brown, and Robby first took it to be a chipmunk, but for its large eyes and fine coat. Both creatures watched him intently. The small furry thing sat up on its hind legs, and let out a sharp chirp. It crouched, then hurled itself downward, and as it did so, it spread out all four legs, making its body wide and flat as it swooped past Robby and landed on the bedpost behind him. It scurried down the post toward Robby, now sitting upright in surprise. The owl flew off over the curtain while the flying squirrel boldly hopped onto Robby's pillow and immediately burrowed itself underneath only to reappear on the other side a moment later. Robby put out his hand and the little thing hopped into it, purring for a moment before springing onto his shoulder. Just then, the curtain was gently pulled back, and Ashlord stuck his head under the line that held it up, his long, black hair hanging over his shoulders and his penetrating, black eyes glinting with a look of satisfaction.

  "So you are awake," he said, smiling. "And you have met one of my household."

  "Yes," Robby said, looking at the thing that was now jumping back onto the bedpost. "What is it?"

  "He is a flying squirrel," Ashlord replied holding out his hand into which the nimble thing hopped. Robby noticed the head of the little owl peeking out from under Ashlord's long hair. It flapped his wings to get the hair off and hopped sideways out to the edge of Ashlord's shoulder. "And this, as I'm sure you know, is an owl."

  "Is it a baby owl?"

  "Oh, no," Ashlord chuckled. The owl stared at Robby coldly and slowly blinked at the question. "She is quite grown up. And she is older than I am. Her name is Certina. This little furry one we call Flitter," he said, putting the creature down on the bed. "Run along."

  They watched Flitter hop gracefully off the bed and skitter under the curtain. Ashlord sat down on the cot and put his hand to Robby's brow and nodded.

  "Your fever has broken," he said. "And most of your wounds are now on the mending side. At least there will be no more festering, I think."

  "Where am I?" Robby asked.

  "You are in my cottage at the southeast end of Attis ridge. You have been here four nights. Most in these parts call me Ashlord."

  "My parents!" Robby gasped, starting from the bed. "They'll be worried sick! I have to go! Oh, my gosh!"

  Pain shot through Robby's body, and he winced as Ashlord put out his hands to him.

  "You are in no condition to go anywhere," he said gently. "And besides, the storm persists and all of the roads are impassable. I will get word to your folks as soon as I can, if I can, and I'll see that you get home as soon as possible."

  "But I can't just lie here!" Robby insisted in spite of the pain.

  "Well, in that case why don't you get dressed and sup with me?" Ashlord stood up. "But be careful with yourself. You've taken a mighty beating and have some nasty wounds. You lost a lot of blood before we found you and more still until we could properly clean and bandage you. On top of all that, you've been feverishly sick with what is called Wolftooth, if you know of it. Some call it Slobberfang. So easy does it! There are your clothes, what is left of them. If you feel the need to get up, then please join me when you are ready."

  Ashlord retreated and closed the curtains while Robby struggled out of bed. He quickly realized how weak he was. Every movement pained him, and he became dizzy more than once as he dressed and put on his boots. His clothes had been mended and cleaned of most of the mud and blood. His cloak was clean, too, though in hopeless tatters.

  When he pulled the curtain aside, he emerged into a large room. The walls were of stone, covered with all sorts of shelves and hooks supporting herbs, books, clothes, and a few weapons. Gourds and bottles hung from the rafters along with many potted plants and some nets full of vegetables. On one side of the room were two long tables strewn with scrolls, stacks of books and manuscripts, papers and bottles of ink. There were maps on the walls, too, as well as other charts—of the stars, Robby thought—and many lamps stood on the tables or hung low from the ceiling. Nearby was a fireplace, now burning lowly, and a few straight-backed chairs. On the other side of the room was a larger fireplace, for cooking, and more tables and cupboards and wooden closets. Ashlord was bent over a pot, ladling steaming portions into bowls. These he carried to a table, broke bread onto some plates, and set them out along with spoons.

  "Ah, good. Sit here," he said when he saw Robby. He pulled out a chair at the table near the cooking hearth and motioned to him. Robby realized he was famished, and as he ate the hearty stew, it quickly did its good work on him. Ashlord sat across from him, eating more slowly, and keeping an eye on the boy. Certina and Flitter sat together on a rafter and watched.

  "What brings you out from Passdale?" Ashlord asked at last.

&
nbsp; "To see you," Robby nodded, his mouth still half full. "Pardon me," he said after he had swallowed. "I came to see you."

  "Oh?"

  "Well, not exactly to see you. More like to bring something to you. A parcel," Robby wiped his mouth and got up. Soon he had returned with his delivery. "This is why I came. I was asked to bring it to you by the King's Post Rider." He handed over the parcel and Ashlord looked at it curiously, almost nervously, as he turned it over in his hands, examining it carefully.

  "It hasn't been opened," Robby said earnestly. "Not since I've had it, unless, since I've been here...."

  "Oh no," Ashlord said. "No one has gone into your things."

  "Well," Robby went on, "anyway, that is why I came. The rider said it was urgent, yet he had another errand equally urgent and could not go in two directions at once. I don't think I'm explaining this very well."

  "Well enough," Ashlord said, "if Ullin Saheed Tallin was the rider."

  "Yes, he was! How did you know?"

  "He alone delivers dispatches with this seal in the Eastlands." Ashlord held up the parcel showing the lead seal and the lettering molded into it. "And I believe you and I have met before?"

  "Oh, yes, forgive me. I am Robby Ribbon, son of Robigor Ribbon. We run the sundries store in Passdale and that is where we have seen each other before. Ullin Saheed is my mother's brother's son."

  "Your mother's brother?" Ashlord raised his eyebrows. "Your mother is Mirabella Tallin?"

  "Yes. Do you know her?"

  Ashlord looked away, absently staring at the fireplace.

  "Ullin's cousin. That may explain some things," he said to himself. "Excuse me, do I what?"

  "Do you know my mother?"

  "Oh, no. I mean, sort of. I saw her once. More than once. Many, many years ago. I knew Ullin's father quite well, though, and somewhat well your mother's other brother and her father, your grandfather. I knew Ullin had an aunt. But I did not know that she was married and had a child."

  "Oh?" Robby was starting to think this was really something. Perhaps, after years of mystery he might at last learn more about his family.

  "Yes, but that was long ago." Ashlord's voice trailed off and his eyes wandered back to the fireplace. "I thought she still lived in Tallinvale. I certainly did not know she was married. Or had a child."

  Suddenly the door burst open and the brown-clad figure came in, bent over against the blowing rain. He closed the door and stamped the wet off, removed his quiver of arrows and hung them up beside his bow on the wall next to the door. Still facing the door, he pulled back his hood and shook out his wet hair. It was long and brown, and Robby realized as the cloak came off and the figure turned around that it was a girl. And not just any girl.

  "Sheila Pradkin!" Robby exclaimed, standing up in complete surprise. "What on earth are you doing here?"

  He remembered the night on Tulith Attis, the arrows that flew. And he again had dim memories of the brown-clad figure next to his bed and the girl, unclad, in his bed. He felt the blood run to his face, and he knew he was blushing, which embarrassed him even more.

  "I might ask the same of you," she retorted.

  "Sheila told me she was acquainted with you," Ashlord put in. "Come in. I was expecting you, so I put out some food for you."

  "Good!" she said, and unceremoniously sat down and began eating. Robby slowly took his chair and quietly resumed eating, too. Ashlord look back and forth at the two, as if waiting for more from them, and hearing from their silence more than he needed to know.

  "Well," he shrugged at last. "So we all have some explaining to do. But first, Sheila, how do things look in the countryside?"

  "The roads are all still flooded," she said with her mouth full. "Pardon me. No sign of letting up. Lots of deer coming up the hill, as well as every other manner of beast."

  "Just as I thought," Ashlord said. "More for you?"

  Robby shook his head.

  "No, thank you. That was just what I needed. Very good stew," Robby added, looking at Sheila.

  "I am the cook around here," said Ashlord clearing his plate. "Sheila's talents lie elsewhere."

  "Oh," Robby said. He could hardly take his eyes from her. They had known each other since childhood. She was something of a legend around Passdale and Barley. The Wild Girl, some called her, because she did not go to learn letters with the other children, but was ever seen in the fields and woods hunting or fishing or sometimes working the crops with the Barleymen. She also looked different from the other girls Robby knew. Most of the Passdale and Barley girls tended to be either on the round or straight sides, thin or thick, one might say. However, Sheila was Robby's height, maybe just a little taller, and was neither thin nor thick, except in those places where it was becoming to be so. Tomboyish though she may be, there was nothing boyish about her appearance, other than her manner of dressing. Before two years ago, they had barely spoken. After a chance meeting, they quickly became friends, of a sort, though they tried to keep their relationship a secret from others. They traded lessons. She taught him to fish, and he gave her lessons in reading and writing and even some numbers. They each learned, though Robby was slower to catch fish than Sheila was to understand letters and words. And they grew ever closer, striving to guard their secret at Sheila's continuing insistence, even though it became more and more difficult, and, for Robby, more uncomfortable to do so. Naturally, their friendship grew into something much more significant. Their time together was filled with joy and young passion, and at every parting, they longed for and watched for another chance to be together.

  More recent events sprang to Robby's mind as he ate and tried to think what he should now say. A month and a half ago, during the Midsummer's Day celebrations, Robby had overheard several Passdale boys saying unpleasant things about Sheila, and a fight resulted from his challenge to them on the subject. He got thoroughly beaten up and was only spared further humiliation when his friends Billy and Ibin happened along. Afterwards, when he told them what it was all about, he swore them to secrecy, not wishing for Sheila to know that he defended her so inadequately. Sheila found out anyway, and she came to see him at the shop, two days later, acting awkward and yet, it seemed, somehow vulnerable to Robby.

  "I didn't ask ye to defend me," she had said.

  "I did not defend you very well," Robby laughed, fingering a cut on his forehead, "Billy and Ibin did a better job than I did, even though they didn't even know what it was all about."

  "Still," she said, touching his brow tenderly, "I never had a friend like ye. To stand up for me. I ain't very proper, an' I don't know gentle ways."

  "Sh-h," Robby said taking her hands. "I am only a shop clerk, and that is probably all I will ever be. But I will always love you."

  Suddenly she threw her arms around him and burst into tears.

  "Oh, Robby," she stammered. "It ain't right!"

  Then, hearing someone coming down the stairs, she tore herself loose and fled out the door. Robby started after her, but heard his father's voice calling.

  He had not seen Sheila once since, and none of his friends knew where she had gone.

  • • •

  "She has been here these past many weeks," Ashlord said, as if he had read Robby's thoughts. "My pupil. And during that time she has learned much, I would say. More, even, than most would at old Broadweed's school for as many years." There was an air of pride that touched Ashlord's words, but Sheila remained silent and kept her eyes on her plate as she finished her food. "Of course, someone had already gotten her off to a good start."

  Ashlord smiled at Robby, took the parcel of letters, and moved off to the opposite side of the room. There, he stoked the fire, picked up a few things, and moved some books from a chair. Robby watched him as he took an ember from the fire to light his long-stemmed pipe. He then sat down in front of the hearth, letting the parcel rest in his lap as he puffed and thoughtfully stared into the flames. Robby turned to Sheila.

  "Are the roads truly blocked?" he a
sked at last in a low voice. She picked up her plate and put it away.

  "Yes, from the foot of Tulith Attis to as far as the eye can see, floodwaters cover the land," she said.

  "So I'm stuck here."

  "As we all are."

  "And I have been here all this time. All this time since you found me?"

  "Yes. You lost a lot of blood and had wolf poison in you." She poured a tankard of ale from a small keg. "Here. This will help relieve your anxieties."

  Robby noticed the very different way she spoke, now. It was more careful than before, and her Barley accent and drawl less distinct, and the words she used, like "relieve" and "anxieties" seemed odd coming from her lips.

  "Has it been just the three of us, then? While I was sick?"

  "Yes, but for two nights when Ashlord was away."

  "Where did he go?"

  "I do not know. His ways are his own."

  "So you took care of me?"

  Sheila looked at him, and he thought he saw a slight blush pass her cheeks.

  "You were very cold, and I did not know what else to do."

  "Well," Robby said, pretending he did not remember, "whatever it was you did must have worked as I am feeling much recovered. And I will always be thankful to you. And Ashlord."

  "It was he who saved you," she said filling another tankard. She walked to the other side of the room and held it out to Ashlord. He shook himself from his thoughts and took it, nodding. He took a sip and then looked over at Robby.

  "Come over here, you two," he said. "I think we have much to discuss."

  Sheila and Robby brought chairs over and the three of them sat in a semicircle around the fire. Outside, the wind still blew and the rain pelted the windows.

  "Might I ask how you came to be within the old fortress of Tulith Attis?" Ashlord queried.