The Bellringer

by William Timothy Murray

  Robby was suddenly overcome with sleepiness, and, nodding, he went back to the cot and started pulling off his boots. Barely did he have them off before his eyes were closed. Soon he was snoring softly, in the company of mild, peaceful dreams.

  While Robby slept, Ashlord carefully opened the parcel from Ullin. Inside were three letters; he read each one carefully, then read all three again. As the rainy day moved into night, Ashlord remained in front of the fire, puffing on his pipe, the letters in his lap. Now and then, he gazed over at Robby asleep on the cot. The rain continued to fall for many hours, and after it was fully dark, it turned to a cold drizzle. Sheila built up the fires, as Ashlord stirred from his chair and consulted some maps. Certina ignored Flitter who was trying to show off his gliding skills by leaping from the rafters to the kitchen table and then scrambling back up the wall and into the rafters to start over again.

  Robby tossed and turned for a while, then fell again into a deep slumber. Many hours later, he opened his eyes and saw Certina sitting on the rafter over his bed. She soared down and landed on his chest and stared at him with her big, amber eyes. Half-asleep, Robby imagined she was talking to him, but her voice was so low that he could not understand the words, or else they were of a language that he did not know. Robby closed his eyes again to listen more carefully, not daring to stir lest the owl fly away. There was something terribly odd about her, he was thinking, but also comforting. When he opened his eyes again, she was gone. He could hear the crack of the fireplace, and the flickering light danced in the rafters above the curtain that someone had pulled about his alcove. Ashlord and Sheila were talking softly, but Robby could not make out what they were saying. He listened more carefully and realized the two were speaking in whispers. He slipped quietly out of the bed to peek through a small gap in the curtains.

  As Ashlord handed Sheila the small copper box, he pointed at it. She whispered back to Ashlord, turning the box over and over in her hands. She was clearly amazed at something, and when she glanced Robby's way, he ducked back from the curtains. A moment later, he peeked again. Sheila was excitedly telling something to Ashlord, who was nodding his head. Sitting back down on the bed, making it creak, Robby then drew the curtains, stretching and yawning.

  "My!" he said in a jolly tone, "That was a good nap!"

  "Ah, Master Ribbon," Ashlord greeted him. "How long have you been awake?"

  "Oh, I just woke up."

  "You did?" Ashlord stood. "Then I suppose you are hungry again."

  "Well, sure, but," Robby started.

  "But?"

  "Well, it looked as though you two were discussing something," he probed, "and I don't want to interrupt. I've been such a bother already."

  "No bother at all," Sheila said before Ashlord could respond, going to the kitchen area. "I'm a bit ready for some breakfast myself."

  "Breakfast? What happened to supper?"

  "I'm afraid you slept through supper," Ashlord said. "And all through the night and day, and now it is nigh upon dawn."

  Robby was dumbfounded. He certainly did not feel like he had slept that long. Yet, however long, he was uncommonly rested.

  "Oh, well," he said at last, shrugging. "I'm sorry if I've kept you from anything."

  "No, no, nothing," Sheila said, taking down some eggs.

  "Actually," Ashlord approached, "the rain seems to be tapering off, and my bones tell me the sky will be clearing before midday, though it will be cool. I'm of a mind to go for a walk up the hill to see the results of all this rain. Once you've eaten a bite or two, and have your boots on, perhaps you would feel up to going along? The walk may do you some good if we do not press too hard. And we may be able to see if the roads have cleared enough for passage."

  Robby eagerly agreed to this and soon had on his boots and cloak. He took his cloak back off when he realized Ashlord was scrambling some of the eggs for breakfast. Sheila led him through a small door to a room where he could wash his face.

  "We must talk," Robby said to her quietly and urgently.

  "Not now, Robby," she said, handing him a towel. "But, yes. We'll talk."

  When he emerged, the table was set. Robby ate quickly, not only because he was hungry but also because he was anxious to get home, and he looked forward to being on his way. He still had many questions about this place, too, and he hoped to get a few more answers before he left. He also hoped for a private word with Sheila, some explanation as to why she disappeared from Barley, and what she had been doing since she left.

  She ate silently beside him, and Ashlord ate not at all, poring over scrolls and scratching his head all the while. At last, after the two had eaten their fill and cleaned the plates, Ashlord approached Robby.

  "I'm afraid it will be a cool day," Ashlord said, "and your cloak is probably too light, and it is rather spent. I have a few things that might fit you that would be good enough until you get home."

  So at Ashlord's insistence, Robby accepted a heavier shirt and vest as well as a coat to wear over them. Robby slipped his cloak on over them all, tattered though it was, but it had a hood and it was still drizzling out.

  "I don't think you'll need your bag," Ashlord said as Robby reached for it. "But you may find this useful." He handed Robby a long, thick stick, almost up to Robby's shoulder. "Our way may be muddy or slippery and it may help you through the rough spots."

  Soon they were outside, and Robby could discern in the gray light a yard of sorts, fenced in by a stone wall. Everywhere there were the remains of gardens hopelessly washed out and squashed down by the heavy rains. Ashlord led Robby through a gate and along a path. Sheila followed with her bow and quiver of arrows, and Robby remembered the arrows that had struck the stone ghost-captain on the hilltop. His memory was still vague and confused, but it began to dawn on him that she had many talents, hitting a target with an arrow while on the run not the least of them. He knew her to be an expert archer. After years of a confused relationship with her, and these past weeks of her absence, he longed to talk to her. Yet she seemed stern as he had never imagined her, and he wondered if it was his presence that made her this way or if some change had come about in her. Her boisterous laughter was nowhere to be heard; indeed, she had smiled very little since his arrival. And he had already noticed how her speech had changed. Her loss of the Barley twang and her more proper way of saying things was evidence, no doubt, of Ashlord's intense tutelage. Most striking, though, was the powerful air of sadness that seemed to surround and weigh down upon her.

  The threesome continued along the path, winding up and down, but mostly upward, through the misty drizzle that blew about. As they made their way through a thin copse, Robby realized they must be halfway or more up the hill, but the air was so gray he could see little of what lay below them to either side of the ridge. The path broadened as they continued, and it was soon lined with paving stones. As the drizzle finally thinned, Robby saw they were headed toward a steep bank rising dark green ahead. As they neared, Robby realized it was part of the ancient walls that surrounded the upper fortress, now covered with ivy and brush. An opening in the wall, about ten yards wide, must have once been the main gate. Inside the dark tunnel-like passage that passed nearly thirty feet through the thickness of the wall, Robby perceived huge iron bars twisted and bent that must have once been part of a portcullis. As they emerged, Robby saw that few trees grew inside, but grass and moss was thick everywhere, with ivy running over many places. It was bigger inside than Robby remembered, and he reckoned you could fit almost half of the houses in Passdale within the grounds surrounded by the walls. Suddenly, Robby halted, looking around warily as a pang of fear shot through him.

  "Where are the wolves?" he asked. "I mean, the dead ones."

  "I came up here yesterday and cleaned up a bit," Ashlord said.

  "You did? In the pouring rain? What did you—"

  "I stripped down naked so that the rain would cleanse me as I worked. And I hauled the carcasses up there." Ashlord pointed up at the e
astern wall. "I threw them down into the gully below. There were a few stragglers, too. They went the same way."

  Ashlord led them the opposite way along the base of the western wall to a steep stone staircase. Seeing Robby's hesitation, he stopped. "I felt it a disgrace that they should litter these grounds with their stench. It's perfectly safe, now. I do assure you it is."

  Robby came along, and they climbed the stairs onto the ramparts. He followed Ashlord hesitantly.

  "I often come up here, you see," said Ashlord waving his arm. "To think. And to watch. And I've come to think of this place as, well, as my own, in a way."

  "Watch for what?" Robby asked, looking around.

  "Hmm, well, for whatever might be seen, naturally," Ashlord said.

  "Or unnaturally," Sheila muttered from behind Robby.

  The air brightened dramatically, and a cool breeze danced by from the northwest.

  "Ah!" Ashlord said. "It looks to be clearing earlier than I thought."

  He stopped and sat down on a large, square stone and pointed across toward the opposite side.

  "Over there is where we found you the other night," he said. "And that must be where you emerged from underground."

  Robby saw that where the opening had been was a large hole, filled with a jumble of rocks and mud. "Is the storm the cause of that?"

  "I do not think so," Ashlord said. "It seems you set in motion a chain of events that was intended for less gentle persons than you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "When you described your adventures to us the other night, you failed to mention if you saw any writing, in particular over the iron door."

  "Yes. Yes, I did," Robby nodded. "I even copied it down into my order book. I could show you if I had brought it along."

  "No need," Ashlord stood, picking up his walking stick. "I believe it was something like this." He began scratching figures on the ground and Robby thought he recognized them.

  "I believe those are the writings I saw," Robby nodded. "Do you know what they say?"

  "Oh, yes. I do," Ashlord smiled. "But when they were carved and the bell room assembled, it was never imagined there would come a time when that writing would not be understood. The language is long lost and the present speech of the west is its closest relative. Had you been able to read the Ancient Speech, you may not be standing here now, for surely you would have not attempted to pass that way. Sheila can tell you what it says."

  Sheila came closer and looked at the writing, then she carefully and slowly read each word aloud, as one not practiced in the art of reading.

  "By the hand of Amandoel—Is it Amandoel?" she asked Ashlord.

  "Yes, that is right. Amandoel," Ashlord nodded.

  "By the hand of Amandoel," Sheila continued, "this door is sealed and barred, lest the bell of Attis toll and wake the stony guard."

  Ashlord nodded and smiled at Sheila.

  "When did you learn to read the Ancient Speech?" Robby asked, astonished at her ability.

  "Ashlord taught me," she said, a bit embarrassed. "I'm still learning. I'm not very good at it."

  "Your skill is remarkable, Sheila, for the short time you've had to learn. That reading was very good, indeed," Ashlord said. Looking at Robby, he continued. "Although there is much of the story that I am not sure of, I will tell you some of what I have come to know about this place. I have been to the Circle Room, and I have gazed upon the murals and studied the Iron Door. Not for many years, though. How I came to live here is a long tale, too, but it is bound up in the story of this place. Although the great battle took place before my time, the history of Tulith Attis and my own are intertwined, somewhat, just as now your life now is. Perhaps I am getting ahead of things, but much is happening in the world. The signs of change and omens of great struggles long put off have been building for many years and their fulfillment is nigh at hand. Your coming here has something to do with it, though I cannot yet tell what it may be. Although many have tried, including myself, it was you who awoke the guard of Tulith Attis, and have fulfilled part of the old prophecies, even though your manner of doing so nearly cost you your life."

  "But you said the other night that only Faerekind could open the door," Robby interrupted. "But no one at all was with me."

  "Yes," Ashlord nodded. "And that was a great mystery to me, for you certainly do not have the look of the Faere. I believe there is more to you than can be seen."

  Robby looked at Ashlord, his dark eyes glinting as the first rays of sunlight in many days broke through the clouds. Robby realized what Ashlord was saying and looked at Sheila who was standing near the edge of the wall looking on with a rather stern expression.

  "No!" Robby insisted. "My father is Robigor Ribbon, and his father was Hannis, son of Balfast. My mother is Mirabella, daughter of Danig Tallin."

  "I know. I know," said Ashlord, shaking his head and holding up his hand. "It was all a great mystery to me, too. For how could a store clerk, the son of a store clerk, be one of the Elifaen? Yet, you possess one of the rarest gifts of the Faere, one that very few of that race has ever had, the ability to open sealed doors and release locks. You proved it when you opened the little box I gave you. For many years, I have purposely kept that box closed and locked, with the only key to it within, as a test. I suspected that one of the Faere people might someday return to Tulith Attis, and by the means of having them open that box they would be revealed to me. You see, my purpose here was to learn who betrayed the hill that day, and I believe it was one of the Elifaen, descendants of the Faerekind, not one of the race of Men as is commonly taught. It was he that I thought I was to watch for, to wait for, and to discover. But I was wrong. It was not the first time I have been mistaken, and will not be the last, I fear."

  "I don't know what any of that has to do with me," Robby said.

  "It has to do with you because you proved that the door could be opened," Ashlord explained, "and that it was not just a ploy. Heneil, called Amandoel by his people, built it, and he suspected that one of his own kind would betray them. He thought that the traitor would lead a force of the enemy through the tunnel passage to assault the fortress from within. So he placed the Iron Door there with its guards. Since the door was never opened, most have since thought that a Man, and not an Elf, was the traitor, because Men could not hope to open the door, but might manage to open the main gate, there, from within. The Iron Door in the bell room remained shut, and has for all these long years. After this place was betrayed, what else could people think but that it was a Man?"

  "Why do you think it was not a Man who betrayed the fortress?" asked Sheila.

  "Because only a few Men were here, perhaps less than two hundred. And all were killed, and, later, their bodies identified by kin. So the books say, and I believe it to be true," Ashlord said. "How those Men came to be here is a tale unto itself, and though it is worthy of the telling, that must be left for another time. They did not betray the fortress, and the armies of Men had not yet arrived, and would not do so until six days later. Someone who was trusted betrayed this hill, and he was not a mortal. Heneil thought the threat might come from his rear, by an attack up the river and by a party of Dragonkind led through the inner passage, through the Circle Room. Whoever the traitor was, he was probably already here and must have known of the trap of that room. He could have opened the door and come that way, but his identity would have been revealed. Better to cast blame elsewhere, after the foul deed was done."

  "But I opened it!" Robby said.

  "Yes, I know."

  "There! Your story just doesn't make sense, then."

  Ashlord tilted his head. "Did you know that your mother's mother was Elifaen, a descendant of the Faerekind? And that makes your mother Elifaen, too."

  Robby's head began to spin. Never mind that it was unlucky to speak of the Faere Folk, according to common Passdale ways. Ashlord's suggestion was just plain preposterous.

  "No. I mean," he stammered.

  "Your grandmother
on your mother's side died long before you were born," Ashlord said. "Do you happen to know how old your mother is? Or, tell me this, have you ever seen her bare back?"

  "What? No!" Robby said indignantly. This line of talk was getting more uncouth by the moment, and Robby was beginning to feel a little offended. Calling someone Faere was not considered a compliment. Robby was about to respond by saying so when he stopped himself. He did not, in fact, know his mother's true age. Every birthday, she celebrated her twenty-ninth as a matter of jest, telling Robby that when he reached twenty-nine, she would tell him her true age. And, also, Robby did remember seeing his mother's back, when he was a small child and she would bathe with him. She had two long scars; they curved down her back from the top of each shoulder to below her waist.

  "How did you know about those?" Robby asked quietly. He glanced at Sheila who was looking down at her feet.

  "Every Elifaen bears those scars," Ashlord said. "For it is a curse to them, and a reminder always of their fallen state, that when they were cursed for taking up arms, they were stripped of their wings. From that day forward, however long they abide on the earth, never again will the Elifaen fly. Heavy their bodies became, and, though lightly do they yet walk, no more do they commune in the air. And it became their lot to feel the heat of summer and the cold of winter, and to have thirst and hunger, which they had never known before, and they were suffered to endure all manner of the pains of mortal beings save sickness, old age, or natural death. And from that day, from the shame of their appearance, have the Elifaen covered themselves with clothing, for until then clothing was a thing of the Enemy, who needed protection from nature. All of their offspring who carry the blood of the Faere come to have those same scars."

  Ashlord looked solemnly at Robby, who had shoved his hands into his pockets and was staring blankly back at him. "I didn't know the Faere could fly."

  "None who have remained in this world can," Sheila said.

  "Your mother, Mirabella Tallin, was born of an Elifaen mother and a Mortal Man," Ashlord said. "And so you have Elifaen blood, Master Ribbon."