The Bellringer

by William Timothy Murray

  "But, Sheila. The child!"

  Sheila frowned, realizing that it was something she had to discuss with Robby.

  "I know that by the law of our people, I should have told you," she said. "But by that law we would be married."

  "Would you not have me then?"

  "I would not bind you," she said, taking his hand, "nor would I hold you to this land. Your yearnings are not for wife or family. You have always looked beyond our fields and rivers, longing to see the wide world. Yet, out of the good within you, you would stay to make me happy. But at what cost to your own heart? Would you have me live my life looking upon a husband who dreams to leave me but, honor-bound, will not? Who would shower every good thing upon my path while his own stretched out untrodden?"

  "Oh, Sheila—"

  "No! There are other girls, Robby, less uncouth than I, who would not be bothered overmuch by such things. Who would not mourn your staying, or be very sorry if you departed. Many a girl who would make a good wife to you and a good mother to your children. Worthy, and with fine dowries. There are some, I dare say, who might even love you."

  "But none that I would love."

  She looked at him as tears dripped from her eyes, but her gaze was steady, and she did not sob.

  "Perhaps not. Time will have its way, as it does with all but the Faere folk."

  "So what are we to do?" Robby asked, shaking with a terrible flutter in his chest.

  "About what?"

  "I mean, what am I to do?" he tried to explain. "I do love you. You say I would long to leave, even if we married. Why shouldn't we leave together? Why can't you share my dreams with me? Why can't we—"

  "No, I say!" she shook her head, releasing his hand. "For you to be free, I must also be free," she said, though she did not believe it.

  Robby felt the lump in his chest rise to his throat blocking his words. For some inexplicable reason, he battled not only with his confusion over Sheila but also over the sudden gush of emotions welling up inside of him, emotions seeking words.

  "But my heart is bound to thee!" he suddenly blurted out in a language he had never heard with his ears. Sheila looked at him in astonishment at the sound. But, unconscious of the language he spoke, mindful only of the meaning he strove to impart, Robby went on.

  "My fate is thine, whither I be with thee or far away. I have joined my life into thy life and my fortune and my future into thy fortune and thy future. Whether ye have me or another or none at all, in this world or in the next we will be together. Like the river that wanders from its course, runs dry, and comes back to its old tracks, our love, too, will someday return, for it is as much a part of us as the rivers are of the land."

  Sheila understood every word, though she had never before heard that tongue, and behind his voice was a sound like the airy chiming of glass, like crystal leaves trembling in a breeze. Robby turned and led his horse onward, leaving her shaken and awed. His words still rang in her ears, the clarity of sound and meaning, and she felt she was making a terrible mistake. But she loved him more than she ever had, if that was possible. She had the sensation that she was standing in some awful dream, full of melancholy and mystery. Yet, somehow, his words confirmed in her heart that this young man was the only one in all the world that she could love, and with all the love she would ever have. In a trance of heartache, and through blurring eyes, she watched him mount his horse.

  "I think we should be getting along," he said in ordinary words. He managed a sad smile. She nodded and climbed into the saddle and followed after him at a short distance, and her best efforts to suppress the sob rising from her breast only made her tears stream more fiercely for many minutes before she gained mastery over them.

  And so they rode alongside the river Bentwide, its waters mysteriously diminished, and on toward the bridge. The sight of home across the river filled Robby with renewed eagerness to be there, but he could not see anyone about. What he did see disturbed him. Many of the massive poplars were uprooted and torn asunder. Several houses were missing parts of their roofs, and the marketplace was wrecked. Everywhere was debris, blown about in mad confusion. Here and there were canvas tarpaulins covering blown-out windows. As they neared the bridge, he saw the wreckage of the mill on the far side. The wheel, what was left of it, was on its side halfway down the riverbank, with boards and timber strewn all about it and tree branches, torn from their trunks, tangled all over it. A gaping hole was in the side of the mill where the wheel had once turned, and the roof had collapsed around a vanished wall. Without the guidance of the sluice, the stream that had powered the mill now ran wide and shallow across the road and trickled down the riverbank under the broken wheel.

  Looking ahead, he saw a tall woman standing at this side of the bridge. Her red hair glowed in the afternoon light, and she pulled a cloak tight about her against the wind as she looked his way. At the sight of her, Robby kicked hard.

  "Mother!" he cried. She waved, running toward him. When he reached her, he jumped from the saddle and gave her a hug and many kisses.

  "Oh, Robby!" and she began to laugh as tears came to her eyes. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

  "It seems like a long, long time!" he said, grinning.

  "Your father will be so relieved. I don't think he has slept more than an hour since you left. And is that Sheila?"

  "Yes."

  Mirabella Ribbon let go of Robby, except for his hand, and greeted Sheila, who was just getting down from her saddle.

  "It is good to see you, Sheila," Mrs. Ribbon said taking her hand without letting go of Robby. "It has been too long."

  Sheila smiled awkwardly and nodded.

  "And I understand that you have looked after Robby for us?"

  "Well," Sheila's eyes darted at Robby for a moment with a little embarrassment. "Just some."

  "I know Mr. Ribbon will be happy to see you, too."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes, but I'll let him tell you himself."

  "Where is Daddy?"

  "He's at the Common House. He's serving as a kind of temporary mayor."

  "We heard about Mayor Greardon. Billy told us," Robby said.

  "Yes, it's terrible! His wife and son are inconsolable."

  "What's to become of them?" Sheila asked.

  "We don't yet know. It looks as though some of their relatives will be taking over the mill, if they can get it repaired, and will provide for Mrs. Greardon and little Jay."

  "So you got my note?" Robby asked as they turned toward the bridge.

  "Yes, and the packet from Ashlord," she said. Turning to Sheila, "You will stay with us, I hope?"

  "I haven't thought of where I might stay," Sheila said. "I can stay anywhere. There's no need to go to any trouble on my account, Mrs. Ribbon."

  "Nonsense!" Mrs. Ribbon laughed. "In the first place, I'm Mira to you, or else 'Mirabella' if you want to be fancy about it. And in the second place, I've already begun preparing a room for you. Frankly, it will be nice to have some lady-company in the house. Two men are two too many sometimes!"

  Sheila laughed at the idea of anyone referring to her as a lady, though she was sure Mrs. Ribbon meant it in all seriousness. Mrs. Ribbon, much like Mrs. Bosk, had a way of putting one at ease quickly. Fast friends, Mrs. Bosk and Mrs. Ribbon were in many ways entirely different. Mrs. Bosk was short, round, and plump, with all the usual mannerisms of Barley folk. Mrs. Ribbon was thin, tall, and, to say the least, elegant by any standard. Yet she was not above getting her hands dirty with work, and she never lorded her good looks or family name over anyone. Although Sheila had never talked much with Mrs. Ribbon, she had reason to believe that she was a good and fair person. Mrs. Bosk had assured Sheila on more than one occasion that the Ribbons of Passdale, all of them, man, wife, and son, could be counted on to do the right thing. As they continued on along the path to the bridge, Sheila had the distinct impression that Mrs. Ribbon knew far more about her affairs than she would ever let on. She seemed shrewd, in a kind sort of way, much li
ke Ashlord, and the more she thought of it, the more alike Ashlord and Mirabella seemed.

  The bridge had survived the storm with little damage, and, as they crossed, Robby commented on the low water level.

  "Yes, a party of men have gone upriver to see if there is some blockage," his mother said. "Their fear is that the storm may have somehow blocked the river with a rockslide or such, and it might suddenly give way. The water did rise for the first day of the rains, but then slowly began to sink, just as the rains got heavier and heavier. It has continued to drop, doing just the opposite of what it should do after a rain."

  "Ashlord told me I shouldn't worry about the Bentwide flooding," Robby said to her. "I wonder how he knew?"

  He then told his mother about the River Saerdulin and how it had assumed its ancient course, just as the River Bentwide now seemed to be abandoning its way.

  "I don't think those men are going to find anything to their liking," Robby concluded. "At least, not if they want the river to be as it was before."

  Chapter 8

  Robby's Ill-Kept Secret

  After tying their horses behind the store, Robby and Sheila went inside and followed Mirabella upstairs to the kitchen. While they washed, she prepared a light supper and shared the news from around Passdale. Much had happened since Robby left. There was the rain, of course. Rain and more rain, then torrents with howling wind and twisters, all accompanied by the most fearsome lightning. In spite of the terrible fear of the wind and lightning, people worked frantically to shore up their houses. The River Bentwide swelled nearly to its topmost banks, and water was less than an arm's length from the river wall. On the day Robby's father left to look for him, the townsfolk began sandbagging the lowest banks and gaps in the river wall as the waters continued to rise. Yet, by the middle of the next day, the river began to subside, and slowly the water went down, even though all of the tributaries running into it were pouring more water than ever could be imagined. Little brooks had become gushing jets, and streams had become rivers unto themselves. Mud slid down the hills behind Passdale, and trees uprooted and toppled all over town. Especially heartbreaking was the loss of many of the beautiful poplars that grew along the river.

  Then there was the accident at Greardon's Mill. The mill pond above Passdale broke from its dam and burst the sluice gates, pouring trees and boulders against the waterwheel, jamming it as brush piled up around it. Meanwhile, the water flowed around and undercut the stone supports. As the stones gave way and crumbled, the wheel broke and twisted against the wall of the mill, pulling out its axle and sending beams crashing down. As the wall collapsed, the wheel came free and careened downstream and nearly to the river before falling over and crashing on the riverbank. Mr. Greardon, who was inside the mill trying to free the wheel before it smashed the wooden gears, was knocked into the flood and pinned under the water by falling beams. Everyone heard the crash and came running, but Greardon was dead by the time he was pulled from the wreckage. While several other homes and buildings were damaged, some beyond repair, everyone else in Passdale escaped serious injury during the storm. The Mayor's loss was a serious blow to the town, just when his leadership was most needed, for he was a wise and energetic man. Some decided that Mr. Ribbon ought to be found to take his place until a proper election could be had, since none of the town's council members wanted the responsibility, and most of the town folk were relieved at that. So the blacksmith, Mr. Clingdon, one of the heartiest men around, went out to find Mr. Ribbon and to bring him back. At Mirabella's advice, Clingdon first went to Boskland, thinking it would be the safest place for both of the Ribbon men to find their way to, and hoping they would both be there.

  "When the two came back without you," Mirabella said to Robby as she filled the teapot with hot water, "I nearly died of worry. Your father reassured me of your good sense to take shelter, but hardly had time to console me before he had to go off and meet with the council. They swore him in on the spot, and he got right to work, organizing work parties, reviewing the town's finances, our emergency stores, and planning for repairs and relief. From what little he was able to tell me, Passdale has fared better than other parts of Barley. Was there much damage out that way?"

  Before she could be answered, the store's doorbell jangled violently as the door opened and slammed, immediately followed by loud footsteps coming up the stairs by twos. The kitchen door burst open, and there stood Robby's father, panting.

  "Robby!" he cried, taking his son into his arms. "I came as soon as I heard ye whar back in town. I was down at the Common House."

  Mr. Ribbon saw Robby wince at the pressure of the elder's grip.

  "Yer hurt!" he said.

  "Oh, just a little," Robby grinned. "I'm on the mend, though, thanks to the good care of Ashlord and to Sheila, here."

  "I should've never sent ye out thar by yerself!"

  "I'm fine. Everything is fine! I just had a little trouble, is all," Robby hesitated, "with a few wolves."

  "Wolves!" Mirabella gasped.

  "Wolves?" Mr. Ribbon cried.

  "And the storm," Robby added.

  "Wolves?" Mr. Ribbon repeated. "In Barley?"

  "Yes, sir. I was attacked by a few, and if it had not been for Ashlord and Sheila showing up when they did, I'd be a goner. And they patched me up pretty well afterwards, too."

  "Oh, my!" Mrs. Ribbon said, sliding into a chair.

  "More than a few," Sheila said softly.

  "Oh?" Mr. Ribbon picked up. "How many more."

  "I killed many that night," she said bluntly. "Ashlord killed many more."

  Mr. Ribbon settled into a chair, too.

  "Tell me what happened."

  "Well, Ullin and I parted after we crossed the bridge," Robby began. Between nibbles, he related the story, leaving out the fact that he had crossed the bridge and found his way into the interior of Tulith Attis. Instead, he merely said that he sought shelter from the storm in the old fortress and was trapped there by the wolves. He told them about being attacked and being saved by Ashlord, leaving out the part about the Great Bell and the stone sentinels.

  "By the time Ashlord and Sheila got me to their place, I was pretty exhausted," he concluded. His mother and father listened intently. Mr. Ribbon shook his head at the tale. Mirabella looked at Robby carefully, and then at Sheila as if to ask a question, but she remained silent.

  "So, what with the storm and all," Robby continued, "I stayed on with them until Billy and Ibin showed up yesterday. Billy told me about you coming out to look for me, and how Mr. Bosk basically forced you to give up."

  "How is that?" Mirabella asked, looking at her husband. Before Mr. Ribbon could answer, Robby recounted what Billy had said about the flood and the danger they faced if they kept on after Robby.

  "If I'd a gone on," Mr. Ribbon shrugged to his wife, "Mr. Bosk an' the rest would've felt obliged to go on, too. I was willin' to take the risk by meself, but I didn't see how I could lead the rest on. What else could I do?"

  "You did the right thing, dearest," Mirabella said, taking her husband's hand.

  "Anyway," Robby continued, "we set out this morning, then ran into a little trouble on the Line Road."

  As he told them about the four horsemen, and the Dragonkind man, his mother wore a grim expression, and his father stood from his chair and paced back and forth.

  "Wolves an' Dragonkind in Barley!" Mr. Ribbon muttered when Robby finished his tale. "I suppose I should raise the alarm, but who is thar that'll come? Everone's scattered or so busy, tryin' to take care of thar homes an' such."

  "I don't think there are any others," Sheila said. "Just the one that got away, and he's probably caught by now."

  "Still! Lootin' an' killin'!" he looked at the three sitting at the table, then sighed and his shoulders slumped. "Dang it! I gotta go."

  "Oh, Robigor!" his wife said, disappointed. "You've barely had time to eat!"

  "Can't be helped, lovie," he shrugged, giving her a kiss. "Sheila, perhaps in the next da
y or two we can chat, an' I can thank ye proper-like for all ye done for Robby. I hope ye'll not mind stayin' with us. We'd be glad to have ye on as long as ye like."

  "Thank you," Sheila said. "I hope it isn't a bother. I'll help out in any way that I can."

  "No bother at all!" Mirabella said. "Though I might ask for a little help with some small things."

  "Robby, I know yer tired, but as soon as ye can, I'd like ye to take over the store from yer mother," Mr. Ribbon said, giving his son a gentler hug than before, then moving to the door. "I'll most likely be purty occupied the next few days, but I'll manage to check in on ye as much as I can."

  "Don't worry about anything here," Robby assured him. "I'll do my best."

  After he departed, Mirabella took Sheila to show her the guest room. There were six rooms upstairs, three bedrooms clustered at the back of the house, with the door to the master bedroom at the end of the hall and the doors to Robby's room and the guest room opposite each other. There was the kitchen, at the other end of the hall, where they also took their meals, and the sitting room that served extra duty as both study and parlor. There were two washrooms, one for clothes and such, and the other for more personal use. Robby's father had the upstairs built to his own design, along with an ingenious system of terra cotta piping and handpumps that provided water for the wash basins from a well. It was a well-lit home, with ample oil lamps on the walls and hanging from the ceilings, and plenty of windows to let in sunlight. Sheila had never been upstairs before, and she was surprised at how cozy and warm it was, not at all like the grander but somewhat dark and drafty Bosk Manor. This place was more of comfort and grace than power and station. Everywhere was Mirabella's touch, from the tasteful curtains to the flowers in every room. Sheila stopped to look at the modest portraits along the hallway, as Mrs. Ribbon opened a closet and pulled out some fresh linens.

  "We have not had a guest for a long time," she said. "But I try to keep the room dusted and the sheets changed out. I haven't been able to get to it this week, though, except to clear out some boxes earlier today when I received Robby's note. I hope you don't mind if I go ahead and change them now?"