The Bell Between Worlds (8 page)

Sylas frowned quizzically and there was an awkward silence.

Espen shook his head as if annoyed with himself. “Give me the book,” he said, holding out his hand.

Sylas instinctively took a step backwards, surprised to hear the stranger speak of it.

“The Samarok?”

Espen nodded and turned his palm up expectantly.

“What do you want it for?”

“Give it to me, Sylas,” demanded the man impatiently. “I’ll give it back, but I must show you something.”

Sylas eyed him carefully. He didn’t want to show the Samarok to anybody, let alone to someone he had just met. But then again Mr Zhi had obviously trusted him. He fought with himself for a moment longer, then set his rucksack on the ground and took out the beautiful book. He turned it over in his hands for a moment, feeling the touch of the sharp stones and cold metal against his skin, then handed it over.

Espen took it and looked thoughtfully at it for a moment, then glanced about him as if looking for something. He walked swiftly to the edge of the pavement, lifted the Samarok high into the air and, summoning all his strength, brought it crashing down against the kerb.

“As we leave the light, we enter darkness; as we pass from warmth,
the cold creeps about us; as we depart from one, we enter the Other.”

S
YLAS CRIED OUT AS
the book collided awkwardly with the concrete. There was a sharp crack and a piece broke away from it, spun in the air and clattered across the hard surface, ringing metallically as it came to rest on the wet pavement.

“What are you doing?” yelled Sylas, rushing after the two pieces.

Espen said nothing, but watched quietly as Sylas picked up the book and tucked it under his arm, then went in search of the other piece. He found it lying in the gutter, a torrent of rainwater washing over it. It was the beautiful S symbol from the cover, now bent utterly out of shape.

Sylas wheeled round in a rage.

“Look what you’ve done!” he bellowed, holding up the twisted piece of metal. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears and felt his cheeks burning red.

The stranger was unmoved. He looked down at Sylas and held out his hand.

“Give it to me,” he said calmly.

“You must be joking,” said Sylas and made to put it in his pocket.

“Give it to me now!” boomed Espen, his deep, gritty voice echoing up the street.

Sylas took a step back. Part of him wanted to take the book and run, to take his chances on his own. But he still saw no reason why Espen should wish him harm. He looked at the piece of metal in his hands. It was useless anyway – what more could he do? The stranger waited expectantly with his hand outstretched. Finally, with an attempt at a look of defiance, Sylas reached out and handed him the broken symbol.

Espen took it with one hand, and with the other he seized Sylas’s wrist. Sylas shouted in protest and tried to pull free, but the grip was vice-like. He saw that the stranger was manipulating the piece of metal in his free hand. It pivoted round the point at the centre of the S, where the gold of the top curve met the silver of the bottom. He realised that there was a hinge in the join, allowing the two parts to swivel around one another.

The symbol wasn’t broken: it had just rotated out of shape.

Espen twisted his hand a little further and it once again formed a perfect S.

Sylas ceased his struggle. “Why does it—”

“So that it can do this,” said Espen.

The symbol rotated at its centre until it formed a broken circle, with the silver and gold forming its two halves. Then, before Sylas could pull away, the stranger slid it over the boy’s narrow wrist and adjusted it slightly so that it formed a complete ring. There was a barely audible click.

Sylas snatched back his arm and looked closely at his wrist, which now bore a perfect bracelet. There were no faults or cracks – the gold met the silver in an invisible join.

“How did you do that?” he asked.

Espen shrugged and smiled.

Sylas turned his eyes back to the bracelet and ran his fingers over the metal, marvelling at its smoothness. He gripped the new join and tried to prise it apart, but the metal held firm. He tried the pivot, but that too was solid. Finally he attempted to pull the band off his wrist, but as he slid it towards his hand, it seemed to tighten and fit snugly against his skin.

“It won’t come off,” he said, looking up.

“I should hope not,” said Espen, still smiling. “You don’t want to lose it, Sylas. It’s there to protect you.”

Sylas looked from the stranger’s earnest face to the bracelet, which had now closed tighter than ever.

“Protect me from what? From the animal?”

“In a way, it protects you from yourself.”

Sylas looked up in surprise, but the stranger had already turned and set off in the direction of the vast chimney stack.

“Come!” shouted Espen.

Sylas took the book from under his arm, glancing at the cover, now marked by a highly decorated S-shaped groove where the symbol had been. He crammed the book into his rucksack and ran on.

The bell chimed again. Once more he was hit in the chest by a shockwave of sound and he saw the rain dance in the air. But there was something unexpected about this toll of the bell. Even though they were nearer its source, it seemed quieter than before, less forceful. It still had great power, but Sylas was sure that it had weakened: he did not have to hold his hands to his ears as he had when he first heard it; it was not impossible to think as it was before. It dawned on him that none of the chimes had been as powerful as the one that had woken him in his room. The bell was dying away. “I think it’s stopping!”

The stranger turned and nodded, as if this was to be expected. Then his dark eyes looked back down the street and widened.

Sylas felt the skin prickle on his back and neck. Without slowing his run, he turned his head.

He saw it straight away, emerging from some shadows into the lamplight. The beast was at full sprint, bounding high into the air with each stride, its jaws hanging open to reveal its white teeth glistening cruelly in the yellow light. As it caught sight of its quarry, it raised its head a little and howled into the night air. It was muffled by the sound of the bell, but its misty breath rose from its jaws and its tongue rasped visibly against its teeth.

Sylas turned and collided with Espen’s broad chest. A powerful arm curled about his waist and hoisted him into the air, over the chicken-wire fence that bordered the factory complex. Just as he seemed to be clear, he caught his knee on the metal bar that formed the top of the gate and he cried out in pain.

Espen didn’t pause. “Brace yourself!” he growled.

Sylas gasped a lungful of air and flailed around him, hoping to grab hold of something, but he felt himself pitched into nothingness. A moment later he landed and fell backwards. He was winded and in shock from the pain in his knee, but he forced himself up on his elbows. Espen took a step back on the other side of the gate and with a quick glance behind him he launched himself into the air, vaulting over the top of the gate. His leather boots crashed into the gravel next to Sylas.

He crouched down to look at Sylas’s knee, which was already bleeding through his jeans.

“Can you run?”

“I think so.”

Espen hoisted him on to his feet and pushed him ahead. At first he limped, but soon he was running, his fear overcoming the pain. He peered over his shoulder and his eyes widened as he saw the huge figure of the black hound behind Espen, charging towards the gate. It bounded into the air, its jaws gaping in anticipation of its prey, its powerful limbs propelling it to an astonishing height. It was sure to clear the top of the gate.

But then two things happened at once. Espen slowed his run and turned slightly, raising one hand into the air with its palm facing downwards; and the dog’s path through the air seemed to falter, as though it was meeting with some kind of resistance.

The effect was only momentary and Sylas thought his eyes were playing tricks, but an instant later the dog crashed headlong into the wire mesh of the gate, its teeth and jowls tangling with the criss-cross of chicken wire, sending a spray of rainwater and drool into the compound. The massive weight of its body followed, crushing its head against one of the metal bars. It whimpered, then collapsed to the ground in a heap.

“Did
you
do that?” gasped Sylas in disbelief.

Espen turned to him and winked. “I’ve given it something to think about. Go on – to the bell!”

Sylas felt a new thrill of excitement. The Shop of Things, the bell, the hound, all of these had seemed magical, but in a confusing, mystical way. This was
real
magic.

The factory had three huge chimney stacks that belched black, grey and white gases into the air, each crowded about with concrete laboratories, warehouses and offices. Vast steel pipes wound across the compound, crossing one another many times before finally arriving at the base of the chimneys. Sylas ran swiftly among these perilous structures, ducking under them, leaping over them, never straying from the direction of the bell. As they ran, spotlights began flicking on all around them, sending powerful beams of white light across their path. Security lights, triggered by their passing.

They mounted a gangway and were plunged back into darkness. Sylas looked to the front and could just see that the gangway came to an abrupt end at some low railings not far ahead. Just beyond them he could see a high wire fence under a dark overhang of trees.

The forest. He looked upwards at the night sky and he could see the silhouette of the hills looming over them.

He turned back to the gangway, which disappeared into the dark courtyard behind. Then he saw a faint movement beyond, like one shadow moving over another; a definite, pounding, repetitive motion that became clearer and clearer as he watched. Then it tripped one of the security lights and the white beam lit up one side of the hound’s giant frame, catching its ragged jaws and wild eyes. Another beam was triggered, then another and another, each giving a snapshot of the beast in an attitude of pursuit: crouching, lurching and bounding towards them, maddened by the chase. It skidded every few steps and collided with pipes and metalwork, but shrugged them off, undeterred.

Sylas vaulted over the handrail at the end of the gangway and landed as best he could on his bad knee, staggering and sliding over the wet tarmac until he caught hold of the fence. As he turned, Espen sailed over the metal bar and landed firmly on both feet, then turned to look back. The beast was almost halfway along the gangway, devouring the small distance between them with its huge bounding strides.

Espen braced himself ready to fight and then raised both arms in front of him in a wide V-shape. He held them there for a moment with his palms facing downwards and then he slowly dropped them in front of him, gradually bringing his palms together. Suddenly the great plumes of smoke from the chimney stacks above twisted in the air, turning away from the night sky, plummeting towards the ground.

Sylas stepped backwards until his back was against the fence. The three clouds of smoke collided, spiralling round each other to form a seething column of black, grey and white. A second later the deluge of billowing gases engulfed the gangway and the beast, splaying outwards and then collapsing back on themselves in one vast, suffocating, swirling cloud. Sylas held his breath, waiting for the hound to come charging through it, but all he could see was the great wall of churning smoke. Moments passed, and still there was no sign. Finally he threw his fist in the air in celebration and looked over to Espen, a wide grin on his face.

But the stranger was grim-faced.

“We’re out of time!” he shouted, running up to Sylas. “It’s too strong. You must go on alone.”

Sylas’s heart fell. “Surely...”

“The bell is calling
you
, Sylas, not me. I’m here to keep you alive. I must stay here and fight.”

Sylas opened his mouth to object, but Espen strode up and without hesitation hoisted him into the air, guiding him over the fence.

Sylas braced for a shock of pain, but he landed in leaves and long grass. He picked himself up and looked through the chicken wire at Espen, who met his gaze.

“Thank you,” he said.

Espen nodded and gave him a brief smile. “Onwards, Sylas,” he said. “There lie the answers, about who you are... about your mother.”

Sylas drew a sharp breath. “What...?”

Just then his eyes were drawn to a dark shadow in the grey wall of gases.

Suddenly the beast erupted from the cloud and sprinted along the final yards of the gangway, not bounding as before, but still moving at a pace, swaying slightly as though it was struggling to control its limbs. Then, as it drew fresh air into its lungs, it surged forward, descending on its quarry.

Espen swung around, his arms in the air again, this time with his palms turned inwards. He brought them together in a sharp clap and at that instant the railings on each side of the gangway buckled, twisting and crumpling under a devastating magnetic force. The beast staggered as it was struck on the flank by a folding rail, then it slumped, momentarily pinned down by one of the supporting bars. As it raised its head to howl, the bell tolled again, its primal, resonant note drowning out the cries of the black beast. The chime forced the cloud of gases backwards and then drew them in until they engulfed Espen’s motionless figure.

Sylas forced himself to turn and set out into the darkness, running ahead of the gases, crashing through the undergrowth beneath the canopy of the trees.

He squeezed between trunks and climbed over fallen trees, slipped into hollows and clawed his way up banks. The darkness pressed in on him and his imagination started to play its usual games, conjuring pale yellow eyes blinking somewhere far off in the undergrowth and dark shadows shifting in his path. He thought he felt the scrape of claws as he brushed against tree trunks – then the bite of razor teeth at his heels.

“Just keep running,” he told himself. “
Keep running!
”